STROPHE Able am I to utter, setting forth The might from omens sprung *What met the heroes as they journeyed on, (For still, by God's great gift, My age, yet linked with strength, *Breathes suasive power of song,) How the Achæans' twin-throned majesty, Accordant rulers of the youth of Hellas, 110 With spear and vengeful hand, Were sent by fierce, strong bird 'gainst Teucrian shore, Kings of the birds to kings of ships appearing, One black, with white tail one, Near to the palace, on the spear-hand side, On station seen of all, A pregnant hare devouring with her young, Robbed of all runs to come: Wail as for Linos, wail, wail bitterly, And yet may good prevail![278] 120 ANTISTROPHE And the wise prophet of the army seeing The brave Atreidæ twain Of diverse mood, knew those that tore the hare, And those that led the host; And thus divining spake: “One day this armament Shall Priam's city sack, and all the herds Owned by the people, countless, by the towers, Fate shall with force lay low. Only take heed lest any wrath of Gods 130 Blunt the great curb of Troïa yet encamped, Struck down before its time; For Artemis the chaste that house doth hate, Her father's wingèd hounds, Who slay the mother with her unborn young, And loathes the eagles' feast. Wail as for Linos, wail, wail bitterly; And yet may good prevail! EPODE “*For she, the fair One, though so kind of heart *To fresh-dropt dew from mighty lion's womb,[279] And young that suck the teats Of all that roam the fields, 140 *Yet prays Him bring to pass The portents of those birds, The omens good yet also full of dread. And Pæan I invoke As Healer, lest she on the Danai send Delays that keep the ships Long time with hostile blasts, So urging on a new, strange sacrifice, Unblest, unfestivalled,[280] By natural growth artificer of strife, Bearing far other fruit than wife's true fear, For there abideth yet, Fearful, recurring still, Ruling the house, full subtle, unforgetting, Vengeance for children slain.”[281] 150 Such things, with great good mingled, Calchas spake, In voice that pierced the air, As destined by the birds that crossed our path To this our kingly house: And in accord with them, Wail as for Linos, wail, wail bitterly; And yet may good prevail. STROPHE I