KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Hephaistos — sending a bright blaze from Ide.
Beacon did beacon send, from fire the poster,
Hitherward: Ide to the rock Hermaian
Of
: and a third great torch o’ the island
Zeus’ seat received in turn, the Athoan summit.
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And, — so upsoaring as to stride sea over,
The strong lamp-voyager, and all for joyance —
Did the gold-glorious splendour, any sun like,
Pass on — the pine-tree — to Makistos’ watch-place;
Who did not, — tardy, — caught, no wits about him,
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By sleep, — decline his portion of the missive.
And far the beacon’s light, on stream Euripos
Arriving, made aware Messapios’ warders,
And up they lit in turn, played herald onwards,
Kindling with flame a heap of grey old heather.
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And, strengthening still, the lamp, decaying nowise,
Springing o’er Plain Asopos, — full-moon-fashion
Effulgent, — toward the crag of Mount Kithairon,
Roused a new rendering-up of fire the escort —
And light, far escort, lacked no recognition
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O’ the guard — as burning more than burnings told you.
And over Lake Gorgopis light went leaping,
And, at Mount Aigiplanktos safe arriving,
Enforced the law —
to never stint the fire-stuff.
And they send, lighting up with ungrudged vigour,
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Of flame a huge beard, ay, the very foreland
So as to strike above, in burning onward,
The look-out which commands the Strait Saronic.
Then did it dart until it reached the outpost
Mount Arachnaios here, the city’s neighbour;
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And then darts to this roof of the Atreidai
This light of Ide’s fire not unforefathered!
Such are the rules prescribed the flambeau-bearers:
He beats that’s first and also last in running.
Such is the proof and token I declare thee,
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My husband having sent me news from
.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
do the Achaioi hold, this same day.
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I think a noise — no mixture — reigns i’ the city.
Sour wine and unguent pour thou in one vessel —
Standers-apart, not lovers, wouldst thou style them:
And so, of captives and of conquerors, partwise
The voices are to hear, of fortune diverse.
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For those, indeed, upon the bodies prostrate
Of husbands, brothers, children upon parents
— The old men, from a throat that ’s free no longer,
Shriekingly wail the death-doom of their dearest:
While these — the after-battle hungry labour,
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Which prompts night-faring, marshals them to breakfast
On the town’s store, according to no billet
Of sharing, but as each drew lot of fortune.
In the spear-captured Troic habitations
House they already: from the frosts upmethral
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And dews delivered, will they, luckless creatures,
Without a watch to keep, slumber all night through.
And if they fear the gods, the city-guarders,
And the gods’ structures of the conquered country,
They may not — capturers—soon in turn be captive.
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But see no prior lust befall the army
To sack things sacred — by gain-cravings vanquished
For there needs homeward the return’s salvation,
To round the new limb back o’ the double race-course.
And guilty to the gods if came the army,
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Awakened up the sorrow of those slaughtered
Might be — should no outbursting evils happen.
But may good beat — no turn to see i’ the balance!
For, many benefits I want the gain of.
