While the _Chorus_ are still overcome with amazement, _Clytaemnestra_ triumphs over the condition of Troy that morning: like a vessel containing oil and vinegar, the conquered, bewailing their first day of captivity over the corpses of husbands and sons, the victors enjoying their first rest free from the chill dews of night and the sentry's call--and all will be well, _if_ they remember the rights of the Gods in their sack of the city: ah! may they not in their exultation commit some sacrilegious deed of plunder, forgetting that they have only reached the goal, and have the return to make! If they should, the curse of those who have perished might still awake against them [_Cl._ thus darkly harping upon her secret hope that vengeance may still overtake them for the sacrifice of her daughter.] { 345}
After a few words of triumph (_in marching rhythm_), that Zeus, protector of host and guest, has visited the proud Trojans, and brought them into a net of bondage that neither young nor full-grown can overleap, the Chorus proceed to a more formal expression of their feelings in { 357}
_breaking, as regularly in the Choral Odes, into highly Lyrical rhythms accompanied with Music and Gesture-dance, the evolutions of which lead them alternately to Right and Left of Orchestra and back to Altar._
_Strophe I: evolutions from Altar to Right._
Yes: it is the hand of Zeus we may trace in all this! Now what will they say who contend that the Gods care not when mortal men trample under foot the inviolable? Troy knows better now, that once relied on its abounding wealth: ah! moderate fortune is best for the seeker after Wisdom; Wealth is no bulwark to those who in wantonness have spurned the altar of the Right and Just. { 375}
_Antistrophe I: evolutions front Right back to Altar, rhythm as in Strophe._
Such a man is urged on by Impulse, offspring of Infatuation, till his mischief stands out clear, as worthless bronze stripped of its varnish. So Paris sees now his light-hearted crime has brought his city low. He came to the house of the Sons of Atreus, and stole a Queen away, leaving Shame where he had sat as Guest. { 392}
_Strophe II: change of rhythm, evolutions from Altar to Left._
She, leaving to her countrymen at home Wild din of spear and shield and ships of war, And bringing, as her dower, To Ilion doom of death, Passed very swiftly through the palace gates, Daring what none should dare; And many a wailing cry They raised, the minstrel prophets of the house, "Woe for that kingly home! Woe for that kingly home and for its chiefs! Woe for the marriage-bed and traces left Of wife who loved her lord!" There stands he silent; foully wronged and yet Uttering no word of scorn, In deepest woe perceiving she is gone; And in his yearning love For one beyond the sea, A ghost shall seem to queen it o'er the house; The grace of sculptured forms Is loathéd by her lord, And in the penury of life's bright eyes All Aphrodite's charm To utter wreck has gone. { 409}