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[411] in hand,
Shaking its pliant strength in deeds of war,
*Or guiding in encounter closer yet
The weapons made with hilts?
[_During the choral ode_ ELECTRA, _after going to the
mound, and pouring the libations on it, returns
holding in her hands the lock of hair which_
ORESTES _had left there_
_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. 160
_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?[412]
_Elect._ It is most like those flowing locks of his. 170
_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? 180
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; 190
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.[413]
_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, 200
And all the heels and impress of the feet,
When measured, fit well with my footsteps here....
Pangs come on me, and sore bewilderment.
[_As she ceases speaking_ ORESTES _comes forward
from his concealment_
_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? 210
_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. 220
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[414] of chase.
[ELECTRA _starts, as if about to cry aloud for joy_
Restrain thyself, nor lose thy head for joy:
Our nearest kin, I know, are foes to us.
_Elect._ [_embracing_ ORESTES] 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
Shall soon win back. O pleasant fourfold name! 230
I needs must speak to thee as father dear;[415]
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 240
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.
_Elect._ And should'st Thou havoc make of brood of sire
Who at thine altar greatly honoured Thee,
Whence wilt Thou get a festive offering
From hand as free? Nor, should'st Thou bring to nought
The eagle's nestlings, would'st thou have at hand 250
A messenger to bear thy will to man
In signs persuasive; nor when withered up
This royal stock shall be, will it again
Wait on thine altars at high festivals:
Oh, bring it back, and then Thou too wilt raise
From low estate a lofty house, which now
Seems to have fallen, fallen utterly.
_Chor._ Ah, children! saviours of your father's house,
Hush, hush, lest some one hear you, children dear,
And for mere talking's sake report all this
To those that rule. Ah, would I might behold them
Lie dead 'midst oozing fir-pyre blazing high![416] 260
_Orest._ Nay, nay, I tell you, Loxias' oracle,
In strength excelling, will not fail us now,
That bade me on this enterprise to start,
And with clear voice spake often, warning me
Of chilling pain-throes at the fevered heart,
Unless my father's murderers I should chase,
Bidding me kill them in the self-same fashion,
Stirred by the wrongs that pauperise my life,
And said that I with many a mischief ill
Should pay for that fault with mine own dear life.
For making known to men the charms earth-born 270
*That soothe the wrathful powers,[417] he spake for us
Of ills as follows, leprous sores that creep
All o'er the flesh, and as with cruel jaws
Eat out its ancient nature, and white hairs[418]
On that foul ill to supervene: and still
He spake of other onsets of the Erinnyes,
As brought to issue from a father's blood;
For the dark weapon of the Gods below
Winged by our kindred that lie low in death,
And beg for vengeance, yea, and madness too,
And vague, dim fears at night disturb and haunt me,
*Seeing full clearly, though I move my brow[419] 280
In the thick darkness ... and that then my frame,
Thus tortured, should be driven from the city
With brass-knobbed scourge: and that for such as I
It was not given to share the wine-cup's taste,
Nor votive stream in pure libation poured;
And that my father's wrath invisible
Would drive me from all altars, and that none
Should take me in, or lodge with me; at last,
That, loathed of all and friendless, I should die,
A wretched mummy, all my strength consumed.
Must I not trust such oracles as these?
Yea, though I trust not, must the deed be done; 290
For many motives now in one converge,—
The God's command, great sorrow for my father;
My lack of fortune, this, too, urges me
Never to leave our noble citizens,
With noblest courage Troïa's conquerors,
To be the subjects to two women thus;
Yea, his soul is as woman's:[420] an' it be not,
He soon shall know the issue.
_Chor._ Grant ye from Zeus, O mighty Destinies!
That so our work may end
As Justice wills, who takes our side at last; 300
Now for the tongue of bitter hate let tongue
Of bitter hate be given. Loud and long
The voice of Vengeance claiming now her debt;
And for the murderous blow
Let him who slew with murderous blow repay.
“That the wrong-doer bear the wrong he did,”
Thrice-ancient saying of a far-off time,[421]
This speaketh as we speak.