Of herald summoned thee. No trumpet blew.
What wouldst thou when the camp is hushed in sleep?'
He with few words well known to women's ears
Checked me: 'The silent partner is the best.'
I saw how 'twas and ceased. Forth then he fared
Alone--What horror passed upon the plain
This night, I know not. But he drags within,
Tied in a throng, bulls, shepherd dogs, and spoil
Of cattle and sheep. Anon he butchers them,
Felling or piercing, hacking or tearing wide,
Ribs from breast, limb from limb. Others in rage
He seized and bound and tortured, brutes for men.
Last, out he rushed before the doors, and there
Whirled forth wild language to some shadowy form,
Flouting the generals and Laertes' son
With torrent laughter and loud triumphing
What in his raid he had wreaked to their despite.
Then diving back within--the fitful storm
Slowly assuaging left his spirit clear.
And when his eye had lightened through the room
Cumbered with ruin, smiting on his brow
He roared; and, tumbling down amid the wreck
Of woolly carnage he himself had made,
Sate with clenched hand tight twisted in his hair.
Long stayed he so in silence. Then flashed forth
Those frightful words of threatening vehemence,
That bade me show him all the night's mishap,
And whither he was fallen I, dear my friends,
Prevailed on through my fear, told all I knew.
And all at once he raised a bitter cry,
Which heretofore I ne'er had heard, for still
He made us think such doleful utterance
Betokened the dull craven spirit, and still
Dumb to shrill wailings, he would only moan
With half heard muttering, like an angry bull.
But now, by such dark fortune overpowered,
Foodless and dry, amid the quivering heap
His steel hath quelled, all quietly he broods;
And out of doubt his mind intends some harm:
Such words, such groans, burst from him. O my friends.--
Therefore I hastened,--enter and give aid
If aught ye can! Men thus forgone will oft
Grow milder through the counsel of a friend.

CH. Teleutas' child! we shudder at thy tale
That fatal frenzy wastes our hero's soul.

AIAS (_within_). Woe's me, me, me!

TEC. More cause anon! Hear ye not Aias there,
How sharp the cry that shrills from him?

AI. Woe! Woe!

CH. Madly it sounds--Or springs it of deep grief
For proofs of madness harrowing to his eye?

AI. Boy, boy!

TEC. What means he? Oh, Eurysakes!
He cries on thee. Where art thou? O my heart!

AI. Teucer I call! W