In Argos; nor to music of my loom
Shall Pallas' image grow
Splendid in strife Titanic:[1]—in my doom
Blood-streams mid groanings flow,
The ghastly music made of strangers laid
On altars, piteous-weeping!
Yet from these horrors now my thoughts have strayed,
Afar to Argos leaping230
To wail Orestes dead—a kingdom's heir!
Ah, hands of my lost mother
At my departing clasped, her bosom bare
The babe-face of my brother!
Chorus.
Lo, yonder from the sea-shore one hath come,
A herdman bearing tidings unto thee.
Enter Herdman.
Herdman.
Agamemnon's daughter, Klytemnestra's child,
Hear the strange story that I bring to thee!
Iphigeneia.
What cause is in thy tale for this amaze?[2]240
Herdman.
Unto the land, through those blue Clashing Rocks
Sped by the oar-blades, two young men be come,
A welcome offering and sacrifice
