Classic Poem

  Orest. O Hermes of the darkness 'neath the earth,
Who hast the charge of all thy Father's sway,
To me who pray deliverer, helper be;
For I to this land come, from exile come,
And on the raised mound of this monument
I bid my father hear and list. One tress,
Thank-offering for the gifts that fed my youth,
To Inachos I consecrate, and this
The second as the token of my grief;
For mine it was not, father, being by,
Over thy death to groan, nor yet to stretch
My hand forth for the burial of thy corpse.
What see I now? What company of women
Is this that comes in mourning garb attired?
What chance shall I conjecture as its cause?
Does a new sorrow fall upon this house?
Or am I right in guessing that they bring
Libations to my father, soothing gifts
To those beneath? It cannot but be so.
I think Electra, mine own sister, comes,
By wailing grief conspicuous. Thou, O Zeus,
Grant me full vengeance for my father's death,
And of thine own good will my helper be!
Come, Pylades, and let us stand aside,
That I may clearly learn what means this train
Of women offering prayers.

Strophe I

  Chor. Sent from the house I come,
With quick, sharp beatings of the hands in grief,
To pour libations here;
And see, my cheeks with bloody marks are tracked,
The new-cut furrows which my nails have made,
And evermore my heart is fed with groans;
And folds of mantles tied
Across the breast are rent
To shreds and rags in grief,
Marring the grace of linen vestments fair,
Since we by woes that shut out smiles are smitten.

A NTISTROPHE I

Full clear a spectre came
That made each single hair to stand on end,
Dream-prophet of this house,
That e'en in sleep breathes out avenging wrath;
And from the secret chamber cried in fear
A cry that broke the silence of the night,
There, where the women dwell,
Falling with heaviest weight;
And those who judge such dreams
Told, calling God to witness, that the souls
Below were wroth and vexed with those that slew them.

Strophe II

On such a graceless deed of grace, as charm
To ward off ill, (O Earth! O mother kind!)
A godless woman now
Sends me with eager heart;
And yet I dread to utter that same prayer;
What ransom has been found
For blood on earth once poured?
Oh! hearth all miserable!
Oh! utter overthrow of house and home!
Yea, mists of darkness, sunless, loathed of men,
Cover both home and house
With its lords' bloody deaths.

A NTISTROPHE II

Yea, all the majesty that awed of old,
Unchecked, unconquered, irresistible,
Thrilling the people's heart
As well as ears, is gone;
There are, may be, that fear; but now Success
Is man's sole God and more;
Yet stroke of Vengeance swift
Smites some in life's clear day,
For some who tarry long their sorrows wait
In twilight dim, on darkness' borderland,
And some an endless night
Of nothingness holds fast.

Strophe III

Because of blood that mother earth has drunk,
The guilt of slaughter that will vengeance work
Is fixed indelibly;
And Atè, working grief,
Permits awhile the guilty one to wait,
That so he may be full and overflow
With all-devouring ill.

A NTISTROPHE III

For him whose foul touch stains the marriage bed
No remedy avails; and water-streams,
Though all as from one source
Should pour to cleanse the guilt
Of murder that the sin-stained hand defiles,
Would yet flow all in vain
That guilt to purify.

E PODE

But now to me, since the high Gods have sent
A doom of bondage round my city's walls,
(For from my father's home
They have brought on me fate of slavery,)
Deeds right and wrong alike
Have been as things 'twas meet I should accept,
Since this slave-life began,
Where deeds are done by violence and force,
And I must needs suppress
The bitter loathing of my inmost heart,
And now beneath my cloak I weep and wail
For all the frustrate fortunes of my lords,
Chilled through with secret grief.
  Elect. Ye handmaids, ye who deftly tend this house,
Since ye are here companions in my task
As suppliants, give me your advice in this,
What shall I say as these funereal gifts
I pour? How shall I speak acceptably?
How to my father pray? What? Shall I say
“I bring from loving wife to husband loved
Gifts”—from my mother? No, I am not bold
Enough for that, nor know I what to speak,
Pouring this chrism on my father's tomb,
Or shall I say this prayer, as men are wont,
“Good recompense make thou to those who bring
These garlands,” yea, a gift full well deserved
By deeds of ill? Or dumb, with ignominy
Like that with which he perished, shall I pour
Libations on the earth, and like a man
That flings away the lustral filth, shall I
Throw down the urn and walk with eyes not turned?
Be sharers in my counsels, O my friends;
A common hate we cherish in the house;
Hide nothing in your heart through fear of man.
Fate's doom firm-fixed awaits alike the free,
And those in bondage to another's hand.
Speak, if thou can'st a better counsel give.
  Chor. Thy father's tomb as altar honouring,
I, as thou bidd'st, will speak my heart-thoughts out!
  Elect. Speak, then, as thou my father's tomb dost honour,
  Chor. Say, as thou pour'st, good words for those that love,
  Elect. Which of my friends shall I address as such!
  Chor. First then thyself, and whoso hates Ægisthos.
  Elect. Shall I for thee, as for myself, pray thus?
  Chor. Now that thou'rt learning, judge of that thyself.
  Elect. Whom shall I add then to this company?
  Chor. Far though Orestes be, forget him not.
  Elect. Right well is this: thou teachest admirably.
  Chor. Then, for the blood-stained ones remembering say. . . . .
  Elect. What then? Explain, and teach my ignorance.
  Chor. That there may come to them some God or man …
  Elect. Shall I “as judge” or as “avenger” say?
  Chor. Say it out plain! “to give them death for death.” . . . .
  Elect. May prayers like these consist with piety?
  Chor. Why not,—a foe with evils to requite?
  Elect. O mightiest herald of the Gods on high
And those below, O Hermes of the dark,
Call thou the Powers beneath, and bid them hear
The prayers that look towards my father's house;
And Earth herself, who all things bringeth forth,
And rears them and again receives their fruit.
And I to human souls libations pouring,
Say, calling on my father, “Pity me;
How shall we bring our dear Orestes home?”
For now as sold to ill by her who bore us,
We poor ones wander. She as husband gained
Ægisthos, who was partner in thy death;
And I am as a slave, and from his wealth
Orestes now is banished, and they wax
Full haughty in the wealth thy toil had gained.
And that Orestes hither with good luck
May come, I pray. Hear thou that prayer, my father!
And to myself grant thou that I may be
Than that my mother wiser far of heart,
Holier in act. For us this prayer I pour;
And for our foes, my father, this I pray,
That Justice may as thine avenger come,
And that thy murderers perish. Thus I place
Midway in prayer for good that now I speak,
My prayer 'gainst them for evil. Be thou then
The escort of these good things that I ask,
With help of Gods, and Earth, and conquering Justice.
With prayers like these my votive gifts I pour;
And as for you 'tis meet with cries to crown
The pæan ye utter, wailing for the dead.

Strophe

  Chor. Pour ye the pattering tear,
Falling for fallen lord,
Here by the tomb that shuts out good and ill,—
Here, where the full libations have been poured
That turn aside the curse men deprecate,
Hear me, O Thou my Dread,
Hear thou, O Sire, the words my dark mind speaks!

A NTISTROPHE

Oh, woe is me, woe, woe!
Woe, woe, and woe is me!
What warrior strong of spear
Shall come the house to free,
Or Ares with his Skythian bow in hand,
Shaking its pliant strength in deeds of war,
Or guiding in encounter closer yet
The weapons made with hilts?
  Elect. The gifts the earth hath drunk, my father hath them:
Now this new wonder come and share with me.
  Chor. Speak on, my heart goes pit-a-pat with fear.
  Elect. There on the tomb I see this lock cut off.
  Chor. What man or maid low-girdled can it claim?
  Elect. Full easy this for any one to guess.
  Chor. Old as I am, may I from younger learn?
  Elect. None but myself could cut off lock like this.
  Chor. Yea, foes are they that should with grief-locks mourn.
  Elect. Yes, surely, 'tis indeed the self-same hair …
  Chor. But as what tresses? This I seek to know.
  Elect. And of a truth 'tis very like to ours. …
  Chor. Did then Orestes send this secret gift?
  Elect. It is most like those flowing locks of his.
  Chor. Yet how had he adventured to come hither?
  Elect. He to his father sent the lock as gift.
  Chor. Not less regretful than before; thy words,
If on this soil his foot shall never tread.
  Elect. Yea, on me too there rushed heart-surge of gall
And I was smitten as with dart that pierced;
And from mine eyes there fell the thirsty drops
That pour unchecked, of this full bitter flood,
As I this lock beheld. How can I think
That any other townsman owns this hair?
Nay, she who slew . . . . she did not cut it off,
My mother . . . . who towards her children shows
A godless mood that little suits the name;
And yet that I should this assert outright,
The precious gift is his whom most of men
I love, Orestes. . . . . Nay, hope flatters me.
Alas! alas!
Would, herald-like, it had a kindly voice!
So should I not turn to and fro in doubt;
But either it had told me with all clearness
To loathe this tress, if cut from hated head;
Or, being of kin, had sought to share my grief,
To deck the tomb and do my father honour.
  Chor. Well, on the Gods we call, on those who know
In what storms we, like sailors, now are tossed:
But if deliverance may indeed be ours,
From a small seed a mighty trunk may grow.
  Elect. Here too are foot-prints as a second proof,
Just like … yea, close resembling those of mine.
For here are outlines of two separate feet,
His own and those of fellow-traveller,
And all the heels and impress of the feet,
When measured, fit well with my footsteps here . . . .
Pangs come on me, and sore bewilderment.
  Orest. Pray, uttering to the Gods no fruitless prayer,
For good success in what is yet to come.
  Elect. What profits now to me the Gods' good will?
  Orest. Thou see'st those here whom most thou did'st desire.
  Elect. Whom called I on, that thou hast knowledge of?
  Orest. Right well I know how thou dost prize Orestes.
  Elect. In what then find I now my prayers fulfilled?
  Orest. Behold me! Seek no dearer friend than I!
  Elect. Nay, stranger, dost thou weave a snare for me?
  Orest. Then do I plot my schemes against myself.
  Elect. Thou seekest to make merry with my grief.
  Orest. With mine then also, if at all with thine.
  Elect. Art thou indeed Orestes that I speak to?
  Orest. Though thou see'st him, thou'rt slow to learn 'tis I;
Yet when thou saw'st this lock of mourner's hair,
And did'st the foot-prints track my feet had made,
Agreeing with thine own, as brother's true,
Then did'st thou deem in hope thou looked'st on me.
Fit then this lock where it was cut, and see;
See too this woven robe, thine own hands' work,
The shuttle's stroke, and forms of beasts of chase.
Restrain thyself, nor lose thy head for joy:
Our nearest kin, I know, are foes to us.
  Elect. Thou whom thy father's house most loves, most prays for,
Our one sole hope, bewept with many a tear,
Of issue that shall work deliverance!
Thine own might trusting, thou thy father's house
Shalt soon win back. O pleasant fourfold name!
I needs must speak to thee as father dear;
The love I owe my mother turns to thee,
(She with full right to me is hateful now,)
My sister's too, who ruthlessly was slain;
And thou wast ever faithful brother found,
And one whom I revered. May Might and Right,
And sovran Zeus as third, my helpers be!
  Orest. Zeus! Zeus! be Thou a witness of our troubles,
See the lorn brood that calls an eagle sire,
Eagle that perished in the coils and folds
Of a fell viper. Now on them bereaved
Presses gaunt famine. Not as yet full-grown
Are they to bring their father's booty home.
Thus it is thine to see in me and her,
(I mean Electra) children fatherless,
Both suffering the same exile from our home.