Chor. Hush such ill-omened words; for, lo! I see
One coming crowned, as if for joyful news.
Enter Messenger, his head crowned with laurel.
Mess. My mistress, Deianeira, first of all180
That come as couriers, I will free thy soul
From every fear. Know then, Alcmena's son
Is living, and, victorious in the fight,
Brings his first-fruits unto his country's Gods.
Deian. What news is this, old man, thou bring'st to me?
Mess. That he, thy husband, praised of many men,
Will soon appear in strength of victory.
Deian. What townsman, or what stranger, told thee this?
Mess. In the wide meadow where the oxen graze,
Lichas the herald tells it to the crowd,
And I, thus hearing him, rushed forth at once,190
That I might be the first to tell it thee,
Gain some fair guerdon, and thy favour win.
Deian. If all goes well, why comes he not himself?
Mess. But little ease is there for him, Ο lady;
For all the Melian people stand around,
With eager quest, nor has he power to move,
For each one seeks to learn the uttermost,
And will not slack his craving till he hear
His heart's desire. Thus he, against his will,
With them, to meet their will, abides a while;
But thou shalt see him stand before thee soon.
Deian. Ο Zeus, who rulest Œta's unmown mead,[1]200
Though tardily, thou giv'st us fullest joy.
Shout, Ο ye maidens, shout, beneath the roof,
And ye beyond the courtyard, for we gain
- ↑ Meadows consecrated to the Gods were never ploughed or mown.
