At this point is felt most strongly the undercurrent of doubt and horror. It brims and rushes, overwhelming for a time the confident sense of justice and trust in the oracle of the god. And here the Chorus, expressing, as its function is, the brooding meditation of an onlooker, echoes their inmost thought in sympathetic strains:
Chor. Again ye make my changeful heart to yearn,
Listening your plaintive cry. One while I feel
My soul with dark misgivings shake and reel,
But by and by the clouds are rolled away
And courage heightens with new hopes of day.
Elec. Oh mother! Oh enemy! Oh hard soul!
Like a foe, unhonoured by funeral bowl,
Though a prince, unfollowed by mean or high,
Thou didst bury thy husband without one sigh.
Ores. Ah! ah! every word there hath stung.
But shall she not pay
For each shame she then flung
On my sire?
ELECTRA
Gertrude Demain Hammond R.I.
Elec. Thou hearest our father’s death; but I was driven
To grieve apart beneath the dews of heaven;
Chased from the chambers like a thievish hound,
To pour my grief in tears upon the ground,
They came more readily than smiles.... Write this in thy soul ...
Ores. Father, assist thy children in their deed!
Elec. Thy daughter’s tears implore thee in deep need!...
Ores. The cause is set. The battle doth begin!