For the house that no more is,
For the dead that were kings of yore
And the labour of Argolis!

[She begins the Funeral Rite.]

O Spirit, thou unknown,
Who bearest on dark wings
My brother, my one, mine own,
I bear drink-offerings,
And the cup that bringeth ease
Flowing through Earth's deep breast;
Milk of the mountain kine,
The hallowed gleam of wine,
The toil of murmuring bees:
By these shall the dead have rest.

To an ATTENDANT.

The golden goblet let me pour,
And that which Hades thirsteth for.

O branch of Agamemnon's tree
Beneath the earth, as to one dead,
This cup of love I pour to thee.
Oh, pardon, that I may not shed

One lock of hair to wreathe thy tomb,
One tear: so far, so far am I
From what to me and thee was home,