Story of Orestes | Page 3

low, only
beware lest the Victors suffer from the wrath of some God, Artemis
who hates the eagle:
Sing a strain of woe, But may the good prevail! {137}
Epode: a different rhythm, and the evolutions without any special
direction.
May some Healer, Calchas added, avert her wrath, lest she send delays
upon the impatient host and irritate them to some dread deed, some
sacrifice of children to haunt the house for ever! So he prophesied in
piercing strains.
Sing a strain of woe, But may the good prevail {154}
ENTRY-ODE

With a change of rhythm, the Chorus pass into their first regular
Choral Ode; Strophes and Antistrophes as in the Prelude, but the
Evolutions now leading them from the central Altar to the extreme
Right and Left of the Orchestra.
Strophe I: Evolutions leading Chorus from Thymele to extreme Right of
Orchestra.
It must be Zeus--no other God will suffice--Zeus alone who shall lift
from my[2] mind this cloud of anxiety;
Antistrophe I: Evolutions the same, rhythm for rhythm, as the Strophe,
but leading the Chorus back from the Right of Orchestra to the central
Altar.
For on Zeus, before whom all the elder Gods gave way, they must rely
who are bent on getting all the wisdom of the wise. {168}
Strophe II: a change of rhythm: evolutions leading Chorus from the
central Altar to the extreme Left of Orchestra.
Yes: Zeus leads men to wisdom by his fixed law that pain is gain; by
instilling secret care in the heart, it may be in sleep, he forces the
unwilling to yield to wiser thoughts: no doubt this anxiety is a gift of
the Gods, whose might is irresistible. {176}
Antistrophe II: same rhythm, but evolutions leading back from Left of
Orchestra to central Altar.
When Agamemnon, not repining, but tempering himself to the fate
which smote him, waited amidst adverse winds and failing stores:
{184}
Strophe III: fresh change of rhythm, Chorus moving to Right of
Orchestra.
and the contrary winds kept sweeping down from the Strymon, and the
host was being worn out with delays, and the prophet began to speak of

'one more charm against the wrath of Artemis, though a bitter one to
the Chiefs,' {195}
Antistrophe III: same rhythm, movement back from Right of Orchestra
to Altar.
at last the King spoke: great woe to disobey the prophet, great woe to
slay my child! how shed a maiden's blood? yet how lose my expedition,
my allies? May all be well in the end! {210}
Strophe IV: change of rhythm; movements to the left of Orchestra.
So when he himself had harnessed To the yoke of Fate unbending,
With a blast of strange new feeling Sweeping o'er his heart and spirit,
Aweless, godless and unholy, He his thoughts and purpose altered To
full measure of all daring, (Still base counsel's fatal frenzy, Wretched
primal source of evils, Gives to mortal hearts strange boldness,) And at
last his heart be hardened His own child to slay as victim, Help in war
that they were waging To avenge a woman's frailty, Victim for the
good ship's safety. {219}
Antistrophe IV: back to Altar.
All her prayers and eager callings On the tender name of Father, All her
young and maiden freshness, They but set at naught, those rulers, In
their passion for the battle. And her father gave commandment To the
servants of the Goddess, When the prayer was o'er, to lift her, Like a
kid, above the altar, In her garments wrapt, face downwards,-- Yea, to
seize with all their courage, And that o'er her lips of beauty Should be
set a watch to hinder Words of curse against the houses, With the gag's
strength silence-working.
Strophe V: Altar to Sight of Orchestra.
And she upon the ground Pouring rich folds of veil in saffron dyed,
Cast at each one of those who sacrificed A piteous glance that pierced
Fair as a pictured form, And wishing,--all in vain,-- To speak; for
oftentimes In those her father's hospitable halls She sang, a maiden

pure with chastest song, And her dear father's life That poured its
threefold cup of praise to God, Crowned with all choicest good, She
with a daughter's love Was wont to celebrate. {238}
Antistrophe V: Back to Altar.
What then ensued mine eyes Saw not, nor may I tell, but Calchas' arts
Were found not fruitless. Justice turns the scale For those to whom
through pain At last comes wisdom's gain. But for our future fate, Since
help for it is none, Good-bye to it before it comes, and this Has the
same end as wailing premature; For with to-morrow's dawn It will
come clear; may good luck crown our fate! So prays the one true guard,
Nearest and dearest found, Of this our Apian land.