Shall I conjecture right if I take this To be his Queen? She has a queenly look. CHORUS. Thou'rt right again; the Queen indeed she is. PAEDAGOGOS. Hail, royal lady. From a friend I bring News good for thee and for Aegisthus too. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Thy words are pleasing to mine ear; but first I must inquire of thee, who sent thee here? PAEDAGOGOS. The Phocian Phanoteus, on errand grave. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Say what it is; for as the name is dear Of him that sent thee, glad will be thy news. PAEDAGOGOS. Orestes is no more: that is the sum. ELECTRA. Alas! alas! I am undone this day. CLYTAEMNESTRA. What? what? repeat it; listen not to her. PAEDAGOGOS. Again, I say, Orestes is no more. ELECTRA. It is my death-blow; I am lost, am lost. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Look to thyself, girl. Stranger, tell me true, In what way was it that he met his doom? PAEDAGOGOS. To this end was I sent; thou shalt hear all. To those great games, the pride of Hellas, came Orestes, fain to win the Delphic prize. There, when he heard the herald with loud voice Proclaim the race, which is the first event, He entered, dazzling, and admired of all; And shooting swift from starting-post to goal, Bore off the prize of glorious victory. Briefly to speak, exploits so marvellous, Such proofs of prowess, never did I see. Know that in every foot-race that as wont The presidents proclaimed, he, midst the cheers Of gratulating crowds, bore off the prize; While heralds loud proclaimed the victor's name, Argive Orestes, Agamemnon's son, Heir to the glory of that conqueror. So far he prospered; but when heaven decrees That man shall fall, man's might is vain to save. Another day, when in the early morn, The chariot race was held upon the course, Orestes came with many a charioteer. One an Achaean, one a Spartan, was; Two with their cars from distant Lybia came; Orestes with his steeds of Thessaly The fifth, the sixth was an Aetolian, With bright bay steeds; then a Magnesian, Then with white steeds an Aeneanian came; Athens, the god-built city, sent the ninth; In the tenth chariot a Boeotian rode. Taking their stand, each where his lot was drawn, And as the masters of the games ordained, At trumpet's sound they started, and at once, All shouting to their steeds, they shook the reins To urge them onwards, while the course was filled With din of rattling chariots; rose the dust In clouds, the racers, mingled in a throng, Plied, each of them, the goad unsparingly, To clear the press of cars and snorting steeds, So close, they felt the horses' breath behind, And all the whirling wheels were flecked with foam. Orestes showed his skill once and again, Grazing the pillar at the course's end, The near horse well in hand, his mate let go. So far had all the chariots safely run; But now the hard-mouthed Aeneanian steeds O'erpowered their driver, and in wheeling round, Just as, the sixth stretch past, the seventh began, Dashed front to front on the Barcaean car.