CHORUS

O children, saviours of your father's home, Beware ye of your words, lest one should hear And bear them, for the tongue hath l.u.s.t to tell, Unto our masters--whom G.o.d grant to me In pitchy reek of fun'ral flame to see!

ORESTES

Nay, mighty is Apollo's oracle And shall not fail me, whom it bade to pa.s.s 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 G.o.d'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 power 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 a.s.sailing 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 h.e.l.l 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 l.u.s.tral bowl Should stand, no spilth of wine be poured to G.o.d 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 pitiless horror wind me for the grave, This spake the G.o.d--this dare I disobey?

Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done; For to that end diverse desires combine,-- The G.o.d'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 for the invocation which follows_.

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 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 G.o.d 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 had'st 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 n.o.bly fell, In the under-world again, Where are throned the kings of h.e.l.l, 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 doer--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 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 h.e.l.l!

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 home 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.