Leader.
O Queen o'er Argos thronèd high,
O Woman, sister of the twain,
God's Horsemen, stars without a stain,
Whose home is in the deathless sky,
Whose glory in the sea's wild pain,
Toiling to succour men that die:
Long years above us hast thou been,
God-like for gold and marvelled power:
Ah, well may mortal eyes this hour
Observe thy state: All hail, O Queen!
Enter from the right Clytemnestra on a chariot, accompanied by richly dressed Handmaidens.
Clytemnestra.
Down from the wain, ye dames of Troy, and hold
Mine arm as I dismount. . . .
[Answering Electra's thought.
The spoils and gold
Of Ilion I have sent out of my hall
To many shrines. These bondwomen are all
I keep in mine own house . . . Deemst thou the cost
Too rich to pay me for the child I lost—
Fair though they be?
Electra.
Nay, Mother, here am I
Bond likewise, yea, and homeless, to hold high
Thy royal arm!
