On the life-giving lap of Earth
Blood hath flowed forth;
And now, the seed of vengeance, clots the plain—
Unmelting, uneffaced the stain.
And Atè tarries long, but at the last
The sinner’s heart is cast
Into pervading, waxing pangs of pain.
Lo, when man’s force doth ope
The virgin doors, there is nor cure nor hope
For what is lost,—even so, I deem,
Though in one channel ran Earth’s every stream,
Laving the hand defiled from murder’s stain,
It were vain.
And upon me—ah me!—the gods have laid
The woe that wrapped round Troy,
What time they led down from home and kin
Unto a slave’s employ—
The doom to bow the head
And watch our master’s will
Work deeds of good and ill—
To see the headlong sway of force and sin,
And hold restrained the spirit’s bitter hate,
Wailing the monarch’s fruitless fate,
Hiding my face within my robe, and fain
Of tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.
ELECTRA
Hand maidens, orderers of the palace-halls,
Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train,
Companions of this offering, counsel me
As best befits the time: for I, who pour
Upon the grave these streams funereal,
With what fair word can I invoke my sire?
Shall I aver, Behold, I bear these gifts
From well-beloved wife unto her well-beloved lord,
When ’tis from her, my mother, that they come?
I dare not say it: of all words I fail
Wherewith to consecrate unto my sire
These sacrificial honours on his grave.
Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use—
Give back, to those who send these coronals
Full recompense—of ills for acts malign?
Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink,
Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain,
And homeward pass with unreverted eyes,
Casting the bowl away, as one who flings
The household cleansings to the common road?
Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt,
Even as ye are in that one common hate
Whereby we live attended: fear ye not
The wrath of any man, nor hide your word
Within your breast: the day of death and doom
Awaits alike the freeman and the slave.
Speak, then, if aught thou know’st to aid us more.
CHORUS
Thou biddest; I will speak my soul’s thought out,
Revering as a shrine thy father’s grave.
ELECTRA
Say then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.
CHORUS
Speak solemn words to them that love, and pour.
ELECTRA
And of his kin whom dare I name as kind?
CHORUS
Thyself; and next, whoe’er Aegisthus scorns.
ELECTRA
Then ’tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.