CHORUS.
Would that a death, painless, not lingering,
Would on me bring the everlasting sleep,
Since my kind guard,
That for a woman's sake so much
Braved, by a woman's hand has met his end.
O Helen, thou for whom beneath Troy's wall
Myriads were doomed to die,
At last through thee the gout
Of blood which in this house
Was uneffaced, fresh murder has begot.
CLYTAEMNESTRA.
Pray not for death to come
In ire at this my deed,
With Helen be not wroth
Because her murderous face
Many a bold Danaan slew
And woe unmeasured brought.
CHORUS.
Fiend, that dost haunt the hall
Of the Tantalidae,
And in a woman showed
A man's strength to my bane,
See how upon the dead,
Perched like a raven dire,
She chants her impious strain.
CLYTAEMNESTRA.
Now speakest thou aright,
Calling upon the fiend
That raveneth this race.
From him proceeds that lust
Congenital of blood
That ever craves fresh gore.
CHORUS.
A demon dire and fell
Thou to this house
Would'st in dark strain assign.
Ah, me! All comes from Zeus,
Of all things source and cause,
Without whom naught befalls
Mankind. Of all this train
Of woes, what was there not by heaven decreed?
How shall I wail thee, king,
How vent my loyal grief?
In this fell spider's web thou liest low,
Expiring by a stroke
Accursed as no freeman ought to lie,
By treachery struck down
With its two-handed axe.