On my heart's prow a blast blows mightily,
Keen wrath and loathing fierce.
Antistrophe 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.
390
Hear me, O Earth, and ye,
[*]Powers held in awe below!