_Agam._ Well, then, if thou wilt have it so, with speed Let some one loose my buskins[344] (servants they Doing the foot's true work), and as I tread Upon these robes sea-purpled, may no wrath From glance of Gods smite on me from afar! 920 Great shame I feel to trample with my foot This wealth of carpets, costliest work of looms; So far for this. This stranger [_pointing to_ CASSANDRA] lead thou in With kindliness. On him who gently wields His power God's eye looks kindly from afar. None of their own will choose a bondslave's life; And she, the chosen flower of many spoils, Has followed with me as the army's gift. But since I turn, obeying thee in this, I'll to my palace go, on purple treading. 930 _Clytæm._ There is a sea,—and who shall drain it dry? Producing still new store of purple juice, Precious as silver, staining many a robe. And in our house, with God's help, O my king, 'Tis ours to boast our palace knows no stint. Trampling of many robes would I have vowed, Had that been ordered me in oracles, When for my lord's return I then did plan My votive gifts. For while the root lives on, The foliage stretches even to the house, And spreads its shade against the dog-star's rage; 940 So when thou comest to thy hearth and home, Thou show'st that warmth hath come in winter time; And when from unripe clusters Zeus matures The wine,[345] then is there coolness in the house, If the true master dwelleth in his home. Ah, Zeus! the All-worker, Zeus, work out for me All that I pray for; let it be thy care To look to what Thou purposest to work.[346] [_Exeunt_ AGAMEMNON, _walking on the tapestry_, CLYTÆMNESTRA, _and her attendants_ STROPHE I _Chor._ Why thus continually Do haunting phantoms hover at the gate Of my foreboding heart? 950 Why floats prophetic song, unbought, unbidden? Why doth no steadfast trust Sit on my mind's dear throne, To fling it from me as a vision dim? Long time hath passed since stern-ropes of our ships Were fastened on the sand, when our great host Of those that sailed in ships Had come to Ilion's towers:[347] ANTISTROPHE I And now from these mine eyes 960 I learn, myself reporting to myself, Their safe return; and yet My mind within itself, taught by itself, Chanteth Erinnys' dirge, The lyreless melody, And hath no strength of wonted confidence. Not vain these inner pulses, as my heart Whirls eddying in breast oracular. I, against hope, will pray It prove false oracle. 970 STROPHE II