I pray the gods a deliverance from these toils, a remedy
1
for my year-long watch, in which, couching on my elbows
2
on the roofs of the Atreidae, like a dog, I have contemplated the host
3
of the nightly stars, and the bright potentates that bear winter and summer to mortals, conspicuous in the firmament. And now I am watching for the signal of the beacon, the blaze of fire that brings a voice from Troy, and tidings of its capture; for thus strong in hope is the woman's heart, of manly counsel
4
. And whilst
I have a night-bewildered and dew-drenched couch
1
, not visited by dreams, for fear, in place of sleep, stands at my side, so that I cannot firmly close my eyelids in slumber. And when I think to sing or whistle, preparing
2
this the counter-charm of song against sleep, then do I mourn, sighing over the sad condition of this house, that is not, as of yore, most excellently administered. But now, may there be a happy release from my toils, as the fire of joyous tidings appears through the gloom! Oh hail! thou lamp of night, thou that displayest a light like as the day, and the marshalling of many dances in Argos, on account of this event
3
. Ho! ho! I will give a signal distinctly to the wife of Agamemnon, that she, having arisen with all speed from her couch, may raise aloud a joyous shout in welcome to this beacon, if indeed the city of Ilion is taken, as the beacon-light stands forth
4
announcing; and I myself will dance a prelude. For I will count the throws
6
of my lord that have fallen well, mine own
5
, since this kindling of the beacon-light has cast me thrice six. May it then befall me to grasp with this hand of mine the friendly hand of the sovereign of this palace on his arrival. But for the rest I am silent; a mighty ox hath come upon my tongue
7
:
but the house itself, could it find a voice, would tell most plainly. Thus I readily speak to them that know, and for such as know not I have no memory.