Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/410

392 Clytemnestra [aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now? Who sin in company should suffer so. [To Aegisthus.] Nay, come with me; we will together wait The issue of our dark and dangerous fate. [Exeunt into the palace.]

Chorus: Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned; With festal laurel wreathe your heads; And let your virgin locks flow free, Ye Argive maids. And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus, Who dwell by Eurotas, Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus, Come join in our singing; And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters, Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer, Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods. Now peace has come: Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo, Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows, And let thy tuneful lyre resound To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers. No lofty strain be thine today, But such as on thy milder lyre Thou art wont to sound when the learned muse Surveys thy sports. And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain, As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome By Jupiter's hurtling bolts; When mountain on lofty mountain piled, Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus, Built high to the sky for the impious monsters Their ladder's rocky rounds. Thou too be with us, Juno, queen, Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord. Mycenae's altars blaze for thee. Thou alone dost protect us, Anxious and suppliant;