And then—but I beheld not, nor can tell,
What further fate befel:
But this is sure, that Calchas' boding strain
Can ne'er be void or vain.
300
This wage from Justice' hand do sufferers earn,
The future to discern:
And yet—farewell, O secret of To-morrow!
Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow.
Clear with the clear beams of the morrow's sun,
305
The future presseth on.
Now, let the house's tale, how dark soe'er,
Find yet an issue fair!
—So prays the loyal, solitary band
That guards the Apian land.
310
[
They turn to Clytemnestra, who leaves
the altars and comes forward.
Agamemnon. Aeschylus. Edmund Doidge Anderson Morshead (Translator). . .