But each man clutching at the prize of chance. 
Aye, there at last under good roofs they lie
Of men spear-quelled, no frosts beneath the sky,
No watches more, no bitter moony dew.... 
How blessed they will sleep the whole night through! 
Oh, if these days they keep them free from sin
Toward Ilion’s conquered shrines and Them within
Who watch unconquered, maybe not again
The smiter shall be smit, the taker ta’en. 
May God but grant there fall not on that host
The greed of gold that maddeneth and the lust
To spoil inviolate things!  But half the race
Is run which windeth back to home and peace. 
Yea, though of God they pass unchallenged,
Methinks the wound of all those desolate dead
Might waken, groping for its will.... 
                                  Ye hear
A woman’s word, belike a woman’s fear. 
May good but conquer in the last incline
Of the balance!  Of all prayers that prayer is mine.

LEADER.

O Woman, like a man faithful and wise
Thou speakest.  I accept thy testimonies
And turn to God with praising, for a gain
Is won this day that pays for all our pain.

[CLYTEMNESTRA returns to the Palace.  The CHORUS take up their position for the Second Stasimon.

AN ELDER.

0 Zeus, All-ruler, and Night the Aid,
Gainer of glories, and hast thou thrown
Over the towers of Ilion
  Thy net close-laid,
That none so nimble and none so tall
Shall escape withal
The snare of the slaver that claspeth all?

ANOTHER.

And Zeus the Watcher of Friend and Friend
I also praise, who hath wrought this end. 
Long since on Paris his shaft he drew,
  And hath aimed true,
Not too soon falling nor yet too far,
The fire of the avenging star.

CHORUS.

(This is God’s judgement upon Troy.  May it not be too fierce!  Gold cannot save one who spurneth Justice.)

The stroke of Zeus hath found them!  Clear this day
  The tale, and plain to trace. 
He judged, and Troy hath fallen.—­And have men said
That God not deigns to mark man’s hardihead,
  Trampling to earth the grace
Of holy and delicate things?—­Sin lies that way. 
For visibly Pride doth breed its own return
  On prideful men, who, when their houses swell
    With happy wealth, breathe ever wrath and blood. 
Yet not too fierce let the due vengeance burn;
  Only as deemeth well
    One wise of mood.

    Never shall state nor gold
      Shelter his heart from aching
    Whoso the Altar of Justice old
      Spurneth to Night unwaking.

(The Sinner suffers in his longing till at last Temptation overcomes him; as longing for Helen overcame Paris.)