Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/232

204 In Argos; nor to music of my loom

Shall Pallas' image grow

Splendid in strife Titanic: —in my doom

Blood-streams mid groanings flow,

The ghastly music made of strangers laid

On altars, piteous-weeping!

Yet from these horrors now my thoughts have strayed,

Afar to Argos leaping

To wail Orestes dead—a kingdom's heir!

Ah, hands of my lost mother

At my departing clasped, her bosom bare

The babe-face of my brother!

Lo, yonder from the sea-shore one hath come,

A herdman bearing tidings unto thee.

Enter Herdman.

Agamemnon's daughter, Klytemnestra's child,

Hear the strange story that I bring to thee!

What cause is in thy tale for this amaze?

Unto the land, through those blue Clashing Rocks

Sped by the oar-blades, two young men be come,

A welcome offering and sacrifice