[_The_ CHORUS, _having now arranged themselves into a regular band in the middle of the Orchestra, sing the First_ CHORAL HYMN. CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE. I'll voice the strain.[n12] What though the arm be weak That once was strong, The suasive breath of Heaven-sent memories stirs The old man's breast with song. My age hath virtue left {46} To sing what fateful omens strangely beckoned The twin kings to the fray, What time to Troy concentuous marched The embattled Greek array. Jove's swooping bird, king of all birds,[f5] led on The kings of the fleet with spear and vengeful hand: By the way-side from shining seats serene, Close by the palace, on the spear-hand seen,[f6] Two eagles flapped the air, One black, the other silver-tipt behind, And with keen talons seized a timorous hare, Whose strength could run no more, Itself, and the live burden which it bore. Sing woe and well-a-day! But still May the good omens shame the ill. ANTISTROPHE. The wise diviner of the host[f7] beheld, And knew the sign; The hare-devouring birds with diverse wings Typed the Atridan pair, The diverse-minded kings;[n13] And thus the fate he chaunted:--Not in vain Ye march this march to-day; Old Troy shall surely fall, but not Till moons on moons away Have lingering rolled. Rich stores by labour massed Clean-sweeping Fate shall plunder. Grant the gods, While this strong bit for Troy we forge with gladness, No heavenly might in jealous wrath o'ercast Our mounting hope with sadness. For the chaste Artemis[f8] a sore grudge nurses Against the kings; Jove's winged hounds she curses,[n14] The fierce war-birds that tore The fearful hare, with the young brood it bore. Sing woe and well-a-day! but still May the good omens shame the ill. {47} EPODE. The lion's fresh-dropt younglings, and each whelp That sucks wild milk, and through the forest roves, Live not unfriended; them the fair goddess loves,[n15] And lends her ready help. The vision of the birds shall work its end In bliss, but dashed not lightly with black bane;[f9] I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send[n16] Contrarious blasts dark-lowering, to detain The Argive fleet. Ah! ne'er may she desire to feast her eyes On an unblest unholy sacrifice, From festal use abhorrent, mother of strife, And sundering from her lawful lord the wife.[f10] Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath[n17] About the fore-doomed halls, Weaving dark wiles, while with sure-memoried sting Fury to Fury calls. Thus hymned the seer, the doom, in dubious chaunt Bliss to the chiefs dark-mingling with the bane, From the way-haunting birds; and we Respondent to the strain, Sing woe and well-a-day! but still May the good omens shame the ill.