EPODE. Swift-winged with thrilling note it came, The blithe news from the courier-flame; But whether true and witnessed well, Or if some god hath forged a lie, What tongue can tell? Who is so young, so green of wit, That his heart should blaze with a fever fit, At a tale of this fire-courier's telling, When a new rumour swiftly swelling, May turn him back to dole? To lift the note Of clamorous triumph ere the fight be fought, {57} Is a light chance may fitly fall, Where women wield the spear.[n46] A wandering word by woman's fond faith sped Swells and increases, But with dispersion swift a woman's tale Is lost and ceases. [_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA. CLYTEMNESTRA. Soon shall we know if the light-bearing lamps And the bright signals of the fiery changes Spake true or, dream-like, have deceived our sense With smiling semblance. For, behold, where comes, Beneath the outspread olive's branchy shade, A herald from the beach; and thirsty dust, Twin-sister of the clay, attests his speed. Not voiceless he, nor with the smoking flame Of mountain pine will bring uncertain news. His heraldry gives increase to our joy, Or--but to speak ill-omened words I shun;-- May fair addition fair beginning follow! CHORUS. Whoso fears evil where no harm appears, Reap first himself the fruit of his own fears. [_Enter_ HERALD. HERALD. Hail Argive land! dear fatherland, all hail! This tenth year's light doth shine on my return! And now this one heart's hope from countless wrecks I save! Scarce hoped I e'er to lay my bones Within the tomb where dearest dust is stored. I greet thee, native land! thee, shining sun! Thee, the land's Sovereign, Jove! thee, Pythian King, Shooting no more thy swift-winged shafts against us. Enough on red Scamander's banks we knew Thee hostile; now our saviour-god be thou, Apollo, and our healer from much harm![n47] And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight, I here revoke; and thee, my high protector, Loved Hermes, of all heralds most revered. And you, all heroes that sent forth our hosts, Bring back, I pray, our remnant with good omens. O kingly halls! O venerated seats! O dear-loved roofs, and ye sun-fronting gods,[n48] If ever erst, now on this happy day, With these bright-beaming eyes, duly receive {58} Your late returning king; for Agamemnon Comes, like the sun, a common joy to all. Greet him with triumph, as beseems the man, Who with the mattock of justice-bringing Jove Hath dug the roots of Troy, hath made its altars Things seen no more, its towering temples razed, And caused the seed of the whole land to perish. Such yoke on Ilium's haughty neck the elder Atridan threw, a king whom gods have blessed And men revere, 'mongst mortals worthy most Of honour; now nor Paris, nor in the bond Partner'd with him, old Troy more crime may boast Than penalty; duly in the court of fight, In the just doom of rape and robbery damned,