Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/92

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Soon shall we know whether the signal fires,

The swift relays of courier-light be true,

Or whether, dreamlike, they beguiled our minds

With grateful splendour;—Yonder, from the coast,

A herald comes, shaded with laurel boughs;

While Clay's twin-brother, thirsty Dust, attests

That neither voiceless, nor of mountain wood

Kindling the blaze, will he report in smoke;

No,—either will his voice announce more joy,

Or,—but ill-omened words I deprecate.

Be omens fair with fair assurance crown'd!

May he who 'gainst the state breathes other prayer,

First reap the fruit of his malignant thought.

Oh soil of Argos, oh my native land,

In light of this tenth year to thee I come;

While many a hope hath snapt, this one still holds,

For ne'er I counted, dying here, to share

Beloved sepulture in Argive soil.

Now hail, O earth, bright sunlight hail, and Zeus,

Supreme o'er Argos.

Thou too, Pythian king,

With thy fell darts assailing us no more;

Let it suffice that on Scamander's banks

Thy mien was hostile;—now, Apollo, lord,