But you, daughter of Leda, queen Clytaemnestra,
what now, what news, what message drives
you through the citadel burning victims? Look,
the city gods, the gods of Olympus, gods of the
earth and public markets -all the altars blazing
with your gifts!Argos blazes! Torches race the
sunrise up her skies – drugged by the lulling holy
oils, unadulterated, run from the dark vaults of
kings. Tell us the news! What you can, what is right
-Heal us, soothe our fears! Now the darkness comes
to the fore, now the hope glows through your victims,
beating back this raw, relentless anguish gnawing at the heart.
Clytaemnesta ignores them and pursues her
rituals; they a**emble for the opening chorus.
O but I still have power to sound the god's command
at theroads that launched the kings. The gods breathe
power through my song, my fighting strength,
Persuasion grows with the years - I sing how the flight
of fury hurled the twin command, one will that hurled
young Greece and winged the spear of vengeance
straight for Troy! The kings of birds to kings of the
beaking prows, one black, one with a blaze of silver skimmed
the palace spearhand right and swooping lower, all
could see, plunged their claws in a hare, a mother bursting with
unborn young - the babies spilling, quick spurts of blood - cut
off the race just dashing into life!
Cry, cry for d**h, but good win out in glory in the end.
But the loyal seer of the armies studied Atreus' sons, two sons
with warring hearts - he saw two eagle-kings devour the hare and
spoke the things to come, 'Years pa**, and the long hunt nets
the city of Priam, the flocks beyond the walls, a kingdom's life
and soul - Fate stamps them out. Just let no curse of the gods
lour on us first, shatter our giant armour forged to strangle
Troy. I see pure Artemis bristle in pity - yes, the flying hounds
of the Father slaughter for armies... their own victim.. a woman trembling young, all born to die - She loathes the eagles' feast!' Cry, cry for d**h, but good win out in glory in the end.