The watchman is gone, and the Chorus, twelve old Argive senators, troop in and take their place. No sounds of all that we have heard in the preceding plays seem to equal the grandeur of this half-triumphant, half-desponding song. The Greek fleet sail forth proudly, led by the "twin-throned, twin-sceptred pair," Menelaus and Agamemnon,—
"And loud and fierce their battle-clang,
Like screams of angry vultures rang,"
as they go, heaven-sent, to punish Paris, and bring alike on Greece and Troy
"Many a wild and wearying strife,
With failing knees bowed to the dust,
And lances shivering in their onward thrust."
Then the sad prophetic note is struck again:—
"But be the issue as it may,
Eternal fate will hold its way;
Nor lips that pray, nor eyes that weep,
Nor cups that rich libations steep,
Soothe those dark Powers' relentless ire,
Whose altars never flame with hallowed fire."
And now the whole city is seen ablaze with the fires of sacrifice, and the Chorus guesses that Clytemnestra has received the long-wished-for tidings. While they wait, eager to hear if this be so, their song takes up the story of the journey of the fleet to Troy.
An awful portent had appeared on the way to the two monarchs. Two eagles, while the host was starting, were seen close by the palace, preying on a hare,
