Stasimon 1
And they groan — praising much, the while,
Now this man as experienced in the strife,
445
Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,
Because of — not his own — another’s wife.
But things there be, one barks,
A surreptitious grief that’s grudge
450
Against the Atreidai who first sought the judge.
But some there, round the rampart, have
In Ilian earth, each one his grave:
All fair-formed as at birth,
It hid them — what they have and hold — the hostile earth.
455
And big with anger goes the city’s word,
And pays a debt by public curse incurred.
And ever with me— as about to hear
A something night-involved — remains my fear:
460
Since of the many-slayers — not
The black Erinues, at due periods —
