To thee the maidens strike the harp 350 In sweetest song; To thee the votive torch is tossed; The gleaming heifer, all unmarred By the plow's rough touch Falls at thy shrine. 355 And thou, child of the Thunderer, Pallas illustrious, hear; Before whose might the Dardanian walls Have trembled and fallen to dust. Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united 360 Exalt and adore; at thy approach Thy temple doors swing open wide, While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked, Rejoice at thy coming; And feeble, tottering elders come To pay their vows of thanks and praise, 365 And pour their offerings of wine With trembling hands. And to thee with mindful lips we pray, Bright Trivia, Lucina called. Thy native Delos didst thou bid Stand fast upon the sea, and float 370 No more, the wandering mock of winds. And now, with firmly fixéd root, It stands secure, defies the gale, And, wont of old to follow ships, Now gives them anchorage. Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt 375 Who thy divinity defied. Now, high on lonely Sipylus, She sits and weeps in stony grief; Though to insensate marble turned, Her tears flow fresh forevermore. And now both men and women join 380 In praise to the twin divinities. But thee, above all gods, we praise; Our father and our ruler thou, Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt, At whose dread nod the farthest poles Do quake and tremble. O Jove, thou founder of our race, 385 Accept our gifts, and have regard Unto thy faithful progeny. But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste, With wonted signs of victory displayed; For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears-- 390 Eurybates, our king's own messenger. FOOTNOTES: [51] The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus. ACT III [_Enter_ Eurybates _with laurel-wreathed spear_.] _Eurybates:_ Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods, Ye Lares of my fathers, after long And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks. Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven, Ye Argive people; for behold, your king, 395 The pride and glory of this land of Greece, Back to his father's house as victor comes. [_Enter_ Clytemnestra _in time to hear the concluding words of the herald_.] _Clytemnestra:_ Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear! But where delays my lord, whom I with grief For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?