Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy. Aeschylus

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                What then ensued mine eyes

              Saw not, nor may I tell, but Calchas' arts

              Were found not fruitless. Justice turns the scale

                For those to whom through pain

                At last comes wisdom's gain.

                But for our future fate,

                Since help for it is none,

              Good-bye to it before it comes, and this

              Has the same end as wailing premature;

                For with to-morrow's dawn

              It will come clear; may good luck crown our fate!

                So prays the one true guard,

                Nearest and dearest found,

                Of this our Apian land. {248}

        Clytaem. Hephiestos flashing forth bright flames from Ida:

                   Beacon to beacon from that courier-fire

                   Sent on its tidings; Ida to the rock

                   Hermaean named, in Lemnos: from the isle

                   The height of Athos, dear to Zeus, received

                   A third great torch of flame, and lifted up,

                   So as on high to skim the broad sea's back,

                   The stalwart fire rejoicing went its way;

                   The pine wood, like a sun, sent forth its light

                   Of golden radiance to Makistos' watch;

                   And he, with no delay, nor unawares

                   Conquered by sleep, performed his courier's part.

                   Far off the torch-light to Euripos' straits

                   Advancing, tells it to Messapion's guard:

                   They, in their turn, lit up and passed it on,

                   Kindling a pile of dry and aged heath.

                   Still strong and fresh the torch, not yet grown dim,

                   Leaping across Asôpos' plain in guise

                   Like a bright moon, towards Kithaeron's rock,

                   Roused the next station of the courier flame.

                   And that far-travelled light the sentries there

                   Refused not, burning more than all yet named:

                   And then the light swooped o'er Gorgôpis' lake,

                   And passing on to Aegiplanctos' mount,

                   Bade the bright fire's due order tarry not;

                   And they, enkindling boundless store, send on

                   A mighty beard of flame, and then it passed

                   The headland e'en that looks on Saron's gulf

                   Still blazing. On it swept, until it came

                   To Arachnaean heights, the watch-tower near;

                   Then here on the Atreidae's roof it swoops,

                   This light, of Ida's fire no doubtful heir.

                   Such is the order of my torch-race games;

                   One from another taking up the course,

                   But here the winner is both first and last;

                   And this sure proof and token now I tell thee,

                   Seeing that my lord hath sent it me from Troïa. {307}