ANTISTROPHE IV. In vain with prayers, in vain she beats dull ears With a father's name; the war-delighting chiefs Heed not her virgin years. The father stood; and when the priests had prayed, Take her, he said; in her loose robes enfolden, Where prone and spent she lies,[n25] so lift the maid; Even as a kid is laid, So lay her on the altar; with dumb force Her beauteous[f13] mouth gag, lest it breathe a voice Of curse to Argos. STROPHE V. And as they led the maid, her saffron robe[n26] Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart She smote each from her eye, Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak, But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore; Oft at her father's festive board, With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round, The virgin strain they heard[n27] That did so sweetly pour Her father's praise, whom Heaven had richly crowned With bounty brimming o'er. {50} ANTISTROPHE V. The rest I know not, nor will vainly pry; But Calchas was a seer not wont to lie. Justice doth wait to teach Wisdom by suffering. Fate will have its way. The quickest ear is pricked in vain to-day, To catch to-morrow's note. What boots To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing,[n28] The burthen'd hour shall bring. But we, a chosen band, Left here sole guardians of the Apian land,[f14] Pray Heaven, all good betide! [_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA. CHORUS. Hail Clytemnestra! honour to thy sceptre! When her lord's throne is vacant, the wife claims His honour meetly. Queen, if thou hast heard Good news, or to the hope of good that shall be, With festal sacrifice dost fill the city, I fain would know; but nothing grudge thy silence. CLYTEMNESTRA. Bearing blithe tidings, saith the ancient saw, Fair Morn be gendered from boon mother Night! News thou shalt hear beyond thy topmost hope; The Greeks have ta'en old Priam's city. CHORUS. How! Troy taken! the word drops from my faithless ear. CLYTEMNESTRA. The Greeks have taken Troy. Can I speak plainer? CHORUS. Joy o'er my heart creeps, and provokes the tear. CLYTEMNESTRA. Thine eye accuses thee that thou art kind. CHORUS. What warrant of such news? What certain sign? CLYTEMNESTRA. Both sign and seal, unless some god deceive me. CHORUS. Dreams sometimes speak; did suasive visions move thee? CLYTEMNESTRA. Where the soul sleeps, and the sense slumbers, there Shall the wise ask for reasons? CHORUS. Ever swift Though wingless, Fame,[n29] with tidings fair hath cheered thee. CLYTEMNESTRA. Thou speak'st as one who mocks a simple girl. CHORUS. Old Troy is taken? how?--when did it fall? CLYTEMNESTRA. The self-same night that mothers this to-day. CHORUS. But how? what stalwart herald ran so fleetly? {51}