WARDER.

The gods I ask deliverance from these labours,

1

Watch of a year’s length whereby, slumbering through it

On the Atreidai’s roofs on elbow, — dog-like —

I know of nightly star-groups the assemblage,

And those that bring to men winter and summer

5

Bright dynasts, as they pride them in the aether

— Stars, when they wither, and the uprisings of them.

And now on ward I wait the torch’s token,

The glow of fire, shall bring from Troia message

And word of capture: so prevails audacious

10

The man’s-way-planning hoping heart of woman.

But when I, driven from night-rest, dew-drenched hold to

This couch of mine — not looked upon by visions,

Since fear instead of sleep still stands beside me,

So as that fast I fix in sleep no eyelids —

15

And when to sing or chirp a tune I fancy,

For slumber such song-remedy infusing,

I wail then, for this House’s fortune groaning,

Not, as of old, after the best ways governed.

Now, lucky be deliverance from these labours,

20

At good news — the appearing dusky fire!

O hail, thou lamp of night, a day-long lightness

Revealing, and of dances the ordainment!

Halloo, halloo!

To Agamemnon’s wife I show, by shouting,

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That, from bed starting up at once, i’ the household

Joyous acclaim, good-omened to this torch-blaze,

She send aloft, if haply Ilion ’s city

Be taken, as the beacon boasts announcing.

Ay, and, for me, myself will dance a prelude,

30

For, that my masters’ dice drop right, I’ll reckon:

Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal.

Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the loved hand

O’ the household’s lord I may sustain with this hand!

As for the rest, I’m mute: on tongue a big ox

35

Has trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should,

Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speak

To those who know: to who know not — I’m blankness.

CHOROS.

The tenth year this, since Priamos’ great match,

40

King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,

— The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai’s honour

Two-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor —

Did from this land the aid, the armament despatch,

The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamouring

45

Aresfrom out the indignant breast, as fling

Passion forth vultures which, because of grief

Away, — as are their young ones, — with the thief,

Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,

Row round and round with oar of either wing,

50

Lament the bedded chicks, lost labour that was love:

Which hearing, one above

— Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus — that wail,

Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fare

Housemates with gods in air —

55

Suchanone sends, against who these assail,

What, late-sent, shall not fail

Of punishing — Erinus. Here as there,

The Guardian of the Guest, Zeus, the excelling one,

Sends against Alexandros either son

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Of Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,

Appointing many a tug that tries the limb,

While the knee plays the prop in dust, while, shred

To morsels, lies the spear-shaft; in those grim

Marriage-prolusions when their Fury wed

65

Danaoi and Troes, both alike. All’s said:

Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed,

So shall they be fulfilled.

Not gently-grieving, not just doling out

The drops of expiation — no, nor tears distilled —

70

Shall he we know of bring the hard about

To soft — that intense ire

At those mock rites unsanctified by fire.

But we pay nought here: through our flesh, age-weighed,

Left out from who gave aid

In that day, — we remain,

Staying on staves a strength

The equal of a child’s at length.

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For when young marrow in the breast doth reign,

That’s the old man’s match, — Ares out of place

In either: but in oldest age’s case,

Foliage a-fading, why, he wends his way

On three feet, and, no stronger than a child,

80

Wanders about gone wild,

A dream in day.

But thou, Tundareus’ daughter, Klutaimnestra queen,

What need? What new? What having heard or seen,

By what announcement’s tidings, everywhere

85

Settest thou, round about, the sacrifice a-flare?

For, of all gods the city-swaying,

Those supernal, those infernal,

Those of the fields’, those of the mart’s obeying, —

The altars blaze with gifts;

90

And here and there, heaven-high the torch uplifts

Flame-medicated with persuasions mild,

With foul admixture unbeguiled —

Of holy unguent, from the clotted chrism

Brought from the palace, safe in its abysm.

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Of these things, speaking what may be indeed

Both possible and lawful to concede,

Healer do thou become! — of this solicitude

Which, now, stands plainly forth of evil mood,

And, then . . . but from oblations, hope, to-day

100

Gracious appearing, wards away

From soul the insatiate care,

The sorrow at my breast, devouring there!

LE CHŒUR

leur couvée, tournoient au-dessus de l'aire, battant l'espace à grands battements d'ailes, frustrés de la peine prise à garder leurs petits au nid.

Et au-dessus d'eux, une divinité — est-ce Apollon, ou Pan, ou Zeus ? — entendant, clamée en langue d'oiseau, la plainte aiguë de ces hôtes du ciel ¹ , tôt ou tard dépêche aux coupables l'Érinys vengeresse.

Ainsi le puissant Zeus Hospitalier ² dépêche à Alexandre les deux fils d'Atrée ; et bientôt, pour une femme qui fut à plus d'un homme, des bras vont s'engourdir en des luttes
sans trêve, des genoux toucher la poussière, des lances se briser dès l'entrée au combat, selon le lot que Zeus réserve aux Troyens et aux Danaens à la fois ³ .

Dans quelque voie qu'à cette heure marche l'avenir, son but est fixé par le sort ⁴ . Nourris ton feu, de bois par
dessous, d'huile par-dessus : rien n'apaisera l'inflexible courroux des offrandes dont la flamme ne veut pas ⁵ .

Pour nous, dont le vieux corps ne peut payer sa dette et que l'armée partie pour soutenir nos droits a laissés
derrière elle, nous demeurons ici, guidant sur un bâton des forces pareilles à celles de l'enfance. La sève qui monte en de jeunes poitrines est toute pareille à celle des

LE CHŒUR

vieillards : Arès n'est pas là chez lui ! Et, de même, qu'est-ce qu'un très vieil homme, quand son feuillage
se flétrit ? Il marche sur trois pieds et, sans plus de

CORIFEO

immane, sovressi i giacigli

60

s' aggirano, a guisa di turbine,

librati su i remi dell'ale.

E Apolline infine ode, o Giove,

o Pane, l'acuto lamento

che mandan gli augelli, ed invia,

65

pur tarda, l'Erinni, che vendichi

gli aligeri sacri.

Cosí Giove possente, che vigila

sugli ospiti, i figli d'Atreo

contro Paride manda; e prepara

70

pei Dànai, e insiem pei Troiani,

intorno alla donna dai molti

consorti, assai zuffe e travagli,

tra un fiaccarsi di lance ai primi urti,

e ginocchia piombar nella polvere.

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Pur sia quel che sia. Bene il Fato

si deve compir. Non coi gemiti,

coi libami, né vittime ardendo,

placherai le inflessibili furie

degli Dei, se le offerte non arsero.

80

E noi, cui la carne vetusta

scema pregio, lasciati in disparte

quando mossero gli altri, attendiamo,

sugli scettri reggendo la forza

fanciullesca: ché a quello dei vecchi

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il midollo somiglia, che s'agita

CORIFEO

entro il petto dei parvoli; e Marte

non ha qui dimora.

Chorführer.

40 Zehen Jahre sind's, daß Atreus' Söhne,

Priamos' von Troia große Gegner,

König Menelas und Agamemnon,

beide Fürsten göttlichen Geblütes,

beide stolz die Fürstenwürde wahrend,

45

45 der Hellenenflotte tausend Segel

aus den Häfen unsres Landes führten,

auszufechten ihren Rachekrieg.

Chorführer.

Grimmig scholl aus ihrer Brust der Schlachtruf,

wie ein Geierpaar gen Himmel aufschreit

50

klagend um die Brut. Ihr Fittich rudert

kreisend um die Felsen durch die Lüfte,

50 wo das Nest im Frieden des Gebirges

ihre Jungen barg, die nun verschwunden,

langen Brütens Frucht, die nun zerstört.

55

60 Doch den schrillen Schrei des Vogelrufes

55 hört ein Gott, ein Herr des Hochgebirges,

Zeus, Apollon oder Pan, und Rache

für die Schutzbefohl'nen seines Reiches

nimmt er grimmig an den Übeltätern.

60

Komme sie auch spät, Vergeltung kommt.

Also hat des Gastrechts hoher Hüter

Zeus die Atreussöhne wider Paris

um das buhlerische Weib gesendet,

lange Tage voller Kampf den Troern,

65

voller Kampf bereitend den Hellenen.

Bald ist in der Schlacht der Speer zersplittert,

65 Brust steht wider Brust, die Glieder werden

schwer und steif und matt; die Ringer sinken

nieder in den Staub — und ringen fort.

70

Mag der Kampf nun stehen, wie er wolle;

weder Opferrauch noch Weihespende

70 noch blutlosen Opfers heil'ge Reinheit

drängt vom graden Pfade Gottes Willen:

einmal kommt es, wie es kommen muß.

75

Aber wir, vom Rachekriege ruhmlos

heimgeblieben, stützen mit dem Stabe

75 unsres Alters kindesgleiche Schwäche.

Denn das Kind, durch dessen weiche Glieder

Jugendsäfte rinnen, gleicht dem Greise:

80

Ares hat darinnen keine Stätte.

Und das letzte Menschenalter wieder,

80 wann das Laub am Lebensbaum vertrocknet,

Chorführer.

Der Chorführer.