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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;



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