Chorus: 'Tis sweet for one in grief to know
That he but feels a common woe;1010
And lighter falls the stroke of care
Which all with equal sorrow bear;
For selfish and malign is human grief1015
Which in the tears of others finds relief.
Remove all men to fortune born,
And none will think himself forlorn;
Remove rich acres spreading wide,1020
With grazing herds on every side:
Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,
For none are poor if all in common thrive.1025
The mariner his fate bewails,
Who in a lonely vessel sails,
And, losing all his scanty store,
With life alone attains the shore;
But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,
That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves.1030
When Phrixus fled in days of old
Upon the ram with fleece of gold,
His sister Helle with him fared
And all his exiled wanderings shared;
But when she fell and left him quite alone,
Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone.1035
Not so they wept, that fabled pair,
Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,
When 'midst the boundless sea they stood
The sole survivors of the flood;
For though their lot was hard and desolate,
They shared their sorrow—'twas a common fate.1040
Too soon our grieving company
Shall scatter on the rolling sea,
Where swelling sails and bending oars1045
Shall speed us on to distant shores.
Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,
When far away our country lies,
And round us heaving billows rise,
And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.
Then mother shall her child embrace,1050
And point with straining eyes the place
Where Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,
Far off beneath the eastern sky:
"See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,
Where wreathing smoke in murky clouds
The distant, dim horizon shrouds;
And by that sign alone our land we know."1055
Messenger [entering]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!
What sight so fell and bloody have we seen
In ten long years of war? Between thy woes,
Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,
I halt, and know not which to weep the more.
Hecuba: Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt—thou weepest mine.1060
While others bow beneath their single cares,
I feel the weight of all. All die to me;
Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.
Messenger: The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.
But each has met his death with royal soul.
Andromache: Expound the deed in order, and display1065
The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fain
To hear the gruesome narrative entire.
Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.
Messenger: One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,
Well known to Priam, on whose battlements
He used to sit and view his warring hosts.1070
Here in his arms his grandson he would hold
With kind embrace, and bid the lad admire
His father's warlike deeds upon the field,
Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursued
The frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower1075
Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,
But now a lonely crag, the people pour,
A motley, curious throng of high and low.
For some, a distant hill gives open view;
While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge1080
The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.
The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;
The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.
One climbs a smouldering roof; unto another
A crumbling wall precarious footing gives;1085
While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.
Now through the thronging crowd with stately tread
Ulysses makes his way, and by the hand
He leads the little prince of Ilium.
With equal pace the lad approached the wall;1090
But when he reached the lofty battlement,
He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.
And as the savage lion's tender young,
Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,
Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;1095
So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,
Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,
And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.
But he alone wept not of all the throng
Who wept for him. And now Ulysses spake
In priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,1100
And summoned to the rite the savage gods;
When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,
The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plunged
Into the depths below.—
Andromache: What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,
What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea1105
Could do or dare a crime so hideous?
No blood of helpless children ever stained
Busiris' altars, monster though he was;
Nor did the horses of the Thracian king
E'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?
Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?1110
Messenger: Alas, my lady, how can aught remain
From such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,
Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signs
In face and feature of his royal birth,
Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?
Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.1115
Andromache: Thus also is he like his noble sire.
Messenger: When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,
And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crime
Which it had seen and done; that selfsame throng
Returned to witness yet another crime1120
Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward side
Is beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;
While on the other sides a level space,
And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,
Encompass it, and make a theater.
Here rush the multitude and fill the place1125
With eager throngs. A few rejoice that now
Their homeward journey's long delay will end,
And that another prop of fallen Troy
Is stricken down. But all the common herd
Look on in silence at the crime they hate.
The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,1130
And wait with quaking hearts the final scene
Of Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shone
The gleaming torches of the wedding march;
And, as the bride's attendant, Helen came
With drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:
"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,1135
With bloody rites; like this may Helena
Return unto her lord." Then numbing dread
Seized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheld
The maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,
But on her face a wondrous beauty glowed
In flaming splendor, as the setting sun
Lights up the sky with beams more beautiful,1140
When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.
All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,
And some her tender age and hapless fate;
But all, her dauntless courage in the face1145
Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;
And as they looked, the souls of all were filled
With quaking terror, pity, and amaze.
But when she reached the summit of the mound
And stood upon the lofty sepulcher,1150
Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.
And now she turned her to the stroke of death
With eyes so fierce and fearless that she smote
The hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,
E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.
But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,1155
He drove the weapon deep within her breast;
And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forth
In sudden streams. But still the noble maid
Did not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,
Though in the act of death. For in her fall
She smote the earth with angry violence,
As if to make it heavy for the dead.
Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned1160
With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;
But openly the victors voiced their grief.
And now the savage rite was done. The blood
Stood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;
But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,
As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.
Hecuba: Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.1165
With spreading sails your fleet in safety now
May cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boy
Are slain, the war is done. Oh, whither now
Shall I betake me in my wretchedness?
Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?
My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,1170
My husband, country—or myself alone?
O death, my sole desire, for boys and maids
Thou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;
But me alone of mortals dost thou fear
And shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,
I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,1175
But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,
Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could give
The death I sought. And yet how near I stood
To agéd Priam's side when he was slain!
Messenger: Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;
The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.
Ghost of Thyestes: Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm
And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,
All doubting which abode I hate the more;
That world I flee, but this I put to flight.
My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear.5
I see my father's house—my brother's too!
Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;
In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont
To crown their kings; here sit those overlords
Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield;10
Here is their council chamber—here they feast!
Let me go hence. Were it not better far
To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,
And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?
Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel,15
Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil
Is mocked forever by the rolling stone;
Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,
Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,
By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain20
To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment
For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.
But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!
Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth
Make them to tremble at the bar of hell:
By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;—25
But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine
Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh
Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot
With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;
But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek
(Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms.30
Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,
And so fearful cycle was complete:
As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.
Then were the laws of nature backward turned:
I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;
Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join,35
And drove the day back to the shades of night.
But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,
Hath had regard unto my evil plight,
And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,
This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,
This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag40
A thousand Grecian vessels following
Once filled the Trojan waters with their sails.
Now ten bright suns have run their course, and Troy
Has been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand—
To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.
Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,
But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts45
I see, and that proud head with murderous stroke
Asunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,
Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.
The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,
Is come at last. But why hangs down thy head
In shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand50
And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel take
Within thy heart, and turn away, and ask
Whether this deed become thee? Do but think
Upon thy mother; then wilt thou confess
It doth become thee well. But what drags out
In long delay this summer night's brief span
To winter's hours of darkness? And what cause
Prevents the stars from sinking in the sky?55
The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,
That so he may bring back the light of day.
Chorus of Argive women: On fortune's headlong brink they stand
Who hold the scepter in their hand;
No safe assurance can they know60
Who on too lofty pathways go:
But care on care pursues them to the last,
Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.
As seas on Libya's sandy shore
Their waves in ceaseless billows pour;65
As Euxine's swelling waters rise
Beneath the lowering northern skies,
Where bright Boötes wheels his team
High o'er the ocean's darksome stream:70
With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,
Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!
Who would be feared, in fear must live.
No kindly night can refuge give;
Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,75
Can bring care-freedom to his breast.
What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,
That may not be destroyed by impious hands?
For justice, shame, the virtues all,
E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall80
Where courtiers dwell. Within, there stands
Bellona dire with bloody hands;
Erinys too, the dogging fate,
Of them who hold too high estate,
Which any hour from high to low may bring.85
Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,
Still is the will of fortune done:
By force of his own greatness falls the king.
'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail90
Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;
The tower feels rainy Auster's dread
If to the clouds it rear its head;
Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;95
High mountains most with thunder crash;
And while the common herd in safety feeds,
Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.100
Fate places us on high, that so
The meanest things in longest fortune live.
Then happy he whose modest soul
In safety seeks a nearer goal;105
Fearing to leave the friendly shore,
He rows with unambitious oar,
Content in low security to thrive.
Clytemnestra: Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?
Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.
Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch,110
And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;
But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,
The homely virtues, honor, piety,
And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.
Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;
The safest way through crime is by the path115
Of greater crime. Consider in thy heart
All woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,
Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;
What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;
Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,
Who left her father's realm for Thessaly:120
Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flight
Must thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.
But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?
Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,
Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.
Nurse: O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,125
What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?
Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,
By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?
Though thou be silent, yet thy face declares
Thy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.
Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.
Time often cures what reason cannot heal.130
Clytemnestra: Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.
My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:
I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,
The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,
Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke135
Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.
And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,
Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,
Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:
As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,
The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.140
And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.
Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,
There will I speed my course; my helmless ship
I've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.
Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.
Nurse: Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance.145
Clytemnestra: Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?
Nurse: Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.
Clytemnestra: Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.
Nurse: Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?
Clytemnestra: To stop midway in sin is foolishness.150
Nurse: His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.
Clytemnestra: But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.
Nurse: Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.
Clytemnestra: The path of sin is headlong from the first.
Nurse: Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back.155
Clytemnestra: What long-deserted wife regards her lord?
Nurse: Your common children—hast no thought of them?
Clytemnestra: I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,
High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.
Nurse: She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,160
And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.
Clytemnestra: Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born child
Of Tyndarus, should give my daughter up
To save the Grecian fleet! I see once more
In memory my daughter's wedding day,
Which he made worthy of base Pelops' house,165
When, with his pious face, this father stood
Before the altar fires—Oh, monstrous rites!
E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread words
And backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,
That ever wades through crime to other crime!
With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.170
Nurse: Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.
Clytemnestra: But not with favoring omens did they sail;
The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.
So launched in war, he still no better fared.
Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,175
He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,
E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.
Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,
Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates
(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180
Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.
When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,
This man with passion pined, had time for love,
Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch
Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185
He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,
Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.
Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,
And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.
And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,190
A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!
Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;
Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, wait
Till Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?
Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,195
Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?
Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,
Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,
A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.
Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepare
To drive the sword, and so slay two in one.200
Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.
For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.
Nurse: My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,
And think how great thy task. Atrides comes
Wild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;205
He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.
'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,
Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,
Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;
Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;210
Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;
Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;
Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;
Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;
Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;215
Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;
Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,
Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?
This hero, home returned, dost thou prepare
To slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?
Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?220
Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,
The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,
The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,
Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:
Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,
And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.225
Aegisthus: The fatal day which I was born to see,
Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.
Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,
And turn away from action scarce begun?
Be sure that not thy hand is ordering
These dire events, but the relentless gods.230
Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fate
And let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.
To one of shameful birth death is a boon.
[Enter Clytemnestra.]
Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,
Be with me still in this; and thy false lord,235
This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.
But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?
What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?
Clytemnestra: My husband's love has met and conquered me.
Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,240
To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;
Let even now fair fame be sought again;
For never is it over late to mend.
Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.
Aegisthus: What madness this? Dost thou believe or hope
That Agamemnon will be true to thee?245
Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,
Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;
Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,
Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.
Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;
How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on250
His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?
Mycenae's king he went; he will return
Her tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.
With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!
But one of these, surpassing all the rest,
Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.255
And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?
But she will not. A wife's last infamy—
To see her rival ruling in her stead.
No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.
Clytemnestra: Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,260
And fan to flames again my dying wrath?
For if the victor has his right employed,
To work his will upon a captive maid,
His wife should not complain or reck of this.
The law that binds the man fits not the king.
And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,265
Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?
Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.
Aegisthus: In very truth there's room for mutual grace.
But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.
Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself270
A milder law in gentler mood apply.
And this they deem the highest pledge of power,
If, what to common mortals is denied,
Is given by general will to them alone.
Clytemnestra: He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,
To Menelaüs joined, though East and West
Have been engulfed for her in common woe.
Aegisthus: But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,275
Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.
Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.
Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:
What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,
When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?280
Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and return
Unto thy father's house? No shelter waits
The scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.
Clytemnestra: None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.
Aegisthus: In vain: no faith is found in royal courts.285
Clytemnestra: But surely gifts will buy fidelity.
Aegisthus: Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.
Clytemnestra: My strength and purity of soul revive.
Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,
Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?290
Dost think that I would leave a king of kings
And stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?
Aegisthus: What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,
Who am Thyestes' son?
Clytemnestra: Why, so thou art,
And grandson too.
Aegisthus: My getting shames me not;
For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.
Clytemnestra: Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,295
Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,
Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he behold
Thy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,
Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?
Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes300
Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;
This home is waiting for its king and lord.
Aegisthus: Exile is naught to me, for I am used
To woe. At thy command I'll farther flee
Than from this house: I but await thy word
To plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.
305
Clytemnestra [aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?
Who sin in company should suffer so.
[To Aegisthus.]
Nay, come with me; we will together wait
The issue of our dark and dangerous fate.
Chorus:[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned;
310
With festal laurel wreathe your heads;
And let your virgin locks flow free,
Ye Argive maids.
And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,
Who dwell by Eurotas,315
Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus
Come join in our singing;
And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,
Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,
Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.320
Now peace has come:
Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,
Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,
And let thy tuneful lyre resound
To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.325
No lofty strain be thine today,
But such as on thy milder lyre
Thou art wont to sound when the learnéd muse
Surveys thy sports.
And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain,330
As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome
By Jupiter's hurtling bolts;
When mountain on lofty mountain piled,
Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,
Built high to the sky for the impious monsters335
Their ladder's rocky rounds.
Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,
Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord.340
Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.
Thou alone dost protect us,
Anxious and suppliant;
Thou art the goddess of peace,
And the issues of war are thine;345
And thine are the laurels of victory twined
On the brow of our king Agamemnon.
To thee the boxwood flute resounds
In solemn festival;
To thee the maidens strike the harp350
In sweetest song;
To thee the votive torch is tossed;
The gleaming heifer, all unmarred
By the plow's rough touch
Falls at thy shrine.355
And thou, child of the Thunderer,
Pallas illustrious, hear;
Before whose might the Dardanian walls
Have trembled and fallen to dust.
Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united360
Exalt and adore; at thy approach
Thy temple doors swing open wide,
While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,
Rejoice at thy coming;
And feeble, tottering elders come
To pay their vows of thanks and praise,365
And pour their offerings of wine
With trembling hands.
And to thee with mindful lips we pray,
Bright Trivia, Lucina called.
Thy native Delos didst thou bid
Stand fast upon the sea, and float370
No more, the wandering mock of winds.
And now, with firmly fixéd root,
It stands secure, defies the gale,
And, wont of old to follow ships,
Now gives them anchorage.
Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt375
Who thy divinity defied.
Now, high on lonely Sipylus,
She sits and weeps in stony grief;
Though to insensate marble turned,
Her tears flow fresh forevermore.
And now both men and women join380
In praise to the twin divinities.
But thee, above all gods, we praise;
Our father and our ruler thou,
Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,
At whose dread nod the farthest poles
Do quake and tremble.
O Jove, thou founder of our race,385
Accept our gifts, and have regard
Unto thy faithful progeny.
But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,
With wonted signs of victory displayed;
For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears—390
Eurybates, our king's own messenger.