Classic Poem

  Elect. And should'st Thou havoc make of brood of sire
Who at thine altar greatly honoured Thee,
Whence wilt Thou get a festive offering
From hand as free! Nor, should'st Thou bring to nought
The eagle's nestlings, would'st thou have at hand
A messenger to bear thy will to man
In signs persuasive; nor when withered up
This royal stock shall be, will it again
Wait on thine altars at high festivals:
Oh, bring it back, and then Thou too wilt raise
From low estate a lofty house, which now
Seems to have fallen, fallen utterly.
  Chor. Ah, children! saviours of your father's house,
Hush, hush, lest some one hear you, children dear,
And for mere talking's sake report all this
To those that rule. Ah, would I might behold them
Lie dead 'midst oozing fir-pyre blazing high!
  Orest. Nay, nay, I tell you, Loxias' oracle,
In strength excelling, will not fail us now,
That bade me on this enterprise to start,
And with clear voice spake often, warning me
Of chilling pain-throes at the fevered heart,
Unless my father's murderers I should chase,
Bidding me kill them in the self-same fashion,
Stirred by the wrongs that pauperise my life,
And said that I with many a mischief ill
Should pay for that fault with mine own dear life.
For making known to men the charms earth-born
That soothe the wrathful powers, he spake for us
Of ills as follows, leprous sores that creep
All o'er the flesh, and as with cruel jaws
Eat out its ancient nature, and white hairs
On that foul ill to supervene: and still
He spake of other onsets of the Erinnyes,
As brought to issue from a father's blood;
For the dark weapon of the Gods below
Winged by our kindred that lie low in death,
And beg for vengeance, yea, and madness too,
And vague, dim fears at night disturb and haunt me,
Seeing full clearly, though I move my brow
In the thick darkness … and that then my frame.
Thus tortured, should be driven from the city
With brass-knobbed scourge: and that for such as I
It was not given to share the wine-cup's taste,
Nor votive stream in pure libation poured;
And that my father's wrath invisible
Would drive me from all altars, and that none
Should take me in, or lodge with me; at last,
That, loathed of all and friendless, I should die,
A wretched mummy, all my strength consumed.
Must I not trust such oracles as these?
Yea, though I trust not, must the deed be done;
For many motives now in one converge,—
The God's command, great sorrow for my father;
My lack of fortune, this, too, urges me
Never to leave our noble citizens,
With noblest courage Troïa's conquerors,
To be the subjects to two women thus;
Yea, his soul is as woman's: an' it be not,
He soon shall know the issue.
  Chor. Grant ye from Zeus, O mighty Destinies!
That so our work may end
As Justice wills, who takes our side at last;
Now for the tongue of bitter hate let tongue
Of bitter hate be given. Loud and long
The voice of Vengeance claiming now her debt;
And for the murderous blow
Let him who slew with murderous blow repay.
“That the wrong-doer bear the wrong he did,”
Thrice-ancient saying of a far-off time,
This speaketh as we speak.

Strophe I

  Orest. O father, sire ill-starred,
What deed or word could I
Waft from afar to thee,
Where thy couch holds thee now,
To be a light with dark commensurate?
Alike, in either case,
The wail that tells their praise is welcome gift
To those Atreidæ, guardians of our house.

Strophe II

  Chor. My child, my child, the mighty jaws of fire
Bind not the mood and spirit of the dead!
But e'en when that is past he shows his wrath.
When he that dies is wailed,
The murderer stands revealed:
The righteous cry for parents that begat,
To fullest utterance roused,
Searches the whole truth out.

A NTISTROPHE I

  Elect. Hear then, O father, now
Our tearful griefs in turn;
From us thy children twain
The funeral wail ascends;
And we, as suppliants and as exiles too,
Find shelter at thy tomb.
What of all this is good, what void of ills?
Is not this now a woe invincible?
  Chor. Yet, even yet, from evils such as these,
God, if He will, may bring more pleasant strains:
And for the dirge we utter by the tomb,
A pæan in the royal house may raise
Welcome to new-found friend.

Strophe III

  Orest. Had'st thou beneath the walls
Of Ilion, O my sire,
Been slain by Lykian foe,
Pierced through and through with spear,
Leaving high fame at home,
And laying strong and sure
Thy children's paths in life,
Then had'st thou had as thine
Far off across the sea
A mound of earth heaped high,
To all thy kith and kin endurable.

A NTISTROPHE II

  Chor. Yea, and as friend with friends
That nobly died, he then
Had dwelt in high estate
A sovereign ruler, held
Of all in reverence,
High in their train who rule
Supreme in that dark world;
For he, too, while he lived,
As monarch ruled o'er those
Whose hands the sceptre held
That mortal men obey.

A NTISTROPHE III

Elect. Not even 'neath the wails
Of Troïa, O my sire,
With those the spear hath slain,
Would I have had thee lie
By fair Scamandros' stream:
No, this my prayer shall be
That those who slew thee fall,
By their own kin struck down,
That one might hear far off,
Untried by woes like this,
The fate that brings inevitable death.
  Chor. Of blessings more than golden, O my child,
Greater than greatest fortune, or the bliss
Of those beyond the North thou speakest now;
For this is in thy grasp;
But hold; e'en now this thud of double scourge
Finds its way on to him;
Already these find helpers 'neath the earth,
But of those rulers whom we loathe and hate
Unholy are the hands:
And children gain the day.

Strophe IV

  Elect. Ah! this, like arrow, pierces through the ear!
O Zeus! O Zeus! who sendest from below
A woe of tardy doom
Upon the bold and subtle hands of men . . . .
Nay, though they parents be,
Yet all shall be fulfilled.

Strophe V

  Chor. May it be mine to chant o'er funeral pyre
Cry well accordant with the pine-fed blaze,
When first the man is slain,
And his wife perisheth!
Why should I hide what flutters round my heart?
On my heart's prow a blast blows mightily,
Keen wrath and loathing fierce.

A NTISTROPHE IV

  Orest. And when shall Zeus, the orphan's guardian true,
Lay to his hand and smite the guilty heads?
So may our land learn faith!
Vengeance I claim from those who did the wrong.
Hear me, O Earth, and ye,
Powers held in awe below!
  Chor. Yea, the law saith that gory drops once shed
Upon the ground for yet more blood should crave;
For lo! fell slaughter on Erinnys calls,
To come from those that perished long ago,
And on one sorrow other sorrow bring.

Strophe VI

  Elect. Ah, ah, O Earth, and Lords of those below!
Behold, ye mighty Curses of the slain,
Behold the remnant of the Atreidæ's house
Brought to extremest strait,
Bereaved of house and home!
Whither, O Zeus, can any turn for help?

A NTISTROPHE V

  Chor. Ah, my fond heart is quivering in dismay,
Hearing this loud lament most lamentable:
Now have I little cheer,
And blackened is my heart,
Hearing that speech; but then again when hope
On strength uplifts me, far it drives my grief,
Propitious seen at last.

A NTISTROPHE VI

  Orest. What could we speak more fitly than the woes
We suffer, yea, and from a parent's hands?
Well, she may fawn; our mood remains unsoothed;
For like a wolf untamed,
We from our mother take
A wrathful soul that to no fawning yields.

Strophe VII

  Chor. I strike an Arian stroke, and in the strain
Of Kissian mourner skilled,
Ye might have seen the stretching forth of hands,
With rendings of the hair, and random blows,
In quick succession given,
Dealt from above with arm at fullest length,
And with the beating still my head is stunned,
Battered and full of woe.
  Elect. O mother, hostile found, and daring all!
With burial as of foe
Thou had'st the heart a ruler to inter,
His citizens not there,
As pouse unwept, with no lamentings loud.

Strophe VIII

  Orest. Ah! thou hast told the whole full tale of shame;
Shall she not pay then for that outrage dire
Unto my father done,
So far as Gods prevail,
So far as my hands work?
May it be mine to smite her and then die!

A NTISTROPHE VII

  Chor. Yea, he was maimed! (that thou the tale may'st know)
And as she slaughtered, so she buried him,
Seeking to work a doom
For thy young life all unendurable.
Now thou dost hear the woes
Thy father suffered, stained with foulest shame.

A NTISTROPHE VIII

  Elect. Thou tellest of my father's death, but I
Stood afar off, contemned,
Counted as nought, and like a cursèd hound
Shut up within, I poured the tide of tears
(More ready they than smiles)
Uttering in secret wail of weeping full.
Hear thou these things, and write them in my mind.
  Chor. Let the tale pierce thine ears,
While thy soul onward moves with tranquil step:
So much, thou know'st, stands thus;
Seek thou with all desire to know the rest;
'Tis meet to enter now
Within the lists with mind inflexible.

Strophe IX

  Orest. I bid thee, O my father, help thy friends.
Elect. Bitterly weeping, these my tears I add.
  Chor. With full accord so cries our company.
Come then to light, and hear;
Be with us 'gainst our foes.

A NTISTROPHE IX

  Orest. My Might their Might, my Right their Right must meet.
  Elect. Ye Gods, give righteous issue in our cause.
  Chor. Fear creeps upon me as I hear your prayers.
Long tarries destiny,
But comes to those who pray.

Strophe X

  Semi-Chor. A. Oh, woe that haunts the race,
And harsh, shrill stroke of Atè's bloody scourge!
Woes sad and hard to bear,
Calling for wailing loud,
Ah, woe is me, a grief immedicable.

A NTISTROPHE X

  Semi-Chor. B. Yea, but as cure for this,
And healing salve, 'tis yours with your own hands,
With no help from without,
To press your suit of blood;
So runs our hymn to those great Gods below.
  Chor. Yea, hearing now, ye blest Ones 'neath the earth,
This prayer, send ye your children timely help
That worketh victory.
  Orest. O sire, who in no kingly fashion died'st,
Hear thou my prayer; grant victory o'er this house.
  Elect. I, father, ask this prayer, that I may work
Ægisthos' death, and then acquittal gain.
  Orest. Yea, thus the banquets that men give the dead
Would for thee too be held, but otherwise
Dishonoured wilt thou lie 'mid those that feast,
Robbed of thy country's rich burnt-offerings.
  Elect. I too from out my father's house will bring
Libations from mine own inheritance,
As marriage offerings. Chief and first of all,
Will I do honour to this sepulchre.
  Orest. Set free my sire, O Earth, to watch the battle.
  Elect. O Persephassa, goodly victory grant!
  Orest. Remember, sire, the bath in which they slew thee!
  Elect. Remember thou the net they handselled so!
  Orest. In fetters not of brass wast thou snared, father.
  Elect. Yea, basely with that mantle they devised.
  Orest. Art thou not roused by these reproaches, father?
  Elect. Dost thou not lift thine head for those thou lov'st?
  Orest. Or send thou Vengeance to assist thy friends;
Or let them get like grasp of those thy foes,
If thou, o'ercome, dost wish to conquer them.
  Elect. And hear thou this last prayer of mine, my father,
Seeing us thy nestlings sitting at thy tomb,
Have mercy on thy boy and on thy girl;
Nor blot thou out the seed of Pelopids:
So thou, though thou hast died, art yet not dead;
For children are the voices that preserve
Man's memory when he dies: so bear the net
The corks that float the flax-mesh from the deep.
Hear thou: This is our wailing cry for thee,
And thou, our prayer regarding, sav'st thyself.
  Chor. Unblamed have ye your utterance lengthened out,
Amends for that his tomb's unwept-for lot.
But as to what remains, since thou'rt resolved
To act, act now; make trial of thy Fate.
  Orest. So shall it be. Yet 'tis not out of course
To ask why she libations sent, why thus
Too late she cares for ill she cannot cure?
Yea, to a dead man heeding not 'twas sent,
A sorry offering. Why, I fail to guess:
The gifts are far too little for the fault;
For should a man pour all he has to pay
For one small drop of blood, the toil were vain:
So runs the saying. But if thou dost know,
Tell this to me as wishing much to learn.
  Chor. I know, my child, for I was by. Stirred on
By dreams and wandering terrors of the night,
That godless woman these libations sent.
  Orest. And have ye learnt the dream, to tell it right?
  Chor. As she doth say, she thought she bare a snake.
  Orest. How ends the tale, and what its outcome then?
  Chor. She nursed it, like a child, in swaddling clothes.
  Orest. What food did that young monster crave for then?
  Chor. She in her dream her bosom gave to it.
  Orest. How 'scaped her breast by that dread beast unhurt?
  Chor. Nay, with the milk it sucked out clots of blood.
  Orest. Ah, not in vain comes this dream from her lord.
  Chor. She, roused from sleep, cries out all terrified,
And many torches that were quenched in gloom
Blazed for our mistress' sake within the house.
Then these libations for the dead she sends,
Hoping they'll prove good medicine of ills.
  Orest. Now to Earth here and my sire's tomb I pray
They leave not this strange vision unfulfilled.
So I expound it that it all coheres;
For if, the self-same spot that I left leaving,
The snake was then wrapt in my swaddling clothes,
And sucked the very breast that nourished me,
And mixed the sweet milk with a clot of blood,
And she in terror wailed the strange event,
So must she, as that monster dread she nourished,
Die cruel death: and I, thus serpentised,
Am here to slay her, as this dream portends;
I take thee as my dream-interpreter.
  Chor. So be it; but in all else guide thy friends;
Bid some do this, some that, some nought at all.
  Orest. Simple my orders, that she go within;
And you, I charge you, hide these plans of mine,
That they who slew a noble soul by guile,
By guile may die and in the self-same snare
Be caught, as Loxias gave his oracle,
The king Apollo, seer that never lied:
For like a stranger in full harness clad
Will I draw near with this man, Pylades,
To the great gates, a stranger I, and he,
Ally in arms. And then we both will speak
Parnassian speech, and imitate the tone
Of Phokian tongue. And should no porter there
Give us good welcome, on the ground that now
The house with ills is haunted, there we'll stay,
So that a man who passeth by the house
Will guess, and thus will speak, “Why drives Ægisthos
The suppliant from his gate, if he's at home
And knows it?” But if I should pass the threshold
Of the great gate, and find him seated there
Upon my father's throne, or if he comes
And meets me, face to face, and lifts his eyes,
And drops them, then be sure, before he says,
“Whence is this stranger?”—I will lay him dead,
With my swift-footed brazen weapon pierced;
And then Erinnys, stinted not in slaughter,
Shall drink her third draught of unmingled blood.
Thou, then, watch well what passes in the house,
So that these things may dovetail close and well:
And you I bid to keep a tongue discreet,
Silent, if need be, or the right word speaking,
And Him I call to look upon me here,
Since he has set me on this strife of swords.