Classic Poem

Strophe I

Chor. Many dread forms of evils terrible
Earth bears, and Ocean's bays
With monsters wild and fierce
O'erflow, and through mid-air the meteor lights
Sweep by; and wingèd birds
And creeping things can tell the vehement rage
Of whirling storms of winds.
A NTISTROPHE I

But who man's temper overbold may tell,
Or daring passionate loves
Of women bold in heart,
Passions close bound with men's calamities?
Love that true love disowns,
That sways the weaker sex in brutes and men,
Usurps o'er wedlock's ties.
Strophe II

Whoso is not bird-witted, let him think
What scheme she learnt to plan,
Of subtle craft that wrought its will by fire,
That wretched child of Thestios, who to slay
Her son did set a-blaze
The brand that glowed blood-red,
Which had its birth when first from out the womb
He came with infant's wail,
And spanned the measure of its life with his,
On to the destined day.
A NTISTROPHE II

Another, too, must we with loathing name,
  Skylla, with blood defiled.
Who for the sake of foes a dear one slew,
Won by the gold-chased bracelets brought from Crete,
 The gifts that Minos gave,
 And knowing not the end,
Robbed Nisos of his lock of deathless life,
 She with her dog-like heart
Surprising him deep-breathing in his sleep;
 But Hermes comes on her.
Strophe III

And since I tell the tale of ruthless woes. . . .
 Yet now 'tis not the time
To tell of evil marriage which this house
 Doth loathe and execrate,
And of a woman's schemes and stratagems
 Against a warrior chief,
Chief whom his people honoured as was meet,
I give my praise to hearth from hot broils free,
 And praise that woman's mood
 That dares no deed of ill.
A NTISTROPHE III

But of all crimes the Lemnian foremost stands
 And the Earth mourns that woe
As worthy of all loathing. Yes, this guilt
 One might have well compared
With Lemnian ills; and now that race is gone,
 To lowest shame brought down
By the foul guilt the Gods abominate:
For no man honours what the Gods condemn,
 Which instance of all these
 Do I not rightly urge?
Strophe IV

And now the sword already at the heart,
Sharp-pointed, strikes a blow that pierces through,
 While Vengeance guides the hand;
 For lo! the lawlessness
Of one who doth transgress all lawlessly
The might and majesty of Zeus, lies not
 As trampled under foot.
A NTISTROPHE IV

The anvil-block of Vengeance firm is set,
And Fate, the sword-smith, hammers on the bronze
 Beforehand; and the child
 Is brought unto his home,
And in due time the debt of guilt is paid
By the dark-souled Erinnys, famed of old,
 For blood of former days.

  Orest. What ho, boy! hear us knocking at the gate.
Who is within, boy? who, boy?—hear, again;
A third time now I give my summons here,
If good Ægisthos' house be hospitable.

  Slave. Hold, hold; I hear. What stranger comes, and whence?
  Orest. Tell thou thy lords who over this house rule,
To whom I come and tidings new report;
And make good speed, for now the dusky car
Of night comes on apace, and it is time
For travellers in hospitable homes
To cast their anchor; and let some one come
From out the house who hath authority;
The lady, if so be one ruleth here,
But, seemlier far, her lord; for then no shame
In converse makes our words obscure and dim;
But man with man gains courage to speak out,
And makes his mission manifest as day.

  Clytæm. If ye need aught, O strangers, speak; for here
Is all that's fitting for a house like ours;
Warm baths, and bed that giveth rest from toil,
And presence of right honest faces too;
If there be aught that needeth counsel more,
That is men's business, and to them we'll tell it.
  Orest. A Daulian traveller, from Phokis come,
Am I, and as I went on business bound,
My baggage with me, unto Argos, I
(Just as I set forth,) met a man I knew not,
Who knew not me, and he then, having asked
My way and told me his, the Phokian Strophios
(For so I learnt in talking) said to me,
“Since thou dost go, my friend, for Argos bound,
In any case, tell those who gave him birth,
Remembering it right well, Orestes' death;
See thou forget it not, and whether plans
Prevail to fetch him home, or bury him
There where he is, a stranger evermore,
Bear back the message as thy freight for us;
For now the ribbed sides of an urn of bronze
The ashes hide of one whom men have wept.”
So much I heard and now have told; and if
I speak to kin that have a right in him
I know not, but his father sure should know it.
  Clytæm. Ah, thou hast told how utterly our ruin
Is now complete! O Curse of this our house,
Full hard to wrestle with! How many things,
Though lying out of reach, thou aimest at,
And with well-darted arrows from afar
Dost bring them low! And now thou strippest me,
Most wretched one, of all that most I loved.
A lucky throw Orestes now was making,
Getting his feet from out destruction's slough;
But now the hope of high, exulting joy,
Which this house had as healer, he scores down
As present in this fashion that we see.
  Orest. I could have wished to come to prosperous hosts,
As known and welcomed for my tidings good;
For who to hosts is friendlier than a guest?
But 'twould have been as impious in my thoughts
Not to complete this matter for my friends,
By promise bound and pledged as guest to host.
  Clytæm. Thou shalt not meet with less than thou deserv'st;
Nor wilt thou be to this house less a friend;
Another would have brought news all the same:
But since 'tis time that strangers who have made
A long day's journey find the things they need,
Lead him to these our hospitable halls,
And these his fellow-travellers and servants:
There let them meet with what befits our house.
I bid thee act as one who gives account;
And we unto the masters of our house
Will tell this news, and with no lack of friends
Deliberate of this calamity.

  Chor. Come then, handmaids of the palace,
When shall we with full-pitched voices
Show our feeling for Orestes?
  O earth revered! thou height revered, too,
  Of the mound piled o'er the body
  Of our navy's kingly captain,
  Oh, hear us now; oh, come and help us;
  For 'tis time for subtle Suasion
  To go with them to the conflict,
  And that Hermes act as escort,
  He who dwells in earth's deep darkness,
  In the strife where swords work mischief.

  Chor. The stranger seems about to work some ill;
And here I see Orestes' nurse in tears.
Where then, Kilissa, art thou bound, that thus
Thou tread'st the palace-gates, and with thee comes
Grief as a fellow-traveller unbidden?
  Kilis. Our mistress bids me with all speed to call
Ægisthos to the strangers, that he come
And hear more clearly, as a man from man,
This newly-brought report. Before her slaves,
Under set eyes of melancholy cast,
She hid her inner chuckle at the events
That have been brought to pass—too well for her,
But for this house and hearth most miserably,—
As in the tale the strangers clearly told.
He, when he hears and learns the story's gist,
Will joy, I trow, in heart. Ah, wretched me!
How those old troubles, of all sorts made up,
Most hard to bear, in Atreus' palace-halls
Have made my heart full heavy in my breast!
But never have I known a woe like this.
For other ills I bore full patiently,
But as for dear Orestes, my sweet charge,
Whom from his mother I received and nursed . . . .
And then the shrill cries rousing me o' nights.
And many and unprofitable toils
For me who bore them. For one needs must rear
The heedless infant like an animal,
(How can it else be?) as his humour serves.
For while a child is yet in swaddling clothes,
It speaketh not, if either hunger comes,
Or passing thirst, or lower calls of need;
And children's stomach works its own content.
And I, though I foresaw this, call to mind
How I was cheated, washing swaddling clothes,
And nurse and laundress did the self-same work.
I then with these my double handicrafts,
Brought up Orestes for his father dear;
And now, woe's me! I learn that he is dead,
And go to fetch the man that mars this house:
And gladly will he hear these words of mine.
  Chor. And how equipped then doth she bid him come?
  Nurse . ‘How?’ Speak again that I may better learn.
  Chor. By spearmen followed, or himself alone?
  Nurse . She bids him bring his guards with lances armed.
  Chor. Nay, say not that to him thy lord doth hate.
But bid him ‘come alone,’ (that so he hear
Without alarm,) ‘full speed, with joyous mind,’
Since ‘secret speech with messengers goes best.’
  Nurse . And art thou of good cheer at this my tale?
  Chor. But what if Zeus will turn the tide of ill?
  Nurse . How so? Orestes, our one hope is gone.
  Chor. Not yet; a sorry seer might know thus much.
  Nurse . What say'st thou? Know'st thou aught besides my tale?
  Chor. Go tell thy message; do thine errand well:
The Gods for what they care for, care enough.
  Nurse . I then will go, complying with thy words:
May all, by God's gift, end most happily!

Strophe I

  Chor. Now to my prayer, O Father of the Gods
Of high Olympos, Zeus,
Grant that their fortune may be blest indeed
Who long to look on goodness prospering well,
Yea, with full right and truth
I speak the word—O Zeus, preserve thou him!

Strophe II

Yea, Zeus, set him whom now the palace holds,
Set him above his foes;
For if thou raise him high,
Then shalt thou have, to thy heart's full content,
Payment of two-fold, three-fold recompense.

A NTISTROPHE I

Know that the son of one who loved thee well
Like colt of sire bereaved,
Is to the chariot of great evils yoked,
And set thy limit to his weary path.
Ah, would that one might see
His panting footsteps, as he treads his course,
Keeping due measure through this plain of ours!

Strophe III

And ye within the gate,
Ye Gods, in purpose one,
Who dwell in shrines enriched
With all good things, come ye,
And now with vengeance fresh
Atone for murder foul
Of those that fell long since:
And let that blood of old,
When these are justly slain,
Breed no more in our house.

M ESODE

O Thou that dwellest in the cavern vast,
Adorned with goodly gifts,
Grant our lord's house to look up yet once more,
And that it now may glance,
In free and glorious guise
With loving kindly eyes,
From out its veil of gloom.
Let Maia's son too give
His righteous help, and waft
Good end with prosperous gale.

A NTISTROPHE III

And things that now are hid,
He, if he will, will bring
As to the daylight clear;
But when it pleases him
Dark, hidden words to speak,
As in thick night he bears
Black gloom before his face;
Nor is he in the day
One whit more manifest.

Strophe IV

And then our treasured store,
The price as ransom paid
To free the house from ill,
A woman's gift on breath
Of favouring breeze on borne,
We then with clamorous cry,
To sound of cithern sweet,
Will in the city pour;
And if this prospers well,
My gains, yea mine, 'twill swell, and Atè then
From those I love stands far.

A NTISTROPHE II

But thou, take courage, when the time is come
For action, and cry out,
Shouting thy father's name,
When she shall cry aloud the name of “son,”
And work thou out a woe that none will blame.

A NTISTROPHE IV

And have thou in thy breast
The heart that Perseus had,
And for thy friends beneath,
And those on earth who dwell,
Go thou and work the deed
Acceptable to them,
Of bitter, wrathful mood,
And consummate within
The loathly work of blood;
[And bidding Vengeance come as thine ally,]
Destroy the murderer.