Prologos
WARDER.
For, that my masters’ dice drop right, I’ll reckon:
Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal.
Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the loved hand
O’ the household’s lord I may sustain with this hand!
As for the rest, I’m mute: on tongue a big ox
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Has trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should,
Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speak
To those who know: to who know not — I’m blankness.
CHOROS.
The tenth year this, since Priamos’ great match,
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King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,
— The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai’s honour
Two-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor —
Did from this land the aid, the armament despatch,
The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamouring
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Aresfrom out the indignant breast, as fling
Passion forth vultures which, because of grief
Away, — as are their young ones, — with the thief,
Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,
Row round and round with oar of either wing,
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Lament the bedded chicks, lost labour that was love:
— Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus — that wail,
Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fare
Housemates with gods in air —
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Suchanone sends, against who these assail,
What, late-sent, shall not fail
Of punishing — Erinus. Here as there,
The Guardian of the Guest, Zeus, the excelling one,
Sends against Alexandros either son
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Of Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,
