Son of Atreus, how are we to hit upon welcome that shall be fit for thee, not missing or overshooting the mark? In both condolence and congratulation men's faces often belie their hearts; thou who knowest thine own sheep, should'st be able to tell kindness from flattery. We confess, when thou wentest forth on thy expedition, thou wast to us like a face limned by an unskilled artist, in the deed thou did'st to inspire false courage. Now, without a thought unfriendly, we say--all is well that ends well, and thou wilt soon hear who has deserved well of thee in thy absence. [Observe their guarded tone.] {782} _Agamemnon_ [_the metre now settling into ordinary 'Blank Verse'_]. First thanks to the Gods by whose help we have laid Troy low, the ruins of which are still sending up clouds of smoke as sweet incense to the Deities of Vengeance. And your sentiments, both then and now, I approve: prosperity too often misses true sympathy amidst the envy it excites; envy that has the double pang of missing its own and seeing another's good. Experience has taught me the difference between professing and true friends: my unwilling comrade Ulysses alone proved true to me. As to the state we will deliberate in full counsel as to what needs preserving, and where disease calls for surgery. At present I must give thanks at my own hearth for my safe return. _Here the Central Door of the Stage is thrown open, and enter Clytaemnestra to welcome her lord, followed by attendants bearing rich draperies of purple and dazzling colors._ {827} _Clyt._ Notwithstanding your presence, Senators of Argos, I must pour out my heart to my lord. Ah! a sad thing is a wife waiting at home for her absent husband! hearing of wounds, which if true would have made you a riddled net, of deaths enough for a three-lived Geryon: again and again I have been stopped with the noose already on my neck! This is the reason why you see not your son Orestes: wonder not, he is being brought up by an ally to whom I sent him, lest danger befall us. I cannot weep; my tears have run dry by my weepings and sleepless watchings for the beacon. Now at ease I hail my lord-- as watch-dog of the fold, The stay that saves the ship, of lofty roof {870} Main column-prop, a father's only child, Land that beyond all hope the sailor sees, Morn of great brightness following after storm, Clear-flowing fount to thirsty traveller.