_Enter the Orchestra [by the Right Archway, as from the neighborhood]
the Chorus: Old Men of Pherae, come to enquire how it is with the Queen
on the morning of this appointed day of her death. As usual in such
Chorus-Entries their chanting is accompanied with music and
gesture-dance to a rhythm traditionally associated with marching. But
by a very unusual effect they enter in disordered ranks, moving in two
loosely-formed bodies towards the Central Altar._ {82}
_1st Semichorus._ What a silence encloses the Palace!
What a hush in the house of Admetus!
_2nd Semichorus._ Not a soul is at hand of the household
To answer our friendly enquiry--
Is it over, all over but weeping?
Or sees she the light awhile longer,
Our Queen, brightest pattern of women
The wide world through,
Most devoted of wives, our Alcestis?
_Arriving at the Altar they fall for a time into compact order, and
exchange their marching rhythm for the elaborate Choral ritual, the
evolutions taking them to the Right of the Orchestra._ {89}
_Strophe_
_Full Chorus._ Listen for the heavy groan,
Smitten breast and piercing moan,
Ringing out that life is gone.
The house forgets its royal state,
And not a slave attends the gate.
Our sea of woe runs high:--ah, mid the waves
Appear, Great Healer, Apollo!
_They break again into loose order and marching rhythm, remaining on
the Right of the Orchestra._
_1st Semi._ Were she dead, could they keep such a silence? {94}
_2nd Semi._ May it be--she is gone from the Palace?
_1st Semi._ Never!
_2nd Semi._ Nay, why so confident answer?
_1st Semi._ To so precious a corpse could Admetus
Give burial bare of its honours?
_They reunite in Choral order and work back to the Altar._
_Antistrophe_
_Full Chorus._ Lo, no bath the porch below, {99}
Nor the cleansing fountain's flow,
Gloomy rite for house of woe.
The threshold lacks its locks of hair,
Clipp'd for the dead in death's despair.
Who hears the wailing voice and thud of hands,
The seemly woe of the maidens?
_At the Altar they again break up and fall into marching rhythm._
_2nd Semi._ Yet to-day is the dread day appointed-- {105}
_1st Semi._ Speak not the word!
_2nd Semi._ The day she must pass into Hades--
_1st Semi._ I am cut to the heart!
I am cut to the soul!
_2nd Semi._ When the righteous endure tribulation,
Avails nought long-tried love
Nought is left to the friendly--but mourning!
_Accordingly they address themselves to a Full Choral Ode, the
evolutions carrying them to the extreme Left of the Orchestra in the
Strophe, and in the Antistrophe back to the Altar._