O that from Phthia, a bird dark-winged, I were soaring,
Or were such as the pine-wrought galley, that flew
The first of the ships of earth her swift course oaring
Through the Crags dark-blue! 865
Nurse.
My child, thy frenzy of rage I praised not then
When thou against the Trojan dame didst sin,
Nor praise the frenzy of dread that shakes thee now.
Not thus thy lord will thrust his wife away
By weak words of barbarian woman swayed. 870
In thee he wed no captive torn from Troy,
Nay, but a prince's child, and gat with thee
Rich dowry from a city of golden weal.
Nor will thy father, as thou fearest, child,
Forsake and let thee from these halls be driven. 875
Nay, pass within; make not thyself a show
Before this house, lest thou shouldst get thee shame,
Before this palace seen of men, my child.
Chorus.
But lo, an outland stranger, alien-seeming,
With hasty steps to usward journeyeth. 880
Enter Orestes.
Orestes.
Dames of a foreign land, be these the halls
And royal palace of Achilles' son?
Chorus.
Thou sayest: but who art thou that askest this?
