For every multitude, be it army or state,
Takes tone from those who rule it, and all taint
Of disobedience from bad counsel springs.
I have spoken. May the Atridae’s enemy
Be dear to Heaven, as he is loved by me!
Ch. Mother of mightiest Zeus, 1
Feeder of all that live,
Who from thy mountainous breast
Rivers of gold dost give!
To thee, O Earth, I cried that shameful day,
When insolence from Atreus’ sons went forth
Full on our lord: when they bestowed away
His father’s arms to crown Odysseus’ worth;
Thou, whom bull-slaughtering lions yoked bear,
O mighty mother, hear!
Phi. Your coming is commended by a grief
That makes you kindly welcome. For I feel
A chord that vibrates to your voice, and tells,
Thus have Odysseus and the Atridae wrought.
Full well I know, Odysseus’ poisoned tongue
Shrinks from no mischief nor no guileful word
That leads to bad achievement in the end.
This moves not my main marvel, but if one
Saw this and bore it,—Aias of the shield.
Neo. Ah, friend, he was no more. Had he but lived,
This robbery had ne’er been wrought on me.
Phi. What? Is he too departed?
Neo. He is dead.
The light no more beholds him.
Phi. Oh! alas!
But Tydeus’ offspring, and the rascal birth
Laërtes bought of Sisyphus, they live:
I know it. For their death were to be wished.
Neo. Yea, be assured, they live and flourish high
Exalted in the host of Argive men.
Phi. And Nestor, my old friend, good aged man,
Is he yet living? Oft he would prevent
Their evils, by the wisdom of his thought.
