Oresteia

frame, discarded from that martial mustering of long ago, bide here at home, supporting on our staves a strength like unto a child’s. For as the vigour of youth, leaping up within the breast, is like unto that of age, since the war-god Ares, the god of war is not in his place; so over-age, its leafage already withering, goeth its way on triple feet, and, no better than a child, wandereth, a dream that is dreamed by day.

But, O daughter of Tyndareôs, Queen Clytaemestra, what hath befallen? What tidings hast thou? On what intelligence and convinced by what report is it that thou sendest about thy messengers to enjoin sacrifice? For all the gods our city worships, the gods supreme, the gods below, the gods of the heavens and of the mart, have their altars ablaze with offerings. Now here, now there, the flames rise high as heaven, yielding to the soft and guileless persuasion of hallowed unguent, even the sacrificial oil brought from the inner chambers of the palace. Of all this declare whatsoever thou canst and durst reveal, and be the healer of my soul distraught, which now at one moment bodeth ill, and then again hope, shining with kindly light from the