Story of Orestes | Page 5

he had sat as Guest. {392}
Strophe II: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Left.
She, leaving to her countrymen at home Wild din of spear and shield
and ships of war, And bringing, as her dower, To Ilion doom of death,
Passed very swiftly through the palace gates, Daring what none should
dare; And many a wailing cry They raised, the minstrel prophets of the
house, "Woe for that kingly home! Woe for that kingly home and for its
chiefs! Woe for the marriage-bed and traces left Of wife who loved her
lord!" There stands he silent; foully wronged and yet Uttering no word
of scorn, In deepest woe perceiving she is gone; And in his yearning
love For one beyond the sea, A ghost shall seem to queen it o'er the
house; The grace of sculptured forms Is loathéd by her lord, And in the

penury of life's bright eyes All Aphrodite's charm To utter wreck has
gone. {409}
Antistrophe II: back to Altar.
And phantom shades that hover round in dreams Come full of sorrow,
bringing vain delight; For vain it is, when one Sees seeming shows of
good, And gliding through his hands the dream is gone, After a
moment's space, On wings that follow still Upon the path where sleep
goes to and fro. Such are the woes at home Upon the altar hearth, and
worse than these. But on a wider scale for those who went From Hellas'
ancient shore, A sore distress that causeth pain of heart Is seen in every
house. Yea, many things there are that touch the quick: For those whom
each did send He knoweth; but, instead Of living men, there come to
each man's home Funereal urns alone, And ashes of the dead. {425}
Strophe III: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Right.
War is a trafficker; in the rush of battle he holds scales, and for the
golden coin you spend on him he sends you back lifeless shapes of men;
they sent out men, the loving friends receive back well-smoothed ashes
from the funeral pyre. They sing the heroic fall of some--all for
another's wife; and some murmur discontent against the sons of Atreus,
and some have won a grave in the land they had conquered. {441}
Antistrophe III: evolutions repeated, but from Right back to Altar.
So sullen discontent has been doing the work of a people's curse:
therefore it is that I am awaiting with dim forebodings the full news.
The Gods do not forget those who have shed much blood, and sooner
or later the dark-robed Deities of the Curse consign the evil-doer to
impassable, hopeless gloom. Away with the dazzling success that
attracts the thunderbolt! be mine the moderate lot that neither causes
nor suffers captivity. {458}
Epode: change of rhythm and Chorus not moving from the Altar.
The courier flame has brought good news--but who knows whether it
be true?--Yet it is childish when the heart is all aglow with the message

of the flame to be turned round by everchanging rumour.--Yet it is the
nature of a woman to believe too soon. [Observe how the Chorus,
setting out on an ode of triumph, have come back to their persistent
forebodings.] {471}
Suddenly at the Side-door on the extreme Left of the Stage (signifying
distance) appears a Herald, covered with dust, crowned with olive in
token of victory. The Chorus immediately fall into their Episode
position to receive him, the Foreman expressing their anticipations as
the Herald traverses the long stage to the point opposite the Chorus.
EPISODE II
Foreman of Chorus. Now we shall have a clearer message than that of
the beacon-fires: all is well or . . . but I cannot put the other alternative.
The Herald (arrived opposite the Chorus) solemnly salutes the land of
Argos he had never hoped to see again, salutes the several Gods whose
statues are now bright with the morning sun, especially Apollo who has
proved himself a Healer, and Hermes, patron of Heralds; and then
announces Agamemnon is close at hand, victorious over Troy and
having sent Paris to his merited punishment.--Observe how in the
parallel dialogue that follows the foreboding tone creeps in again in the
midst of the news of triumph. {520}
Chor. Joy, joy, thou herald of the Achaean host! Her. All joy is mine: I
shrink from death no more. Chor. Did love for this thy fatherland so try
thee? Her. So that mine eyes weep tears for very joy. Chor. Disease full
sweet then this ye suffered from . . . Her. How so? When taught, I shall
thy meaning master. Chor. Ye longed for us who yearned for you in
turn. Her. Say'st thou this land its yearning host yearned o'er? Chor.
Yea, so that