"There is the sea—shall any stanch it up?— Still breeding, for its worth of silver weight, Abundant stain, freshly renewable, For purpling robes withal: nay, Heaven be praised, The house, my lord, affords us plenty such; ’Tis not acquainted yet with penury. I had vowed the trampling of a thousand robes, Had the oracles enjoined it when I sought Means for recovery of a life so precious! Still from the living root the mantling green Against the Dog-star spreads a leafy screen,— So thou returning to thy hearth and home, Warmth as in winter cries Behold me come! Aye and when mellowing Zeus makes ripe and sweet Wine from the young grape’s bitter, cool in heat Reigns within walls where moves the man complete:— [As Agamemnon goes in. O Zeus completer, now complete my prayer, Completion of thy plans be now thy care!"