What, without ship, far over land wouldst fly
With feet swift-winged with terror and despair,
Through wild tribes, pathless ways, aye drawing nigh
Death ambushed there?
Nay, through the Dark-blue Rocks, the strait sea-portal,
Bearing thee must a bark her long course run. 890
O hapless, hapless I! What God or mortal,
O hapless one,
Or what strange help transcending expectation
Shall to us twain, of Atreus' seed the last,
Bring fair deliverance, bring from ills salvation,—
From ills o'erpast!
Chorus.
Marvel of marvels, passing fabled lore, 900
Myself have seen, none telleth me the tale.
Pylades.
Orestes, well may friends which meet the gaze
Of friends, enfold them in the clasp of love.
Yet must we cease from moan, and look to this,
In what wise winning glorious safety's name 905
Forth from the land barbaric we may fare.
For wise men take occasion by the hand,
And let not fortune slip for pleasure's lure.
Orestes.
Well say'st thou: yet will fortune work, I trow,
Herein with us. But toil of strenuous hands 910
Still doubles the Gods' power to render aid.
