(One Elder) Heralded by a beacon of good tidings a swift report has spread throughout the town. Yet whether it is true, or some deception of the gods, who knows?
(A Second Elder) Who is so childish or so bereft of sense, once he has let his heart be fired by sudden news of a beacon fire, to despair if the story changes?
(A Third Elder) It is just like a woman’s eager nature to yield assent to pleasing news before yet the truth is clear.
(A Fourth Elder) Too credulous, a woman’s mind has boundaries open to quick encroachment; but quick to perish is rumor spread by a woman.
(Leader Of The Chorus) We shall soon know about this passing on of flaming lights and beacon signals and fires, whether they perhaps are true or whether, dream-like, this light’s glad coming has beguiled our senses. Look! I see approaching from the shore a herald crowned with boughs of olive. The thirsty dust, consorting sister of the mud, assures me that neither by pantomime nor by kindling a flame of mountain wood will he signal with smoke of fire. Either in plain words he will bid us to rejoice the more, or—but I have little love for the report opposite to this! May still further good be added to the good that has appeared!
(ANOTHER ELDER) Whoever makes this prayer with other intent toward the state, let him reap himself the fruit of his misguided purpose!
Herald All hail, soil of Argos, land of my fathers! On this happy day in the tenth year I have come to you. Many hopes have shattered, one only have I seen fulfilled; for I never dared to dream that here in this land of Argos I should die and have due portion of burial most dear to me. Now blessings on the land, blessings on the light of the sun, and blessed be Zeus, the land’s Most High, and the Pythian lord; and may he launch no more his shafts against us. Enough of your hostility did you display by Scamander’s banks; but now, in other mood, be our preserver and our healer, O lord Apollo. And the gods gathered here, I greet them all; him, too, my own patron, Hermes, beloved herald, of heralds all revered; and the heroes who sped us forth, I pray that they may receive back in kindliness the remnant of the host which has escaped the spear. Hail, halls of our kings, beloved roofs, and you august seats, and you divinities that face the sun, if ever you did in days gone by, now after long lapse of years, with gladness in your eyes receive your king. For bearing light in darkness to you and to all assembled here alike, he has returned—Agamemnon, our king. Oh greet him well, as is right, since he has uprooted Troy with the mattock of Zeus the Avenger, with which her soil has been uptorn. Demolished are the altars and the shrines of her gods; and the seed of her whole land has been wasted utterly. Upon the neck of Troy he has cast such a yoke. Now he has come home, our king, Atreus’ elder son, a man of happy fate, worthy of honor beyond all living men. For neither Paris nor his partner city can boast that the deed was greater than the suffering. Convicted for robbery and for theft as well, he has lost the plunder and has razed in utter destruction his father’s house and even the land. The sons of Priam have paid a twofold penalty for their sins.
Chorus Joy to you, Herald from the Achaean host!
Herald I do rejoice. I will no longer refuse to die, if that pleases the gods.
Chorus Was it yearning for this your fatherland that wore you out?
Herald Yes, so that my eyes are filled with tears for joy.
Chorus It was then a pleasing malady from which you suffered.
Herald How so? Teach me, and I shall master what you say.
Chorus You were smitten with desire for those who returned your love.
Herald Do you mean that our land longed for the longing host?
Chorus Longed so, that often from a darkly brooding spirit I have sighed.
Herald Where did this gloom of melancholy upon your spirit come from?
Chorus Long since have I found silence an antidote to harm.
Herald How so? Did you fear anyone when our princes were gone?
Chorus In such fear that now, in your own words, even death would be great joy.
Herald Yes, all’s well, well ended. Yet, of what occurred in the long years, one might well say that part fell out happily, and part in turn amiss. But who, unless he is a god, is free from suffering all his days? For were I to recount our hardships and our wretched quarters, the scanty space and the sorry berths——what did we not have to complain of . . . Then again, ashore, there was still worse to loathe; for we had to lie down close to the enemy’s walls, and the drizzling from the sky and the dews from the meadows distilled upon us, working constant destruction to our clothes and filling our hair with vermin. And if one were to tell of the wintry cold, past all enduring, when Ida’s snow slew the birds; or of the heat, when upon his waveless noonday couch, windless the sea sank to sleep—but why should we bewail all this? Our labor’s past; past for the dead so that they will never care even to wake to life again. Why should we count the number of the slain, or why should the living feel pain at their past harsh fortunes? Our misfortunes should, in my opinion, bid us a long farewell. For us, the remnant of the Argive host, the gain has the advantage and the loss does not bear down the scale; so that, as we speed over land and sea, it is fitting that we on this bright day make this boast: The Argive army, having taken Troy at last, has nailed up these spoils to be a glory for the gods throughout Hellas in their shrines from days of old. Whoever hears the story of these deeds must extol the city and the leaders of her host; and the grace of Zeus that brought them to accomplishment shall receive its due measure of gratitude. There, you have heard all that I have to say.
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