Chorus Leader.
Soon shall we know whether the signal fires,
The swift relays of courier-light be true,
Or whether, dreamlike, they beguiled our minds
With grateful splendour;—Yonder, from the coast,
A herald comes, shaded with laurel boughs;
While Clay's twin-brother, thirsty Dust, attests
That neither voiceless, nor of mountain wood
Kindling the blaze, will he report in smoke; 480
No,—either will his voice announce more joy,
Or,—but ill-omened words I deprecate.
Be omens fair with fair assurance crown'd!
May he who 'gainst the state breathes other prayer,
First reap the fruit of his malignant thought.
[Enter Herald.]
Herald.
Oh soil of Argos, oh my native land,
In light of this tenth year to thee I come;
While many a hope hath snapt, this one still holds,
For ne'er I counted, dying here, to share
Beloved sepulture in Argive soil. 490
Now hail, O earth, bright sunlight hail, and Zeus,
Supreme o'er Argos.
[Here the Herald salutes the statues of the gods in the orchestra.]
Thou too, Pythian king,
With thy fell darts assailing us no more;
Let it suffice that on Scamander's banks
Thy mien was hostile;—now, Apollo, lord,
