Hermes, dear herald, heralds’ veneration, — And Heroes our forthsenders, — friendly, once more The army to receive, the war-spear’s leavings! Ha, mansions of my monarchs, roofs beloved, And awful seats, and deities sun-fronting — Receive with pomp your monarch, long time absent! For he comes bringing light in night-time to you, In common with all these — king Agamemnon. But kindly greet him — for clear shows your duty — Who has dug under Troia with the mattock Of Zeus the Avenger, whereby plains are out-ploughed, Altars unrecognizable, and gods’ shrines, And the whole land’s seed thoroughly has perished. And such a yoke-strap having cast round Troia , The elder king Atreides, happy man — he Comes to be honoured, worthiest of what mortals Now are. Nor Paris nor the accomplice-city Outvaunts their deed as more than they are done-by: For, in a suit for rape and theft found guilty, He missed of plunder and, in one destruction, Fatherland, house and home has mowed to atoms: Debts the Priamidai have paid twice over.
 CHOROS. Hail, herald from the army of Achaians! HERALD. I hail: — to die, will gainsay gods no longer! CHOROS. Love of this fatherland did exercise thee? HERALD. So that I weep, at least, with joy, my eyes full. CHOROS. What, of this gracious sickness were ye gainers? HERALD. How now? instructed, I this speech shall master. CHOROS. For those who loved you back, with longing stricken. HERALD. This land yearned for the yearning army, say’st thou?