So low, rebuild the fortunes!
Chorus.
Hush, my children!
If ye would save your father’s house, speak softly,
Lest some one hear, and, with swift babblement,
Inform their ears who rule; whom may I see
Flayed on a fire, with streaming pitch well fed!
Orestes.
Fear not. The mighty oracle of Loxias,
By whose commands I dare the thing I dare,
Will not deceive me. He, with shrill-voiced warning,
Foretold that freezing pains through my warm liver
Should torturing shoot, if backward to avenge
My father’s death, and even as he was slain,
To slay the slayers, exasperate at the lossn22
Of my so fair possessions. Thus to do
He gave me strict injunction: else myself
With terrible pains, of filial zeal remiss,
Should pay the fine. The evil-minded Powers
Beneath the Earthn23 would visit me in wrath,
A leprous tetter with corrosive tooth
Creep o’er my skin, and fasten on my flesh,
And with white scales the white hair grow, defacing
My bloom of health; and from my father’s tomb
Ripe with avenging ire the Erinnyes
Should ruthlessly invade me. Thus he spake,
And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.n24
Sharp arrows through the subterranean night,
Shot by dear Shades that through the Infernal halls
Roam peaceless, madness, and vain fear o’ nights,
Prick with sharp goads, and chase from street to street,
With iron scourge, the meagre-wasted form
Of the Fury-hunted sinner; him no share
In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop
Of pure libation;n25 the paternal wrath,
Hovering unseen, shall drive him from the altar;
Him shall no home receive, no lodgment hold,
Unhonoured and unfriended he shall die,
Withered and mummied with the hot dry plague.
Such oracle divine behoves me trust
With single faith, or, be I faithless, still
The vengeance must be done. All things concur
To point my purpose; the divine command
My sore heart-grief for a loved father’s death,
The press of want, the spoiling of my goods,
The shame to see these noble citizens,
Proud Troy’s destroyers, basely bent beneath
The yoke of two weak women: for he hath
A woman’s soul: if not, the proof is near.
Chorus.
Mighty Fates, divinely guiding
Human fortunes to their end,
Send this man, with Jove presiding,
Whither Justice points the way.
Words of bitter hatred duly
Pay with bitter words: for thus
With loud cry triumphant shouting
Justice pays the sinner’s debt.
Blood for blood and blow for blow,
Thou shalt reap as thou didst sow;
Age to age with hoary wisdom
Speaketh thus to men.n26
STROPHE I.
Orestes.
O father, wretched father, with what air
Of word or deed impelling,
Shall I be strong to waft the filial prayer
To thy dim distant dwelling?
There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest,n27
Be our sharp wailing
(Grace of the dead, and Hades’ honour highest),
With thee prevailing!
STROPHE II.
Chorus.
Son, the strong-jawed funeral fire
Burns not the mind in the smoky pyre;
Sleeps, but not forgets the dead
To show betimes his anger dread.
For the dead the living moan,
That the murderer may be known.
They who mourn for parent slain
Shall not pour the wail in vain,
Bright disclosure shall not lack
Who through darkness hunts the track.
ANTISTROPHE I.
Electra.
Hear thou our cries, O father, when for thee
The frequent tear is falling;
The wailing pair o’er thy dear tomb to thee
From their hearts’ depths are calling;
The suppliant and the exile at one tomb
Their sorrow showering,
Helpless and hopeless; mantled round with gloom,
Woe overpouring!
Chorus.
Nay, be calm; the god that speaks
With voice oracular shall attune
Thy throat to happier notes;
Instead the voice of wail funereal,
Soon the jubilant shout shall shake
His father’s halls with joy, and welcome
The new friend to his home.
STROPHE III.
Orestes.
If but some Lycian spear, ’neath Ilium’s walls,
Had lowly laid thee,
A mighty name in the Atridan halls
Thou wouldst have made thee!
Then hadst thou pitched thy fortune like a star,
To son and grandson shining from afar;
Beyond the wide-waved sea, the high-heaped mound
Had told for ever
Thy feats of battle, and with glory crowned
Thy high endeavour.
ANTISTROPHE II.
Chorus.
Ah! would that thou hadst found thy end
There, where dear friend fell with friend,
And marched with them to Hades dread,
The monarch of the awful dead,n28
Sitting beside the throne with might
Of them that rule the realms of night;
For thou in life wert monarch true,
Expert each kingly deed to do,
Leading, with thy persuasive rod,
Submissive mortals like a god.
ANTISTROPHE III.
Electra.
Thou wert a king, no fate it was for thee
To die as others
’Neath Ilium’s walls, far, far beyond the sea,
With many brothers.
Unworthy was the spear to drink thy blood,
Where far Scamander rolls his swirling flood.
Justly who slew had drawn themselves thy lot,
And perished rather,
And thou their timeless fate had welcomed, not
They thine, my father.
Chorus.
Child, thy grief begetteth visions
Brighter than gold, and overtopping
Hyperborean bliss.n29
Ah, here the misery rudely riots,
With double lash. These twins, their help
Sleeps beneath the ground; and they
Who hold dominion here, alas!
With unholy sceptre sway.
Woe is me! but chiefly woe
Children dear to you!
STROPHE IV.
Electra.
Chiefly to me! Thy words shoot like an arrow,
And pierce my marrow.
O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from belown30
The retribution slow,
Against the stout heart and bold hand,
That dared defy thy high command.
Even though a parent feel the woe,
Prepare, prepare the finished blow.
STROPHE V.
Chorus.
Mine be soon to lift the strain,
O’er the treacherous slayer slain,
To shout with bitter exultation,
O’er the murtherous wife’s prostration!
Why should I the hate conceal,
That spurs my heart with promptest zeal,
Bitter thoughts, that gathering grow,
Like blustering winds, that beat the plunging vessel’s prow?
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Orestes.
O thou that flourishest, and mak’st to flourish,
By thy hands perish
All they that hate me! Cleave the heads of those,
That are Orestes’ foes!
Pledge the land in peace to live,
For injustice justice give;
Ye that honoured reign below,n31
Furies! prepare the crowning blow.
Chorus.
Wont hath been, and shall be ever,
That when purple gouts bedash
The guilty ground, then blood doth blood
Demand, and blood for blood shall flow.
Fury to Havoc cries; and Havoc,
The tainted track of blood pursuing,
From age to age works woe.
STROPHE VI.
Electra.
Ye powers of Hades dread!
Fell Curses of the Dead,
Hear, me when I call!
Behold! The Atridan hall,
Dashed in dishonoured fall,
Lies low and graceless all.
O mighty Jove, I see
Mine only help in thee!
ANTISTROPHE V.
Chorus.
Thy piteous tale doth make my heart
From its central hold back start;
Hope departs, and blackening Fear
Rules my fancy, while I hear.
And if blithe confidence awhilen32
Lends my dull faith the feeble smile,
Soon, soon departs that glimpse of cheer,
And all my map of things is desolate and drear.
ANTISTROPHE VI.
Orestes.
For why! our tale of wrong
In hate of parents strong,
Spurneth the flatterer’s arm,
Mocketh the soothing charm.
The mother gave her childn33
This wolfish nature wild;
And I from her shall learn
To be thus harsh and stern.
STROPHE VII.
Chorus.
Like a Persian mournern34
Singing sorrow’s tale,
Like a Cissian wailer,
I did weep and wail.
O’er my head swift-oaring
Came arm on arm amain,
The voice of my deploring
Like the lashing rain!
Sorrow’s rushing river
O’er me flooding spread,
Black misfortune’s quiver
Emptied on my head!
Electra.
Mother bold, all-daring,
On a bloody bier
Thine own lord forth bearing
Slain without a tear.
Alone, unfriended he did go
Down to the sunless homes below.
STROPHE VIII.
Orestes.
Thou hast named the dire dishonor;
The gods shall send swift judgment on her.
By Heaven’s command,
By her own son’s hand,
Slain she shall lie;
And I, having dealt the fated death,
Myself shall die!
ANTISTROPHE VII.
Electra.
Be the butcher’s work remembered,
Mangled was he, and dismembered;
Like vilest clay,
She cast him away,
With burial base;
Mocking the son, the father branding
With dark disgrace.
ANTISTROPHE VIII.
Orestes.
Thou dost tell too truly
All my father’s woe.
Electra.
I, the while, accounted
Lower than most low,
Like a dog, was sundered
From my father’s hearth,
An evil dog, and wandered
Far from seats of mirth;
In my chamber weeping
Tears of silent woe,
From rude gazers keeping
Grief too great for show.
Hear these words; and hearing
Nail them in thy soul,
With steady purpose nearing,
And noiseless pace, thy goal.
Go where just wrath leads the way,
With stout heart tread the lists to-day.
STROPHE IX.
Orestes.
O father, help thy friends, when helping thee!
Electra.
My tears, if they can help, shall flow for thee.
Chorus.
And this whole mingled choir shall raise for thee
The sistered cry: O hear!
In light of day appear,
And help thy banded friends, to avenge thy foes for thee!
ANTISTROPHE IX.
Orestes.
Now might with might engage, and right with right!
Electra.
And the gods justly the unjust shall smite.
Chorus.n36
The tremulous fear creeps o’er my frame to hear
Thy words; for, though long-dated,
The thing divinely fated
Shall surely come at last, our cloudy prayers to clear.
STROPHE X.
Electra.
O home-bred pain,
Stroke of perdition that refuses
Concord with the holy Muses!
O burden more than heart can bear,
Disease that no physician’s care
Makes sound again!
ANTISTROPHE X.
Orestes.
So; even so.
No far-sent leech this tetter uses;
A home-bred surgery it chooses.
I the red strife myself pursue,
Pouring this dismal hymn to you,
Ye gods below!
Chorus.
Blessed powers, propitious dwelling,
Deep in subterranean darkness,
Hear this pious prayer;
May all trials end in triumph
To the suppliant pair!
Orestes.
Father, who died not as a king should die,
Give me to rule, as thou didst rule, these halls.
Electra.
My supplication hear, thy strong help lend me,
Scathless myselfn37 to work Ægisthus’ harm.
Orestes.
Thus of the rightful feasts that soothe the Shades
Thou too shalt taste,n38 and not dishonoured lie,
When savoury fumes mount to our country’s dead.
Electra.
And I my whole of heritage will offer,
The blithe libations of my marriage feast.
Thy tomb before all tombs I will revere.
Orestes.
O Earth, relax thy hold, and give my father
To see the fight!
Electra.
O Persephassa,f6 send
The Atridan forth, in beauty clad and strength.
Orestes.
The bath that drank thy life remember, father.
Electra.
The close-drawn meshes of thy death remember.
Orestes.
The chain, not iron-linked, that bound thee, then
When to the death the kingly game was hunted.
Electra.
Then when with treacherous folds they curtained thee.
Orestes.
Wake, father, wake to avenge thy speechless wrongs!
Electra.
Lift, father, lift thy dear-loved head sublime!
Orestes.
Send justice forth to work the just revenge,
Like quit with like, and harm with harm repay;
Thou wert the conquered then, rise now to conquer.
Electra.
And hear this last request, my father, looking
On thy twin chickens nestling by thy tomb;
Pity the daughter, the male seed protect,
Nor let the name revered of ancient Pelops
Be blotted from the Earth! Thou art not dead,
Though housed in Hades, while thy children live,
For children are as echoes that prolong
Their parents’ fame; the floating cork are they
That buoyant bear the net deep sunk in the sea.
Hear, father—when we weep, we weep for thee,
And, saving us, thou savest thine own honour.
Chorus.
Well spoken both:n39 and worthily fall the tears
On this dear tomb, too long without them. Now,
If to the deed thy purpose thou hast buckled,
Orestes, try what speed the gods may give thee.n40
Orestes.
I’ll do the deed. Meanwhile not idly this
I ask of thee—what moved her soul to send
These late libations, limping remedy
For wounds that cannot heal? A sorry grace
To feed the senseless dead with sacrifice,
When we have killed the living. What she means
I scarce may guess, but the amend is less
Than the offence. All ocean poured in offering
For the warm life-drops of one innocent man
Is labour lost. Old truth thus speaks to all.
How was it?
Chorus.
That I well may tell, for I
Was with her. Hideous dreams did haunt her sleep;
Night-wandering terrors scared her godless breast,
That she did send these gifts to soothe the Shades.
Orestes.
What saw she in her dream?
Chorus.
She dreamt, she said,
She had brought forth a serpent.
Orestes.
A serpent, say’st thou?
Chorus.
Ay! and the dragon birth portentous moved,
All swaddled like a boy.
Orestes.
Eager for food, doubtless, the new-born monster?
Chorus.
The nurturing nipple herself did fearless bare.
Orestes.
How then? escaped the nipple from the bite?
Chorus.
The gouted blood did taint the milk, that flowed
From the wounded paps.
Orestes.
No idle dream was this.
And he who sent it was my father.
Chorus.
Then
She from her sleep up started, and cried out,
And many lamps, whose splendour night had blinded,
Rushed forth, to wait upon their mistress’ word.
Straightway she sends us with funereal gifts,
A medicinal charm, if medicine be
For griefs like hers!
Orestes.
Now hear me, Earth profound,
And my dear father’s tomb, that so this dream
May find in me completion! Thus I read it—
As left the snake the womb that once hid me,
And in the clothes was swathed that once swathed me,
And as it sucked the breast that suckled me,
And mingled blood with milk once sucked by me,
And as she groaned with horror at the sight,
Thus it beseems who bore a monstrous birth
No common death to die. I am the serpent
Shall bite her breast. It is a truthful dream.
My seer be thou. Say have I read it well?
Chorus.
Bravely. Now, for the rest, thy friends instruct
What things to do, and what things to refrain.
Orestes.
’Tis said in few. Electra, go within,
And keep my counsels in wise secrecy;
For, as they killed an honourable man
Deceitfully, by cunning and deceit
Themselves shall find the halter. Thus Apollo,
A prophet never known to lie, foretold.
Myself will come, like a wayfaring man
Accoutred, guest and spear-guest of this house,f7
With Pylades, my friend, to the court gates.
We both will speak with a Parnassian voice,
Aping the Phocian tongue. If then it chance
(As seems most like, for this whole house with ills
Is sheer possessed)n41 that with a welcome greeting
No servant shall receive us, we will wait
Till some one pass, and for their churlish ways
Rate them thus sharply. “Sirs, why dare ye shut
Inhospitable doors against the stranger,n42
Making Ægisthus sin against the gods?”
When thus I pass the threshold of his courts,
And see him sitting on my father’s throne,
When he shall scan me face to face, and seek
To hear my tale; ere he may say the word,
Whence is the stranger? I will lay him dead,
Dressing him trimly o’er with points of steel.
The Fury thus, not scanted of her banquet,
Shall drink unmingled blood from Pelops’ veins,
The third and crowning cup.n43 Now, sister, see to ’t
That all within be ordered, as shall serve
My end most fitly. Ye, when ye shall speak,
Speak words of happy omen; teach your tongue
Both to be silent, and to speak in season.
For what remains, his present aid I ask,
Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.n44 [Exeunt.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Earth breeds a fearful progeny,n45
To man a hostile band.
With finny monsters teems the sea,
With creeping plagues the land;
And winged portents scour mid-air,
And flaring lightnings fly,
And storms, sublimely coursing, scare
The fields of the silent sky.
ANTISTROPHE I.
But Earth begets no monster dire
Than man’s own heart more dreaded,
All-venturing woman’s dreadful ire,n46
When love to woe is wedded.
No mate with mate there gently dwells,
There peace and joy depart,
Where loveless love triumphant swells,
In fearless woman’s heart.
STROPHE II.
This the light-witted may not know,
The wise shall understand,
Who hear the tale from age to age,
How Thestios’ daughter, wild with rage,n47
Lighted the fatal brand,
The brand that burned with conscious flashes
At the cry of her new-born son;
And, when the brand had burned to ashes,
His measured course was run.
ANTISTROPHE II.
And yet a tale of bloody love
From hoary eld I know,
How Scylla gay, in gold arrayed,n48
The gift of Minos old, betrayed
Her father to the foe.
Sleeping all careless as he lay,
She cut the immortal hair,
And Hermes bore his life away,
From the bold and blushless fair.
STROPHE III.
Ah me! not far needs fancy range
For tales of harshest wrong:
Here, even here, damned wedlock thrives,
And lawless loves are strong.
Within these halls, where blazes now
No holy hearth, a bloody vow
Against her liege lord’s life
She vowed; and he, the king divine,
Whose look back-drove the bristling line,
Bled by a woman’s knife.
ANTISTROPHE III.
O woman! woman! Lemnos sawn49
Your jealous fountains flow,
And, when the worst of woes is named,
It is a Lemnian woe.
From age to age the infected tale,
Far echoed by a wandering wail,
To East and West shall go;
And honor from the threshold hies,
On which the doom god-spoken lies;n50
Speak I not wisely so?
STROPHE IV.
Right through the heart shall pierce the blow,
When Justice is the sinner’s foe,
With the avenging steel;
In vain with brief success they strove,
Who trampled on the law of Jove,
With unregarding heel.
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Firm is the base of Justice. Fate,
With whetted knife, doth eager wait
At hoary Murder’s door;
The Fury, with dark-bosomed ire,
Doth send the son a mission dire,
To clear the parent’s score.
Enter Orestes.
Orestes.
What, ho! dost hear no knocking? boy! within!
Is none within, boy? ho! dost hear me call
The third time at thy portal? Is Ægisthus
A man, whose ears are deaf to the strangers’ cry?
Servant.
(appearing at the door)
Enough. I hear thee. Who thou, and whence?
Orestes.
Tell those within that a poor stranger waits
Before the gate, bearer of weighty news.
Speed thee; night’s dusky chariot swoopeth down,
And the dark hour invites the travelling man
To fix his anchor ’neath some friendly roof.
Thy mistress I would see, if here a mistress
Rules, or thy master rather, if a master.
For with a man a man may plainly deal,
But nice regard for the fine feeling earn51
Oft mars the teller’s tale, when women hear.
Enter Clytemnestra.
Clytemnestra.
Strangers, speak your desire. Whate’er becomes
This house to give is free to you to share.
Hot baths,n52 a couch to soothe your travelled toil,
Blithe welcoming eyes, and gentle tendance; these
I freely give. If aught beyond ye crave,
There’s counsel with my lord. I’ll speak to him.
Orestes.
I am a stranger come from Phocian Daulis.
When I, my burden to my back well saddled,
Stood for the road accoutred, lo! a man
To me not known, nor of me knowing more,
But seeing only that my feet were bound
For Argos, thus accosted me (his name,
I learned, was Strophius the Phocian): Stranger,
If Argos be thy purpose, bear this message
From me to whom it touches near. Orestes
Is dead; charge well thy memory with the tale,
And bring me mandate back, if so his friends
Would have him carried to his native home,
Or he with us due sepulture shall find,
A sojourner for ever. A brazen urn
Holds all the remnant of the much-wept man,
The ashes of his clay. Thus Strophius spake:
And if ye are the friends, whom chiefly grief
Pricks for his loss, my mission’s done; at least
His parents will be grieved to hear ’t.
Electra.n53
Woe’s me!
Sheer down we topple from proud height; harsh fate
Is ours to wrestle with. O jealous Curse,
How dost thou eye us fatal from afar,
And with thy well-trimmed bow shoot chiefly there
Where thou wert least suspect! Thou hast me now
A helpless captive lorn, and reft of all
My trustiest friends. Orestes also gone,
Whose feet above the miry slough most sure
Seemed planted! Now our revelry of hope,
The fair account that should have surgeoned woe,
Is audited at nothing!n54
Orestes.
Would the gods,
Where happy hosts, give welcome, I were guest
On a more pleasant tale! The entertained
No greater joy can know than with good news
To recreate his entertainer’s ears;
But piety forbade, nor faith allowed
To lop the head of truth.
Clytemnestra.
Thou shalt not fare the worse for thy bad news,
Nor be less dear to us. Hadst thou been dumb,
Some other tongue had vented the sad tale.
But ye have travelled weary leagues to-day,
And doubtless need restoring. Take him, boy,
With the attendant sharers of his travel,
To the men’s chambers. See them well bestowed,
And do all things as one, that for neglect
Shall give account. Meanwhile, our lord shall know
What fate hath chanced; his wit and mine shall find
What solace may be for these news unkind.
[Exeunt into the house.
Chorus.
When, O when, shall we, my sisters,
Lift the strong full-throated hymn,
To greet Orestes’ triumph? Thou,
O sacred Earth, and verge revered
Of this lofty mound, where sleeps
The kingly helmsman of our State,
Hear thou, and help! prevail the hour
Of suasive wile, and smooth deceit!n55
Herald him Hermes—lead him, thou
The nightly courier of the dead,n56
Through this black business of the sword!
In sooth the host hath housed a grievous guest;
For see where comes Orestes’ nurse, all tears!
Where goest thou, nurse, beyond our gates to walk,
And why walks Grief, an unfee’d page, with thee!
Enter Nurse.
Nurse.
My mistress bids me bring Ægisthus quickly,
To see the strangers face to face, that he
May of their sad tale more assurance win
From their own mouths. Herself to us doth show
A murky-visaged grief; but in her eye
Twinkles a secret joy, that time hath brought
The consummation most devoutly wished
By her—to us and Agamemnon’s house
Most fatal issue, if these news be true.
Ægisthus, too, with a light heart will hear
These Phocian tidings. O wretched me! what weight
Of mingled woes from sire to son bequeathed,
Have the gods burdened us withal! Myself,
How many griefs have shaken my old heart;
But this o’ertops them all! The rest I bore,
As best I might, with patience: but Orestes,
My own dear boy, my daily, hourly care,
Whom from his mother’s womb these breasts did suckle—
How often did I rise o’ nights, and walked
From room to room, to soothe his baby cries;
But all my nursing now, and all my cares
Fall fruitless. ’Tis a pithless thing a child,
No forest whelp so helpless; one must even
Wait on its humour, as the hour may bring.
No voice it has to speak its fitful wants,
When hunger, thirst, or Nature’s need commands.
The infant’s belly asks no counsel. I
Was a wise prophetess to all his wants,
Though sometimes false, as others are. I was
Nurse to the child, and fuller to its clothes,
And both to one sad end. Alack the day!
This double trade with little fruit I plied,
What time I nursed Orestes for his father;
For he is dead, and I must live to hear it.
But I must go, and glad his heart, who lives
Plague of this house, with news that make me weep.
Chorus.
What say’st thou, Nurse? how shall thy master come?
Nurse.
How say’st thou? how shall I receive the question?
Chorus.
Alone, I mean, or with his guards?
Nurse.
She says
His spearmen shall attend him.
Chorus.
Not so, Nurse!
If thou dost hate our most hate-worthy master,
Tell him to come alone, without delay,
To hear glad tidings with exulting heart.
The bearer of a tale can make it wear
What face he pleases.n57
Nurse.
Well! if thou mean’st well,
Perhaps—
Chorus.
Perhaps that Jove may make the breeze
Yet veer to us.
Nurse.
How so? Our only hope,
Orestes, is no more.
Chorus.
Softly, good Nurse;
Thou art an evil prophet, if thou say’st so.
Nurse.
How? hast thou news to a different tune?
Chorus.
Go! go!
Mind thine own business, and the gods will do
What thing they will do.
Nurse.
Well! I’ll do thy bidding!
The gods lead all things to a fair conclusion!
CHORAL HYMN.n58
STROPHE I.
O thou, o’er all Olympian gods that be,
Supremely swaying,
With words of wisdom, when I pray to thee,
Inspire my praying.
We can but pray; to do, O Jove, is thine,
Thou great director;
Of him within, who works thy will divine,
Be thou protector!
Him raise, the orphaned son whom thou dost see
In sheer prostration;
Twofold and threefold he shall find from thee
Just compensation.
ANTISTROPHE I.
But hard the toil. Yoked to the car of Fate,
When harshly driven,
O rein him thou! his goaded speed abate
Wisely from Heaven!
Jove tempers all, steadies all things that reel;
When wildly swerveth
From the safe line life’s burning chariot wheel,
His hand preserveth.
Ye gods, that guard these gold-stored halls, this day
Receive the claimant,
Who comes, that old Wrong to young Right may pay
A purple payment.
STROPHE II.
Blood begets blood; but, when this blow shall fall,
O thou, whose dwelling
Is Delphi’s fuming throat, may this be all!
Of red blood, welling
From guilty veins, enough. Henceforth may joy
Look from the eyes of the Atridan boy,
Discerning clearly
From his ancestral halls the clouds unrolled,
That hung so drearly.
ANTISTROPHE II.
And thou, O Maia’s son,f8 fair breezes blow,
The full sail swelling!
Cunning art thou through murky ways to go,
To Death’s dim dwelling;
Dark are the doings of the gods; and we,
When they are clearest shown, but dimly see;
Yet faith will follow
Where Hermes leads, the leader of the dead,
And thou, Apollo.
EPODE.
Crown ye the deed; then will I freely pour
The blithe libation,
And, with pure offerings, cleanse the Atridan floor
From desecration!
Then with my prosperous hymn the lyre shall blend
Its kindly chorus,
And Argos shall be glad, and every friend
Rejoice before us!
Gird thee with manhood, boy; though hard to do,
It is thy father’s work; to him be true.
And, when she cries—Son, wilt thou kill thy Mother?
Cry—Father, Father! and with that name smother
The rising ruth. As Perseus, when he slew
The stony Dread,f9 was stony-hearted, do
Thy mission stoutly;
For him below, and her above,f10 pursue
This work devoutly.
The gods by thee, in righteous judgment, show
Their grace untender!
Thou to the man, that dealt the deathful blow,
Like death shalt render.
Enter Ægisthus.
Ægisthus.
Not uninvited come I, having heard
A rumour strange, by certain strangers brought,
No pleasant tale—Orestes’ death. In sooth,
A heavy fear-distilling sorrow this,
More than a house may bear, whose wounds yet bleed,
And ulcerate from the fangs of fate. But say,
Is this a fact that looks us in the face,
Or startling words of woman’s fears begotten,
That shoot like meteors through the air, and die?
What proof, ye maids, what proof?
Chorus.
Our ears have heard.
But go within; thyself shalt see the man;
Try well the teller, e’er thou trust the tale.
Ægisthus.
I’ll scan him well, and prove him close, if he
Himself was at the death, or but repeat
From blind report the news another told.
It will go hard, if idle breath cheat me.
My eyes are in my head, and I can see.
[Exit into the house.
Chorus.
Jove! great Jove! What shall I say?
How with pious fervour pray,
That from thee the answer fair
Be wafted to my friendly prayer?
Now the keen-edged axe shall strike,
With a life-destroying blow;
Now, or, plunged in deep perdition,
Agamemnon’s house sinks low,
Or the hearth with hope this day
Shall blaze, through all the ransomed halls,
And the son his father’s wealth
Shall win, and with his sceptre sway.