Thro' all this peril; clear the voice rang out
With many warnings,
sternly threatening
To my hot heart the
wintry chill of pain,
Unless upon the slayers of my sire
I pressed for
vengeance: this the god's command-
That I, in ire for home and
wealth despoiled,
Should with a craft like
theirs the slayers slay:
Else with my very life I should atone
This deed
undone, in many a
ghastly wise.
For he proclaimed unto the ears of men
That offerings, poured to angry powers of death,
Exude again, unless their will be done,
As grim disease on those that poured them forth-
As leprous ulcers mounting on the flesh
And with fell fangs corroding what of old
Wore natural form; and on the brow arise
White poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease.
He spake
moreover of assailing fiends
Empowered to quit on me my father's blood,
Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in night
Beneath shut lids the spirit's eye sees clear.
The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hell
By spirits of the murdered dead who call
Unto their kin for
vengeance, formless fear,
The night-tide's visitant, and madness' curse
Should drive and rack me; and my tortured frame
Should be chased forth from man's community
As with the
brazen scorpions of the
scourge.
For me and such as me no lustral bowl
Should stand, no spilth of wine be poured to God
For me, and wrath
unseen of my dead sire
Should drive me from the
shrine; no man should dare
To take me to his
hearth, nor dwell with me:
Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end,
And
pitilesshorror wind me for the grave.
This spake the god-this dare I disobey?
Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done;
For to that end
diverse desires combine,-
The god's behest, deep grief for him who died,
And last, the
grievous blank of
wealth despoiled-
All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men,
Minions of
valour, who with soul of fire
Did make of fenced Troy a ruinous heap,
Be not left slaves to two and each a woman!
For he, the man, wears woman's heart; if not,
Soon shall he know, confronted by a man.
(ORESTES, ELECTRA, and the CHORUS gather round the tomb of
Agamemnon. The following lines are chanted responsively.)
CHORUS
Mighty Fates, on you we call!
Bid the will of Zeus ordain
Power to those, to whom again
Justice turns with hand and aid!
Grievous was the prayer one made
Grievous let the answer fall!
Where the
mighty doom is set,
Justice claims aloud her debt.
Who in blood hath dipped the steel,
Deep in blood her meed shall feel
List an
immemorial word-
Whosoe'er shall take the sword
Shall
perish by the sword.
ORESTES
Father, unblest in death, O father mine!
What
breath of word or deed
Can I waft on thee from this far confine
Unto thy lowly bed,-
Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying,
Hope's counter-gleam of fire?
Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undying
Unto each parted sire.
CHORUS
O child, the spirit of the dead,
Altho' upon his flesh have fed
The grim teeth of the flame,
Is quelled not; after many days
The sting of wrath his soul shall raise,
A
vengeance to reclaim!
To the dead rings loud our cry-
Plain the living's treachery-
Swelling, shrilling, urged on high,
The vengeful dirge, for parents slain,
Shall
strive and shall attain.
ELECTRA
Hear me too, even me, O father, hear!
Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shed
Upon thy sepulchre.
Each, each, where thou art lowly laid,
Stands, a suppliant,
homeless made:
Ah, and all is full of ill,
Comfort is there none to say!
Strive and
wrestle as we may,
Still stands doom invincible.
CHORUS
Nay, if so he will, the god
Still our tears to joy can turn.
He can bid a triumph-ode
Drown the dirge beside this urn;
He to
kingly halls can greet
The child restored, the homeward-guided feet.
ORESTES
Ah my father! hadst thou lain
Under Ilion's wall,
By some Lycian spearman slain,
Thou hadst left in this thine hall
Honour; thou hadst
wrought for us
Fame and life most glorious.
Over-seas if thou hadst died,
Heavily had stood thy tomb,
Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride,
Grief were light unto thy home.
CHORUS
Loved and honoured hadst thou lain
By the dead that nobly fell,
In the under-world again,
Where are throned the kings of hell,
Full of sway, adorable
Thou hadst stood at their right hand-
Thou that wert, in
mortal land,
By Fate's
ordinance and law,
King of kings who bear the crown
And the staff, to which in awe
Mortal men bow down.
ELECTRA
Nay, O father, I were fain
Other fate had fallen on thee.
Ill it were if thou hadst lain
One among the common slain,
Fallen by Scamander's side-
Those who slew thee there should be!
Then,
untouched by slavery,
We had heard as from afar
Deaths of those who should have died
'Mid the chance of war.
CHORUS
O child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest.
Easy, but vain, thy cry!
A boon above all gold is that thou prayest,
An unreached destiny,
As of the
blessed land that far aloof
Beyond the north wind lies;
Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof;
A double
scourge of sighs
Awakes the dead; th' avengers rise, though late;
Blood stains the
guilty pride
Of the
accursed who rule on earth, and Fate
Stands on the children's side.
ELECTRA
That hath sped thro' mine ear, like a shaft from a bow!
Zeus, Zeus! it is thou who dost send from below
A doom on the
desperate ere long
On a mother a father shall visit his wrong.
CHORUS
Be it mine to upraise thro' the reek of the pyre
The chant of delight, while the
funeral fire
Devoureth the
corpse of a man that is slain
And a woman laid low!
For who bids me
conceal it! out-rending control,
Blows ever the stern blast of hate thro' my soul,
And before me a
vision of wrath and of bane
Flits and waves to and fro.
ORESTES
Zeus, thou alone to us art parent now.
Smite with a rending blow
Upon their heads, and bid the land be well:
Set right where wrong hath stood; and thou give ear,
O Earth, unto my prayer-
Yea, hear O mother Earth, and
monarchy of hell
CHORUS
Nay, the law is
sternly set-
Blood-drops shed upon the ground
Plead for other
bloodshed yet;
Loud the call of death doth sound,
Calling guilt of olden time,
A Fury, crowning crime with crime.
ELECTRA
Where, where are ye, avenging powers,
Puissant Furies of the slain?
Behold the relics of the race
Of Atreus,
thrust from pride of place!
O Zeus, what borne
henceforth is ours,
What
refuge to attain?
CHORUS
Lo, at your wail my heart throbs, wildly stirred;
Now am I lorn with sadness,
Darkened in all my soul, to hear your sorrow's word
Anon to hope, the seat of strength, I rise,-
She,
thrusting grief away, lifts up mine eyes
To the new dawn of gladness.
ORESTES
Skills it to tell of aught save wrong on wrong,
Wrought by our mother's deed?
Though now she fawn for
pardon,
sternly strong
Standeth our wrath, and will nor hear nor heed.
Her children's soul is wolfish, born from hers,
And softens not by prayers.
CHORUS
I dealt upon my breast the blow
That Asian
mourning women know;
Wails from-my breast the fun'ral cry,
The Cissian
weepingmelody;