_Chor._ I come, O Clytæmnestra, honouring Thy majesty: 'tis meet to pay respect To a chief's wife, the man's throne empty left: 250 But whether thou hast heard good news, or else In hopes of tidings glad dost sacrifice, I fain would hear, yet will not silence blame. _Clytæm._ May Morning, as the proverb runs, appear Bearing glad tidings from his mother Night![291] Joy thou shalt learn beyond thy hope to hear; For Argives now have taken Priam's city. _Chor._ What? Thy words sound so strange they flit by me. _Clytæm._ The Achæans hold Troïa. Speak I clear enough? 260 _Chor._ Joy creeps upon me, drawing forth my tears. _Clytæm._ Of loyal heart thine eyes give token true. _Chor._ What witness sure hast thou of these events? _Clytæm._ Full clear (how else?) unless the God deceive.[292] _Chor._ Reliest thou on dreams or visions seen? _Clytæm._ I place no trust in mind weighed down with sleep.[293] _Chor._ Hath then some wingless omen charmed thy soul?[294] _Clytæm._ My mind thou scorn'st, as though 'twere but a girl's. _Chor._ What time has passed since they the city sacked? _Clytæm._ This very night, the mother of this morn. 270 _Chor._ What herald could arrive with speed like this? _Clytæm._ Hephæstos flashing forth bright flames from Ida: Beacon to beacon from that courier-fire Sent on its tidings; Ida to the rock[295] Hermæan named, in Lemnos: from the isle The height of Athos, dear to Zeus, received A third great torch of flame, and lifted up, So as on high to skim the broad sea's back, The stalwart fire rejoicing went its way; The pine-wood, like a sun, sent forth its light Of golden radiance to Makistos' watch; 280 And he, with no delay, nor unawares Conquered by sleep, performed his courier's part: Far off the torch-light, to Eurîpos' straits Advancing, tells it to Messapion's guards: They, in their turn, lit up and passed it on, Kindling a pile of dry and aged heath. Still strong and fresh the torch, not yet grown dim, Leaping across Asôpos' plain in guise Like a bright moon, towards Kithæron's rock, Roused the next station of the courier flame. 290 And that far-travelled light the sentries there Refused not, burning more than all yet named: And then the light swooped o'er Gorgôpis' lake, And passing on to Ægiplanctos' mount, Bade the bright fire's due order tarry not; And they, enkindling boundless store, send on A mighty beard of flame, and then it passed The headland e'en that looks on Saron's gulf, Still blazing. On it swept, until it came To Arachnæan heights, the watch-tower near; 300 Then here on the Atreidæ's roof it swoops, This light, of Ida's fire no doubtful heir. Such is the order of my torch-race games; One from another taking up the course,[296] But here the winner is both first and last; And this sure proof and token now I tell thee,