Agamemnon (455-544)

the enemy’s soil has covered its conquerors.

Dangerous is a people’s voice charged with wrath—it acts as a curse of publicly ratified doom.

In anxious fear I wait to hear something shrouded still in gloom. The gods are not blind to men with blood upon their hands. In the end the black Spirits of Vengeance bring to obscurity that one who has prospered in unrighteousness and

wear down his fortunes by reverse. Once a man is among the unseen, there is no more help for him. Glory in excess is fraught with peril;

the lofty peak is struck by Zeus’ thunderbolt. I choose prosperity unassailed by envy. May I not be a sacker of cities, and may I not myself be despoiled and live to see my own life in another’s power!

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?

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?

It is just like a woman’s eager nature to yield assent to pleasing news before yet the truth is clear.

Too credulous, a woman’s mind has boundaries open to quick encroachment; but quick to perish is rumor spread by a woman.

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!

Whoever makes this prayer with other intent toward the state, let him reap himself the fruit of his misguided purpose!

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.

Joy to you, Herald from the Achaean host!

I do rejoice. I will no longer refuse to die, if that pleases the gods.

Was it yearning for this your fatherland that wore you out?

Yes, so that my eyes are filled with tears for joy.

It was then a pleasing malady from which you suffered.

How so? Teach me, and I shall master what you say.

You were smitten with desire for those who returned your love.