tion of the distinction of Strophe and Antistrophe helps the reader to realize the scene—the utter absence of monotony, the continual variations as melody melted into melody, the ever-changing grace of posture and harmony of movement, interpreting each thought, and accordant to the ringing voices, which held the audience spell-bound, with ears entranced and faces that, "forgetting themselves to marble," gazed and yearned to where "the white vests of the chorus seemed to wave up a live air." The sweetest voices, the most exquisite dancing, in all Hellas, the most perfect delivery of the noblest poetry, tableaux vivants of gorgeous pageantry—we can understand how an audience would sit out play after play unwearied, and can conceive that there may have been some foundation for the complaint of an economical senate, that the "staging" of the plays (perhaps a dozen) at a single dramatic festival was as costly as a campaign.
As to the reproduction in English of the actual metres of the original (attempted by some, and thought desirable by others), the prosodical structure of the two languages is so fundamentally different (to say nothing of the fact that no living man knows certainly how Euripides' contemporaries pronounced the simplest Greek sentence), that the attempt could not, even as an essay in technique, be successful, nor, if it could, would the utterly unfamiliar measures have any charm for English ears.
The "Arguments" prefixed to the plays are designed rather to serve as introductions than as epitomes of contents. To give the non-classical reader just so much information as might enable him to commence intelligently the perusal of the play, seemed better than the somewhat ungracious practice of anticipating the poet in his story, and taking the edge off the interest beforehand. In the same client's interest it may here be mentioned that the chorus, represented by its leader, frequently takes part with the actors
