Aeschylus: Tragedies (Oresteia, Prometheus Bound, etc.)

These be my prayers for us; for thee, O sire, I cry that one may come to smite thy foes, And that the slayers may in turn be slain. Cursed is their prayer, and thus I bar its path, Praying mine own, a counter-curse on them. And thou, send up to us the righteous boon For which we pray: thine aids be heaven and earth, And justice guide the right to victory, [To the Chorus. Thus have I prayed, and thus I shed these streams, And follow ye the wont, and as with flowers Crown ye with many a tear and cry the dirge, Your lips ring out above the dead man’s grave. [She pours the libations. CHORUS Woe, woe, woe! Let the teardrop fall, plashing on the ground Where our lord lies low: Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation’s stain, Shed on this grave-mound, Fenced wherein together, gifts of good or bane From the dead are found. Lord of Argos, hearken! Though around thee darken Mist of death and hell, arise and hear! Hearken and awaken to our cry of woe! Who with might of spear Shall our home deliver? Who like Ares bend until it quiver, Bend the northern bow? Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive, Thrust and slay and save?

ELECTRA Lo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pass— Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange. CHORUS Speak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear. ELECTRA I see upon the tomb a curl new shorn. CHORUS Shorn from what man or what deep-girded maid? ELECTRA That may he guess who will; the sign is plain. CHORUS Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age. ELECTRA None is there here but I, to clip such gift. CHORUS For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore. ELECTRA And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like— CHORUS Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that. ELECTRA Like unto those my father’s children wear. CHORUS Then is this lock Orestes’ secret gift? ELECTRA Most like it is unto the curls he wore, CHORUS Yet how dared he to come unto his home? ELECTRA He hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire. CHORUS It is a sorrow grievous as his death, That he should live yet never dare return.

ELECTRA Yea, and my heart o’erflows with gall of grief, And I am pierced as with a cleaving dart; Like to the first drops after drought, my tears Fall down at will, a bitter bursting tide, As on this lock I gaze; I cannot deem That any Argive save Orestes’ self Was ever lord thereof; nor, well I wot, Hath she, the murd’ress, shorn and laid this lock To mourn him whom she slew—my mother she, Bearing no mother’s heart, but to her race A loathing spirit, loathed itself of heaven! Yet to affirm, as utterly made sure, That this adornment cometh of the hand Of mine Orestes, brother of my soul, I may not venture, yet hope flatters fair! Ah well-a-day, that this dumb hair had voice To glad mine ears, as might a messenger, Bidding me sway no more ’twixt fear and hope, Clearly commanding, Cast me hence away, Clipped was I from some head thou lovest not; Or, I am kin to thee, and here, as thou, I come to weep and deck our father’s grave. Aid me, ye gods! for well indeed ye know How in the gale and counter-gale of doubt, Like to the seaman’s bark, we whirl and stray. But, if God will our life, how strong shall spring, From seed how small, the new tree of our home!— Lo ye, a second sign—these footsteps, look,— Like to my own, a corresponsive print; And look, another footmark,—this his own, And that the foot of one who walked with him. Mark, how the heel and tendons’ print combine, Measured exact, with mine coincident! Alas! for doubt and anguish rack my mind.

ORESTES (approaching suddenly) Pray thou, in gratitude for prayers fulfilled, Fair fall the rest of what I ask of heaven. ELECTRA Wherefore? what win I from the gods by prayer? ORESTES This, that thine eyes behold thy heart’s desire. ELECTRA On whom of mortals know’st thou that I call? ORESTES I know thy yearning for Orestes deep. ELECTRA Say then, wherein event hath crowned my prayer? ORESTES I, I am he; seek not one more akin. ELECTRA Some fraud, O stranger, weavest thou for me? ORESTES Against myself I weave it, if I weave. ELECTRA Ah, thou hast mind to mock me in my woe! ORESTES ’Tis at mine own I mock then, mocking thine. ELECTRA Speak I with thee then as Orestes’ self? ORESTES My very face thou see’st and know’st me not, And yet but now, when thou didst see the lock Shorn for my father’s grave, and when thy quest Was eager on the footprints I had made, Even I, thy brother, shaped and sized as thou, Fluttered thy spirit, as at sight of me! Lay now this ringlet whence ’twas shorn, and judge, And look upon this robe, thine own hands’ work, The shuttle-prints, the creature wrought thereon— Refrain thyself, nor prudence lose in joy, For well I wot, our kin are less than kind.

ELECTRA O thou that art unto our father’s home Love, grief and hope, for thee the tears ran down, For thee, the son, the saviour that should be; Trust thou thine arm and win thy father’s halls! O aspect sweet of fourfold love to me, Whom upon thee the heart’s constraint bids call As on my father, and the claim of love From me unto my mother turns to thee, For she is very hate; to thee too turns What of my heart went out to her who died A ruthless death upon the altar-stone; And for myself I love thee—thee that wast A brother leal, sole stay of love to me. Now by thy side be strength and right, and Zeus Saviour almighty, stand to aid the twain! ORESTES Zeus, Zeus! look down on our estate and us, The orphaned brood of him, our eagle-sire, Whom to his death a fearful serpent brought Enwinding him in coils; and we, bereft And foodless, sink with famine, all too weak To bear unto the eyrie, as he bore, Such quarry as he slew. Lo! I and she, Electra, stand before thee, fatherless, And each alike cast out and homeless made.

ELECTRA And if thou leave to death the brood of him Whose altar blazed for thee, whose reverence Was thine, all thine,—whence, in the after years, Shall any hand like his adorn thy shrine With sacrifice of flesh? the eaglets slain, Thou wouldst not have a messenger to bear Thine omens, once so clear, to mortal men; So, if this kingly stock be withered all, None on high festivals will fend thy shrine Stoop thou to raise us! strong the race shall show, Though puny now it seem, and fallen low. CHORUS O children, saviours of your father’s home, Beware ye of your words, lest one should hear And bear them, for the tongue hath lust to tell, Unto our masters—whom God grant to me In pitchy reek of fun’ral flame to see!

ORESTES Nay, mighty is Apollo’s oracle And shall not fail me, whom it bade to pass Thro’ all this peril; clear the voice rang out With many warnings, sternly threatening To my hot heart the wintry chill of pain, Unless upon the slayers of my sire I pressed for vengeance: this the god’s command— That I, in ire for home and wealth despoiled, Should with a craft like theirs the slayers slay: Else with my very life I should atone This deed undone, in many a ghastly wise For he proclaimed unto the ears of men That offerings, poured to angry power of death, Exude again, unless their will be done, As grim disease on those that poured them forth— As leprous ulcers mounting on the flesh And with fell fangs corroding what of old Wore natural form; and on the brow arise White poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease. He spake moreover of assailing fiends Empowered to quit on me my father’s blood, Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in night Beneath shut lids the spirit’s eye sees clear. The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hell By spirits of the murdered dead who call Unto their kin for vengeance, formless fear, The night-tide’s visitant, and madness’ curse Should drive and rack me; and my tortured frame Should be chased forth from man’s community As with the brazen scorpions of the scourge. For me and such as me no lustral bowl Should stand, no spilth of wine be poured to God For me, and wrath unseen of my dead sire Should drive me from the shrine; no man should dare To take me to his hearth, nor dwell with me: Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end, And pitiless horror wind me for the grave, This spake the god—this dare I disobey? Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done; For to that end diverse desires combine,— The god’s behest, deep grief for him who died, And last, the grievous blank of wealth despoiled— All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men, Minions of valour, who with soul of fire Did make of fencèd Troy a ruinous heap, Be not left slaves to two and each a woman! For he, the man, wears woman’s heart; if not Soon shall he know, confronted by a man.

[Orestes, Electra, and the Chorus gather round the tomb of Agamemnon for the invocation which follows. CHORUS Mighty Fates, on you we call! Bid the will of Zeus ordain Power to those, to whom again Justice turns with hand and aid! Grievous was the prayer one made— Grievous let the answer fall! Where the mighty doom is set, Justice claims aloud her debt Who in blood hath dipped the steel, Deep in blood her meed shall feel! List an immemorial word— Whosoe’er shall take the sword Shall perish by the sword. ORESTES Father, unblest in death, O father mine! What breath of word or deed Can I waft on thee from this far confine Unto thy lowly bed,— Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying, Hope’s counter-gleam of fire? Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undying Unto each parted sire. CHORUS O child, the spirit of the dead, Altho’ upon his flesh have fed The grim teeth of the flame, Is quelled not; after many days The sting of wrath his soul shall raise, A vengeance to reclaim! To the dead rings loud our cry— Plain the living’s treachery— Swelling, shrilling, urged on high, The vengeful dirge, for parents slain, Shall strive and shall attain.

ELECTRA Hear me too, even me, O father, hear! Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shed Upon thy sepulchre. Each, each, where thou art lowly laid, Stands, a suppliant, homeless made: Ah, and all is full of ill, Comfort is there none to say! Strive and wrestle as we may, Still stands doom invincible. CHORUS Nay, if so he will, the god Still our tears to joy can turn He can bid a triumph-ode Drown the dirge beside this urn; He to kingly halls can greet The child restored, the homeward-guided feet. ORESTES Ah my father! hadst thou lain Under Ilion’s wall, By some Lycian spearman slain, Thou hadst left in this thine hall Honour; thou hadst wrought for us Fame and life most glorious. Over-seas if thou had’st died, Heavily had stood thy tomb, Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride, Grief were light unto thy home. CHORUS Loved and honoured hadst thou lain By the dead that nobly fell, In the under-world again, Where are throned the kings of hell, Full of sway adorable Thou hadst stood at their right hand— Thou that wert, in mortal land, By Fate’s ordinance and law, King of kings who bear the crown And the staff, to which in awe Mortal men bow down.

ELECTRA Nay O father, I were fain Other fate had fallen on thee. Ill it were if thou hadst lain One among the common slain, Fallen by Scamander’s side— Those who slew thee there should be! Then, untouched by slavery, We had heard as from afar Deaths of those who should have died ’Mid the chance of war. CHORUS O child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest. Easy, but vain, thy cry! A boon above all gold is that thou prayest, An unreached destiny, As of the blessèd land that far aloof Beyond the north wind lies; Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof; A double scourge of sighs Awakes the dead; th’ avengers rise, though late; Blood stains the guilty pride Of the accursed who rule on earth, and Fate Stands on the children’s side. ELECTRA That hath sped thro’ mine ear, like a shaft from a bow! Zeus, Zeus! it is thou who dost send from below A doom on the desperate doer—ere long On a mother a father shall visit his wrong.

CHORUS Be it mine to upraise thro’ the reek of the pyre The chant of delight, while the funeral fire Devoureth the corpse of a man that is slain And a woman laid low! For who bids me conceal it! out-rending control, Blows ever stern blast of hate thro’ my soul, And before me a vision of wrath and of bane Flits and waves to and fro. ORESTES Zeus, thou alone to us art parent now. Smite with a rending blow Upon their heads, and bid the land be well: Set right where wrong hath stood; and thou give ear, O Earth, unto my prayer— Yea, hear O mother Earth, and monarchy of hell! CHORUS Nay, the law is sternly set— Blood-drops shed upon the ground Plead for other bloodshed yet; Loud the call of death doth sound, Calling guilt of olden time, A Fury, crowning crime with crime. ELECTRA Where, where are ye, avenging powers, Puissant Furies of the slain? Behold the relics of the race Of Atreus, thrust from pride of place! O Zeus, what home henceforth is ours, What refuge to attain?

CHORUS Lo, at your wail my heart throbs, wildly stirred; Now am I lorn with sadness, Darkened in all my soul, to hear your sorrow’s word. Anon to hope, the seat of strength, I rise,— She, thrusting grief away, lifts up mine eyes To the new dawn of gladness. ORESTES Skills it to tell of aught save wrong on wrong, Wrought by our mother’s deed? Though now she fawn for pardon, sternly strong Standeth our wrath, and will nor hear nor heed; Her children’s soul is wolfish, born from hers, And softens not by prayers. CHORUS I dealt upon my breast the blow That Asian mourning women know; Wails from my breast the fun’ral cry, The Cissian weeping melody; Stretched rendingly forth, to tatter and tear, My clenched hands wander, here and there, From head to breast; distraught with blows Throb dizzily my brows. ELECTRA Aweless in hate, O mother, sternly brave! As in a foeman’s grave Thou laid’st in earth a king, but to the bier No citizen drew near,— Thy husband, thine, yet for his obsequies, Thou bad’st no wail arise!

ORESTES Alas the shameful burial thou dost speak! Yet I the vengeance of his shame will wreak— That do the gods command! That shall achieve mine hand! Grant me to thrust her life away, and I Will dare to die! CHORUS List thou the deed! Hewn down and foully torn, He to the tomb was borne; Yea, by her hand, the deed who wrought, With like dishonour to the grave was brought, And by her hand she strove, with strong desire, Thy life to crush, O child, by murder of thy sire: Bethink thee, hearing, of the shame, the pain Wherewith that sire was slain! ELECTRA Yea, such was the doom of my sire; well-a-day, I was thrust from his side,— As a dog from the chamber they thrust me away, And in place of my laughter rose sobbing and tears, As in darkness I lay. O father, if this word can pass to thine ears, To thy soul let it reach and abide! CHORUS Let it pass, let it pierce, through the sense of thine ear, To thy soul, where in silence it waiteth the hour! The past is accomplished; but rouse thee to hear What the future prepareth; awake and appear, Our champion, in wrath and in power! ORESTES O father, to thy loved ones come in aid.

ELECTRA With tears I call on thee. CHORUS Listen and rise to light! Be thou with us, be thou against the foe! Swiftly this cry arises—even so Pray we, the loyal band, as we have prayed! ORESTES Let their might meet with mine, and their right with my right. ELECTRA O ye Gods, it is yours to decree. CHORUS Ye call unto the dead; I quake to hear. Fate is ordained of old, and shall fulfil your prayer. ELECTRA Alas, the inborn curse that haunts our home, Of Atè’s bloodstained scourge the tuneless sound! Alas, the deep insufferable doom, The stanchless wound! ORESTES It shall be stanched, the task is ours,— Not by a stranger’s, but by kindred hand, Shall be chased forth the blood-fiend of our land. Be this our spoken spell, to call Earth’s nether powers! CHORUS Lords of a dark eternity, To you has come the children’s cry, Send up from hell, fulfil your aid To them who prayed. ORESTES O father, murdered in unkingly wise, Fulfil my prayer, grant me thine halls to sway. ELECTRA To me too, grant this boon—dark death to deal Unto Aegisthus, and to ’scape my doom.

ORESTES So shall the rightful feasts that mortals pay Be set for thee; else, not for thee shall rise The scented reek of altars fed with flesh, But thou shall lie dishonoured: hear thou me! ELECTRA I too, from my full heritage restored, Will pour the lustral streams, what time I pass Forth as a bride from these paternal halls, And honour first, beyond all graves, thy tomb. ORESTES Earth, send my sire to fend me in the fight! ELECTRA Give fair-faced fortune, O Persephone! ORESTES Bethink thee, father, in the laver slain— ELECTRA Bethink thee of the net they handselled for thee! ORESTES Bonds not of brass ensnared thee, father mine. ELECTRA Yea, the ill craft of an enfolding robe. ORESTES By this our bitter speech arise, O sire! ELECTRA Raise thou thine head at love’s last, dearest call! ORESTES Yea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen’s cause; Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thou Willest in triumph to forget thy fall.

ELECTRA Hear me, O father, once again hear me. Lo! at thy tomb, two fledglings of thy brood— A man-child and a maid; hold them in ruth, Nor wipe them out, the last of Pelops’ line. For while they live, thou livest from the dead; Children are memory’s voices, and preserve The dead from wholly dying: as a net Is ever by the buoyant corks upheld, Which save the flex-mesh, in the depth submerged. Listen, this wail of ours doth rise for thee, And as thou heedest it thyself art saved. CHORUS In sooth, a blameless prayer ye spake at length— The tomb’s requital for its dirge denied: Now, for the rest, as thou art fixed to do, Take fortune by the hand and work thy will.

ORESTES The doom is set; and yet I fain would ask— Not swerving from the course of my resolve,— Wherefore she sent these offerings, and why She softens all too late her cureless deed? An idle boon it was, to send them here Unto the dead who recks not of such gifts. I cannot guess her thought, but well I ween Such gifts are skilless to atone such crime. Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strives Who seeks with other wealth or wine outpoured To atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails. Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest. CHORUS I know it, son; for at her side I stood. ’Twas the night-wandering terror of a dream That flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her— Her, the accursed of God—these offerings send. ORESTES Heard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright? CHORUS Yea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare. ORESTES What then the sum and issue of the tale? CHORUS Even as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing. ORESTES What suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged? CHORUS Yet in her dreams she proffered it the breast. ORESTES How? did the hateful thing not bite her teat? CHORUS Yea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk.

ORESTES Not vain this dream—it bodes a man’s revenge. CHORUS Then out of sleep she started with a cry, And thro’ the palace for their mistress’ aid Full many lamps, that erst lay blind with night, Flared into light; then, even as mourners use, She sends these offerings, in hope to win A cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom. ORESTES Earth and my father’s grave, to you I call— Give this her dream fulfilment, and thro’ me. I read it in each part coincident, With what shall be; for mark, that serpent sprang From the same womb as I, in swaddling bands By the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast, And sucking forth the same sweet mother’s-milk Infused a clot of blood; and in alarm She cried upon her wound the cry of pain. The rede is clear: the thing of dread she nursed, The death of blood she dies; and I, ’tis I, In semblance of a serpent, that must slay her. Thou art my seer, and thus I read the dream. CHORUS So do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us, Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.

ORESTES Brief my command: I bid my sister pass In silence to the house, and all I bid This my design with wariness conceal, That they who did by craft a chieftain slay May by like craft and in like noose be ta’en Dying the death which Loxias foretold— Apollo, king and prophet undisproved. I with this warrior Pylades will come In likeness of a stranger, full equipt As travellers come, and at the palace gates Will stand, as stranger yet in friendship’s bond Unto this house allied; and each of us Will speak the tongue that round Parnassus sounds, Feigning such speech as Phocian voices use. And what if none of those that tend the gates Shall welcome us with gladness, since the house With ills divine is haunted? if this hap, We at the gate will bide, till, passing by, Some townsman make conjecture and proclaim, How? is Aegisthus here, and knowingly Keeps suppliants aloof, by bolt and bar? Then shall I win my way; and if I cross The threshold of the gate, the palace’ guard, And find him throned where once my father sat— Or if he come anon, and face to face Confronting, drop his eyes from mine—I swear He shall not utter, Who art thou and whence? Ere my steel leap, and compassed round with death Low he shall lie: and thus, full-fed with doom, The Fury of the house shall drain once more A deep third draught of rich unmingled blood. But thou, O sister, look that all within Be well prepared to give these things event. And ye—I say ’twere well to bear a tongue Full of fair silence and of fitting speech As each beseems the time; and last, do thou, Hermes the warder-god, keep watch and ward, And guide to victory my striving sword.

[Exit with Pylades. CHORUS Many and marvellous the things of fear Earth’s breast doth bear; And the sea’s lap with many monsters teems, And windy levin-bolts and meteor gleams Breed many deadly things— Unknown and flying forms, with fear upon their wings, And in their tread is death; And rushing whirlwinds, of whose blasting breath Man’s tongue can tell. But who can tell aright the fiercer thing, The aweless soul, within man’s breast inhabiting? Who tell, how, passion-fraught and love-distraught The woman’s eager, craving thought Doth wed mankind to woe and ruin fell? Yea, how the loveless love that doth possess The woman, even as the lioness, Doth rend and wrest apart, with eager strife, The link of wedded life? Let him be the witness, whose thought is not borne on light wings thro’ the air, But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea’s despair; For she marr’d the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled the flame That was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother he came, With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she won, For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her son.

Yea, and man’s hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile, Who slew for an enemy’s sake her father, won o’er by the wile And the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold; For she clipped from her father’s head the lock that should never wax old, As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and her crime— But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of time. And since of the crimes of the cruel I tell, let my singing record The bitter wedlock and loveless, the curse on these halls outpoured, The crafty device of a woman, whereby did a chieftain fall, A warrior stern in his wrath; the fear of his enemies all,— A song of dishonour, untimely! and cold is the hearth that was warm And ruled by the cowardly spear, the woman’s unwomanly arm.

But the summit and crown of all crimes is that which in Lemnos befell; A woe and a mourning it is, a shame and a spitting to tell; And he that in after time doth speak of his deadliest thought, Doth say, It is like to the deed that of old time in Lemnos was wrought; And loathed of men were the doers, and perished, they and their seed, For the gods brought hate upon them; none loveth the impious deed. It is well of these tales to tell; for the sword in the grasp of Right With a cleaving, a piercing blow to the innermost heart doth smite, And the deed unlawfully done is not trodden down nor forgot, When the sinner out-steppeth the law and heedeth the high God not; But Justice hath planted the anvil, and Destiny forgeth the sword That shall smite in her chosen time; by her is the child restored; And, darkly devising, the Fiend of the house, world-cursed, will repay The price of the blood of the slain that was shed in the bygone day. [Enter Orestes and Pylades, in guise of travellers.

ORESTES (knocking at the palace gate) What ho! slave, ho! I smite the palace gate In vain, it seems; what ho, attend within,— Once more, attend; come forth and ope the halls, If yet Aegisthus holds them hospitable. SLAVE (from within) Anon, anon! [Opens the door. Speak, from what land art thou, and sent from whom? ORESTES Go, tell to them who rule the palace-halls, Since ’tis to them I come with tidings new— (Delay not—Night’s dark car is speeding on, And time is now for wayfarers to cast Anchor in haven, wheresoe’er a house Doth welcome strangers)—that there now come forth Some one who holds authority within— The queen, or, if some man, more seemly were it; For when man standeth face to face with man, No stammering modesty confounds their speech, But each to each doth tell his meaning clear. [Enter Clytemnestra. CLYTEMNESTRA Speak on, O strangers; have ye need of aught? Here is whate’er beseems a house like this— Warm bath and bed, tired Nature’s soft restorer, And courteous eyes to greet you; and if aught Of graver import needeth act as well, That, as man’s charge, I to a man will tell.

ORESTES A Daulian man am I, from Phocis bound, And as with mine own travel-scrip self-laden I went toward Argos, parting hitherward With travelling foot, there did encounter me One whom I knew not and who knew not me, But asked my purposed way nor hid his own, And, as we talked together, told his name— Strophius of Phocis; then he said, “Good sir, Since in all case thou art to Argos bound, Forget not this my message, heed it well, Tell to his own, Orestes is no more. And—whatsoe’er his kinsfolk shall resolve, Whether to bear his dust unto his home, Or lay him here, in death as erst in life Exiled for aye, a child of banishment— Bring me their hest, upon thy backward road; For now in brazen compass of an urn His ashes lie, their dues of weeping paid.” So much I heard, and so much tell to thee, Not knowing if I speak unto his kin Who rule his home; but well, I deem, it were, Such news should earliest reach a parent’s ear.

CLYTEMNESTRA Ah woe is me! thy word our ruin tells; From roof-tree unto base are we despoiled.— O thou whom nevermore we wrestle down, Thou Fury of this home, how oft and oft Thou dost descry what far aloof is laid, Yea, from afar dost bend th’ unerring bow And rendest from my wretchedness its friends; As now Orestes—who, a brief while since, Safe from the mire of death stood warily,— Was the home’s hope to cure th’ exulting wrong; Now thou ordainest, Let the ill abide. ORESTES To host and hostess thus with fortune blest, Lief had I come with better news to bear Unto your greeting and acquaintanceship; For what goodwill lies deeper than the bond Of guest and host? and wrong abhorred it were, As well I deem, if I, who pledged my faith To one, and greetings from the other had, Bore not aright the tidings ’twixt the twain. CLYTEMNESTRA Whate’er thy news, thou shalt not welcome lack, Meet and deserved, nor scant our grace shall be. Hadst them thyself not come, such tale to tell, Another, sure, had borne it to our ears. But lo! the hour is here when travelling guests, Fresh from the daylong labour of the road, Should win their rightful due. Take him within [To the slave.

To the man-chamber’s hospitable rest— Him and these fellow-farers at his side; Give them such guest-right as beseems our halls; I bid thee do as thou shalt answer for it. And I unto the prince who rules our home Will tell the tale, and, since we lack not friends, With them will counsel how this hap to bear [Exit Clytemnestra. CHORUS So be it done— Sister-servants, when draws nigh Time for us aloud to cry Orestes and his victory? O holy earth and holy tomb Over the grave-pit heaped on high, Where low doth Agamemnon lie, The king of ships, the army’s lord! Now is the hour—give ear and come, For now doth Craft her aid afford, And Hermes, guard of shades in hell, Stands o’er their strife, to sentinel The dooming of the sword. I wot the stranger worketh woe within— For lo! I see come forth, suffused with tears, Orestes’ nurse. What ho, Kilissa—thou Beyond the doors? Where goest thou? Methinks Some grief unbidden walketh at thy side. [Enter Kilissa, a nurse.

KILISSA My mistress bids me, with what speed I may, Call in Aegisthus to the stranger guests, That he may come, and standing face to face, A man with men, may thus more clearly learn This rumour new. Thus speaking, to her slaves She hid beneath the glance of fictive grief Laughter for what is wrought—to her desire Too well; but ill, ill, ill besets the house, Brought by the tale these guests have told so clear. And he, God wot, will gladden all his heart Hearing this rumour. Woe and well-a-day! The bitter mingled cup of ancient woes, Hard to be borne, that here in Atreus’ house Befel, was grievous to mine inmost heart, But never yet did I endure such pain. All else I bore with set soul patiently; But now—alack, alack!—Orestes dear, The day and night-long travail of my soul! Whom from his mother’s womb, a new-born child, I clasped and cherished! Many a time and oft Toilsome and profitless my service was, When his shrill outcry called me from my couch! For the young child, before the sense is born, Hath but a dumb thing’s life, must needs be nursed As its own nature bids. The swaddled thing Hath nought of speech, whate’er discomfort come— Hunger or thirst or lower weakling need,— For the babe’s stomach works its own relief. Which knowing well before, yet oft surprised, ’Twas mine to cleanse the swaddling clothes—poor I Was nurse to tend and fuller to make white; Two works in one, two handicrafts I took, When in mine arms the father laid the boy. And now he’s dead—alack and well-a-day! Yet must I go to him whose wrongful power Pollutes this house—fair tidings these to him!

CHORUS Say then, with what array she bids him come? KILISSA What say’st thou! Speak more clearly for mine ear. CHORUS Bids she bring henchmen, or to come alone? KlLISSA She bids him bring a spear-armed body-guard. CHORUS Nay, tell not that unto our loathèd lord, But speed to him, put on the mien of joy, Say, Come along, fear nought, the news is good: A bearer can tell straight a twisted tale. KILISSA Does then thy mind in this new tale find joy? CHORUS What if Zeus bid our ill wind veer to fair? KILISSA And how? the home’s hope with Orestes dies. CHORUS Not yet—a seer, though feeble, this might see. KILISSA What say’st thou? Know’st thou aught, this tale belying? CHORUS Go, tell the news to him, perform thine hest,— What the gods will, themselves can well provide. KILISSA Well, I will go, herein obeying thee; And luck fall fair, with favour sent from heaven. [Exit. CHORUS Zeus, sire of them who on Olympus dwell, Hear thou, O hear my prayer! Grant to my rightful lords to prosper well Even as their zeal is fair! For right, for right goes up aloud my cry— Zeus, aid him, stand anigh!

Into his father’s hall he goes To smite his father’s foes. Bid him prevail! by thee on throne of triumph set, Twice, yea and thrice with joy shall he acquit the debt. Bethink thee, the young steed, the orphan foal Of sire beloved by thee, unto the car Of doom is harnessed fast. Guide him aright, plant firm a lasting goal, Speed thou his pace,—O that no chance may mar The homeward course, the last! And ye who dwell within the inner chamber Where shines the storèd joy of gold— Gods of one heart, O hear ye, and remember; Up and avenge the blood shed forth of old, With sudden rightful blow; Then let the old curse die, nor be renewed With progeny of blood,— Once more, and not again, be latter guilt laid low!

O thou who dwell’st in Delphi’s mighty cave, Grant us to see this home once more restored Unto its rightful lord! Let it look forth, from veils of death, with joyous eye Unto the dawning light of liberty; And Hermes, Maia’s child, lend hand to save, Willing the right, and guide Our state with Fortune’s breeze adown the favouring tide. Whate’er in darkness hidden lies, He utters at his will; He at his will throws darkness on our eye By night and eke by day inscrutable. Then, then shall wealth atone The ills that here were done. Then, then will we unbind, Fling free on wafting wind Of joy, the woman’s voice that waileth now In piercing accents for a chief laid low; And this our song shall be— _Hail to the commonwealth restored! Hail to the freedom won to me! All hail! for doom hath passed from him, my well-loved lord!_

And thou, O child, when Time and Chance agree, Up to the deed that for thy sire is done! And if she wail unto thee, Spare, O son— Cry, Aid, O father—and achieve the deed, The horror of man’s tongue, the gods’ great need! Hold in thy breast such heart as Perseus had, The bitter woe work forth, Appease the summons of the dead, The wrath of friends on earth; Yea, set within a sign of blood and doom, And do to utter death him that pollutes thy home. [Enter Aegisthus. AEGISTHUS Hither and not unsummoned have I come; For a new rumour, borne by stranger men Arriving hither, hath attained mine ears, Of hap unwished-for, even Orestes’ death. This were new sorrow, a blood-bolter’d load Laid on the house that doth already bow Beneath a former wound that festers deep. Dare I opine these words have truth and life? Or are they tales, of woman’s terror born, That fly in the void air, and die disproved? Canst thou tell aught, and prove it to my soul? CHORUS What we have heard, we heard; go thou within Thyself to ask the strangers of their tale. Strengthless are tidings, thro’ another heard; Question is his, to whom the tale is brought.

AEGISTHUS I too will meet and test the messenger, Whether himself stood witness of the death, Or tells it merely from dim rumour learnt: None shall cheat me, whose soul hath watchful eyes. [Exit. CHORUS Zeus, Zeus! what word to me is given? What cry or prayer, invoking heaven, Shall first by me be utterèd? What speech of craft? nor all revealing, Nor all too warily concealing— Ending my speech, shall aid the deed? For lo! in readiness is laid The dark emprise, the rending blade; Blood-dropping daggers shall achieve The dateless doom of Atreus’ name, Or—kindling torch and joyful flame In sign of new-won liberty— Once more Orestes shall retrieve His father’s wealth, and, throned on high, Shall hold the city’s fealty. So mighty is the grasp whereby, Heaven-holpen, he shall trip and throw, Unseconded, a double foe Ho for the victory! [A loud cry within. VOICE OF AEGISTHUS Help, help, alas! CHORUS Ho there, ho! how is’t within? Is’t done? is’t over? Stand we here aloof While it is wrought, that guiltless we may seem Of this dark deed; with death is strife fulfilled. [Enter a slave

SLAVE O woe, O woe, my lord is done to death! Woe, woe, and woe again, AEgisthus gone! Hasten, fling wide the doors, unloose the bolts Of the queen’s chamber. O for some young strength To match the need! but aid availeth nought To him laid low for ever. Help, help, help! Sure to deaf ears I shout, and call in vain To slumber ineffectual. What ho! The queen! how fareth Clytemnestra’s self? Her neck too, hers, is close upon the steel, And soon shall sink, hewn thro’ as justice wills. [Enter Clytemnestra. CLYTEMNESTRA What ails thee, raising this ado for us? SLAVE I say the dead are come to slay the living. CLYTEMNESTRA Alack, I read thy riddles all too clear— We slew by craft and by like craft shall die. Swift, bring the axe that slew my lord of old; I’ll know anon or death or victory— So stands the curse, so I confront it here. [Enter Orestes, his sword dropping with blood. ORESTES Thee too I seek: for him what’s done will serve. CLYTEMNESTRA Woe, woe! Aegisthus, spouse and champion, slain! ORESTES What lov’st the man? then in his grave lie down, Be his in death, desert him nevermore!

CLYTEMNESTSA Stay, child, and fear to strike. O son, this breast Pillowed thine head full oft, while, drowsed with sleep, Thy toothless mouth drew mother’s milk from me. ORESTES Can I my mother spare? speak, Pylades, PYLADES Where then would fall the hest Apollo gave At Delphi, where the solemn compact sworn? Choose thou the hate of all men, not of gods. ORESTES Thou dost prevail; I hold thy counsel good. [To Clytemnestra. Follow; I will slay thee at his side. With him whom in his life thou lovedst more Than Agamemnon, sleep in death, the meed For hate where love, and love where hate was due! CLYTEMNESTRA I nursed thee young; must I forego mine eld? ORESTES Thou slew’st my father; shalt thou dwell with me? CLYTEMNESTRA Fate bore a share in these things, O my child! ORESTES Fate also doth provide this doom for thee. CLYTEMNESTRA Beware, O my child, a parent’s dying curse. ORESTES A parent who did cast me out to ill! CLYTEMNESTRA Not cast thee out, but to a friendly home. ORESTES Born free, I was by twofold bargain sold. CLYTEMNESTRA Where then the price that I received for thee? ORESTES The price of shame; I taunt thee not more plainly. CLYTEMNESTRA Nay, but recount thy father’s lewdness too.

ORESTES Home-keeping, chide not him who toils without. CLYTEMNESTRA ’Tis hard for wives to live as widows, child. ORESTES The absent husband toils for them at home. CLYTEMNESTRA Thou growest fain to slay thy mother, child ORESTES Nay, ’tis thyself wilt slay thyself, not I. CLYTEMNESTRA Beware thy mother’s vengeful hounds from hell. ORESTES How shall I ’scape my father’s, sparing thee? CLYTEMNESTRA Living, I cry as to a tomb, unheard. ORESTES My father’s fate ordains this doom for thee. CLYTEMNESTRA Ah, me! this snake it was I bore and nursed. ORESTES Ay, right prophetic was thy visioned fear. Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame! [Exit, driving Clytemnestra before him. CHORUS Lo, even for these I mourn, a double death: Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom, Thus crowns the height of murders manifold, I say, ’tis well—that not in night and death Should sink the eye and light of this our home.

There came on Priam’s race and name A vengeance; though it tarried long, With heavy doom it came. Came, too, on Agamemnon’s hall A lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong. And last, the heritage doth fall To him, to whom from Pythian cave The god his deepest counsel gave. Cry out, rejoice! our kingly hall Hath ’scaped from ruin—ne’er again Its ancient wealth be wasted all By two usurpers, sin-defiled— An evil path of woe and bane! On him who dealt the dastard blow Comes Craft, Revenge’s scheming child. And hand in hand with him doth go, Eager for fight, The child of Zeus, whom men below Call Justice, naming her aright. And on her foes her breath Is as the blast of death; For her the god who dwells in deep recess Beneath Parnassus’ brow, Summons with loud acclaim To rise, though late and lame, And come with craft that worketh righteousness.

For even o’er Powers divine this law is strong— Thou shalt not serve the wrong. To that which ruleth heaven beseems it that we bow. Lo, freedom’s light hath come! Lo, now is rent away The grim and curbing bit that held us dumb. Up to the light, ye halls! this many a day Too low on earth ye lay. And Time, the great Accomplisher, Shall cross the threshold, whensoe’er He choose with purging hand to cleanse The palace, driving all pollution thence. And fair the cast of Fortune’s die Before our state’s new lords shall lie, Not as of old, but bringing fairer doom Lo, freedom’s light hath come! [_The scene opens, disclosing Orestes standing over the corpses of Aegisthus and Clytemnestra; in one hand he holds his sword, in the other the robe in which Agamemnon was entangled and slain_.

ORESTES There lies our country’s twofold tyranny, My father’s slayers, spoilers of my home. Erst were they royal, sitting on the throne, And loving are they yet,—their common fate Tells the tale truly, shows their trothplight firm. They swore to work mine ill-starred father’s death, They swore to die together; ’tis fulfilled. O ye who stand, this great doom’s witnesses, Behold this too, the dark device which bound My sire unhappy to his death,—behold The mesh which trapped his hands, enwound his feet! Stand round, unfold it—’tis the trammel-net That wrapped a chieftain; holds it that he see, The father—not my sire, but he whose eye Is judge of all things, the all-seeing Sun! Let him behold my mother’s damnèd deed, Then let him stand, when need shall be to me, Witness that justly I have sought and slain My mother; blameless was Aegisthus’ doom— He died the death law bids adulterers die. But she who plotted this accursèd thing To slay her lord, by whom she bare beneath Her girdle once the burden of her babes, Beloved erewhile, now turned to hateful foes— What deem ye of her? or what venomed thing, Sea-snake or adder, had more power than she To poison with a touch the flesh unscarred? So great her daring, such her impious will. How name her, if I may not speak a curse? A lion-springe! a laver’s swathing cloth, Wrapping a dead man, twining round his feet— A net, a trammel, an entangling robe? Such were the weapon of some strangling thief, The terror of the road, a cut-purse hound— With such device full many might he kill, Full oft exult in heat of villainy. Ne’er have my house so cursed an indweller— Heaven send me, rather, childless to be slain!

CHORUS Woe for each desperate deed! Woe for the queen, with shame of life bereft! And ah, for him who still is left, Madness, dark blossom of a bloody seed! ORESTES Did she the deed or not? this robe gives proof, Imbrued with blood that bathed Aegisthus’ sword: Look, how the spurted stain combines with time To blur the many dyes that once adorned Its pattern manifold! I now stand here, Made glad, made sad with blood, exulting, wailing— Hear, O thou woven web that slew my sire! I grieve for deed and death and all my home— Victor, pollution’s damnèd stain for prize. CHORUS Alas, that none of mortal men Can pass his life untouched by pain! Behold, one woe is here— Another loometh near.

ORESTES Hark ye and learn—for what the end shall be For me I know not: breaking from the curb My spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey, Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraught Far from the course, and madness in my breast Burneth to chant its song, and leap, and rave— Hark ye and learn, friends, ere my reason goes! I say that rightfully I slew my mother, A thing God-scorned, that foully slew my sire And chiefest wizard of the spell that bound me Unto this deed I name the Pythian seer Apollo, who foretold that if I slew, The guilt of murder done should pass from me; But if I spared, the fate that should be mine I dare not blazon forth—the bow of speech Can reach not to the mark, that doom to tell. And now behold me, how with branch and crown I pass, a suppliant made meet to go Unto Earth’s midmost shrine, the holy ground Of Loxias, and that renownèd light Of ever-burning fire, to ’scape the doom Of kindred murder: to no other shrine (So Loxias bade) may I for refuge turn. Bear witness, Argives, in the after time, How came on me this dread fatality. Living, I pass a banished wanderer hence, To leave in death the memory of this cry.

CHORUS Nay, but the deed is well; link not thy lips To speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words— Who hast to Argos her full freedom given, Lopping two serpents’ heads with timely blow. ORESTES Look, look, alas! Handmaidens, see—what Gorgon shapes throng up; Dusky their robes and all their hair enwound— Snakes coiled with snakes—off, off, I must away! CHORUS Most loyal of all sons unto thy sire, What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide; Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear? ORESTES These are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill, But clear to sight my mother’s hell-hounds come! CHORUS Nay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands, And thence distraction sinks into thy soul. ORESTES O king Apollo—see, they swarm and throng— Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes! CHORUS One remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrine Of Loxias, and rid thee of these woes. ORESTES Ye can behold them not, but I behold them. Up and away! I dare abide no more. [Exit CHORUS Farewell then as thou mayst,—the god thy friend Guard thee and aid with chances favouring.

Behold, the storm of woe divine That the raves and beats on Atreus’ line Its great third blast hath blown. First was Thyestes’ loathly woe— The rueful feast of long ago, On children’s flesh, unknown. And next the kingly chief’s despite, When he who led the Greeks to fight Was in the bath hewn down. And now the offspring of the race Stands in the third, the saviour’s place, To save—or to consume? O whither, ere it be fulfilled, Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled, Shall blow the wind of doom? [Exeunt.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE THE PYTHIAN PRIESTESS APOLLO ORESTES THE GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA CHORUS OF FURIES ATHENA ATTENDANTS OF ATHENA TWELVE ATHENIAN CITIZENS _The Scene of the Drama is the Temple of Apollo, at Delphi: afterwards the Temple of Athena, on the Acropolis of Athens, and the adjoining Areopagus._ The Temple at Delphi The Pythian Priestess

F irst, in this prayer, of all the gods I name The prophet-mother Earth; and Themis next, Second who sat—for so with truth is said— On this her mother’s shrine oracular. Then by her grace, who unconstrained allowed, There sat thereon another child of Earth— Titanian Phoebe. She, in after time, Gave o’er the throne, as birthgift to a god, Phoebus, who in his own bears Phoebe’s name. He from the lake and ridge of Delos’ isle Steered to the port of Pallas’ Attic shores, The home of ships; and thence he passed and came Unto this land and to Parnassus’ shrine. And at his side, with awe revering him, There went the children of Hephaestus’ seed, The hewers of the sacred way, who tame The stubborn tract that erst was wilderness. And all this folk, and Delphos, chieftain-king Of this their land, with honour gave him home; And in his breast Zeus set a prophet’s soul, And gave to him this throne, whereon he sits, Fourth prophet of the shrine, and, Loxias hight, Gives voice to that which Zeus his sire decrees.

Such gods I name in my preluding prayer, And after them, I call with honour due On Pallas, wardress of the fane, and Nymphs Who dwell around the rock Corycian, Where in the hollow cave, the wild birds’ haunt, Wander the feet of lesser gods; and there, Right well I know it, Bromian Bacchus dwells, Since he in godship led his Maenad host, Devising death for Pentheus, whom they rent Piecemeal, as hare among the hounds. And last, I call on Pleistus’ springs, Poseidon’s might, And Zeus most high, the great Accomplisher. Then as a seeress to the sacred chair I pass and sit; and may the powers divine Make this mine entrance fruitful in response Beyond each former advent, triply blest. And if there stand without, from Hellas bound, Men seeking oracles, let each pass in In order of the lot, as use allows; For the god guides whate’er my tongue proclaims. [She goes into the interior of the temple; after a short interval, she returns in great fear.

Things fell to speak of, fell for eyes to see, Have sped me forth again from Loxias’ shrine, With strength unstrung, moving erect no more, But aiding with my hands my failing feet, Unnerved by fear. A beldame’s force is naught— Is as a child’s, when age and fear combine. For as I pace towards the inmost fane Bay-filleted by many a suppliant’s hand, Lo, at the central altar I descry One crouching as for refuge—yea, a man Abhorredd of heaven; and from his hands, wherein A sword new-drawn he holds, blood reeked and fell: A wand he bears, the olive’s topmost bough, Twined as of purpose with a deep close tuft Of whitest wool. This, that I plainly saw, Plainly I tell. But lo, in front of him, Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly band Of women slumbers—not like women they, But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak, Nor may I match the Gorgons’ shape with theirs! Such have I seen in painted semblance erst— Winged Harpies, snatching food from Phineus’ board,— But these are wingless, black, and all their shape The eye’s abomination to behold. Fell is the breath—let none draw nigh to it— Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyes Exude the damnèd drops of poisonous ire: And such their garb as none should dare to bring To statues of the gods or homes of men. I wot not of the tribe wherefrom can come So fell a legion, nor in what land Earth Could rear, unharmed, such creatures, nor avow That she had travailed and brought forth death. But, for the rest, be all these things a care Unto the mighty Loxias, the lord Of this our shrine: healer and prophet he, Discerner he of portents, and the cleanser Of other homes—behold, his own to cleanse!

[Exit. [_The scene opens, disclosing the interior of the temple: Orestes clings to the central altar; the Furies lie slumbering at a little distance; Apollo and Hermes appear from the innermost shrine_.

APOLLO Lo, I desert thee never: to the end, Hard at thy side as now, or sundered far, I am thy guard, and to thine enemies Implacably oppose me: look on them, These greedy fiends, beneath my craft subdued! See, they are fallen on sleep, these beldames old, Unto whose grim and wizened maidenhood Nor god nor man nor beast can e’er draw near. Yea, evil were they born, for evil’s doom, Evil the dark abyss of Tartarus Wherein they dwell, and they themselves the hate Of men on earth, and of Olympian gods. But thou, flee far and with unfaltering speed; For they shall hunt thee through the mainland wide Where’er throughout the tract of travelled earth Thy foot may roam, and o’er and o’er the seas And island homes of men. Faint not nor fail, Too soon and timidly within thy breast Shepherding thoughts forlorn of this thy toil; But unto Pallas’ city go, and there Crouch at her shrine, and in thine arms enfold Her ancient image: there we well shall find Meet judges for this cause and suasive pleas, Skilled to contrive for thee deliverance From all this woe. Be such my pledge to thee, For by my hest thou didst thy mother slay.

ORESTES O king Apollo, since right well thou know’st What justice bids, have heed, fulfil the same,— Thy strength is all-sufficient to achieve. APOLLO Have thou too heed, nor let thy fear prevail Above thy will. And do thou guard him, Hermes, Whose blood is brother unto mine, whose sire The same high God. Men call thee guide and guard, Guide therefore thou and guard my suppliant; For Zeus himself reveres the outlaw’s right, Boon of fair escort, upon man conferred. [Exeunt Apollo, Hermes, and Orestes. The Ghost of Clytemnestra near

GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA Sleep on! awake! what skills your sleep to me— Me, among all the dead by you dishonoured— Me from whom never, in the world of death, Dieth this curse, ’Tis she who smote and slew, And shamed and scorned I roam? Awake, and hear My plaint of dead men’s hate intolerable. Me, sternly slain by them that should have loved, Me doth no god arouse him to avenge, Hewn down in blood by matricidal hands. Mark ye these wounds from which the heart’s blood ran, And by whose hand, bethink ye! for the sense When shut in sleep hath then the spirit-sight, But in the day the inward eye is blind. List, ye who drank so oft with lapping tongue The wineless draught by me outpoured to soothe Your vengeful ire! how oft on kindled shrine I laid the feast of darkness, at the hour Abhorred of every god but you alone! Lo, all my service trampled down and scorned! And he hath baulked your chase, as stag the hounds; Yea, lightly bounding from the circling toils, Hath wried his face in scorn, and flieth far. Awake and hear—for mine own soul I cry— Awake, ye powers of hell! the wandering ghost That once was Clytemnestra calls—Arise! [The Furies mutter grimly, as in a dream.

Mutter and murmur! He hath flown afar— My kin have gods to guard them, I have none! [The Furies mutter as before. O drowsed in sleep too deep to heed my pain! Orestes flies, who me, his mother, slew. [The Furies give a confused cry. Yelping, and drowsed again? Up and be doing That which alone is yours, the deed of hell! [The Furies give another cry. Lo, sleep and toil, the sworn confederates, Have quelled your dragon-anger, once so fell! THE FURIES (muttering more fiercely and loudly) Seize, seize, seize, seize—mark, yonder! GHOST In dreams ye chase a prey, and like some hound, That even in sleep doth ply his woodland toil, Ye bell and bay. What do ye, sleeping here? Be not o’ercome with toil, nor sleep-subdued, Be heedless of my wrong. Up! thrill your heart With the just chidings of my tongue,—such words Are as a spur to purpose firmly held. Blow forth on him the breath of wrath and blood, Scorch him with reek of fire that burns in you, Waste him with new pursuit—swift, hound him down! [Ghost sinks. FIRST FURY (awaking) Up! rouse another as I rouse thee; up! Sleep’st thou? Rise up, and spurning sleep away, See we if false to us this prelude rang.

CHORUS OF FURIES Alack, alack, O sisters, we have toiled, O much and vainly have we toiled and borne! Vainly! and all we wrought the gods have foiled, And turnèd us to scorn! He hath slipped from the net, whom we chased: he hath ’scaped us who should be our prey— O’ermastered by slumber we sank, and our quarry hath stolen away! Thou, child of the high God Zeus, Apollo, hast robbed us and wronged; Thou, a youth, hast down-trodden the right that is godship more ancient belonged; Thou hast cherished thy suppliant man; the slayer the God-forsaken, The bane of a parent, by craft from out of our grasp thou hast taken: A god, thou hast stolen from us the avengers a matricide son— And who shall consider thy deed and say, It is rightfully done? The sound of chiding scorn Came from the land of dream; Deep to mine inmost heart I felt it thrill and burn, Thrust as a strong-grasped goad, to urge Onward the chariot’s team. Thrilled, chilled with bitter inward pain I stand as one beneath the doomsman’s scourge. Shame on the younger gods who tread down right, Sitting on thrones of might! Woe on the altar of earth’s central fane! Clotted on step and shrine, Behold, the guilt of blood, the ghastly stain! Woe upon thee, Apollo! uncontrolled, Unbidden, hast thou, prophet-god, imbrued The pure prophetic shrine with wrongful blood! For thou too heinous a respect didst hold Of man, too little heed of powers divine! And us the Fates, the ancients of the earth, Didst deem as nothing worth. Scornful to me thou art, yet shalt not fend My wrath from him; though unto hell he flee, There too are we! And he the blood defiled, should feel and rue, Though I were not, fiend-wrath that shall not end, Descending on his head who foully slew.

[Re-enter Apollo from the inner shrine. APOLLO Out! I command you. Out from this my home— Haste, tarry not! Out from the mystic shrine, Lest thy lot be to take into thy breast The winged bright dart that from my golden string Speeds hissing as a snake,—lest, pierced and thrilled With agony, thou shouldst spew forth again Black frothy heart’s-blood, drawn from mortal men, Belching the gory clots sucked forth from wounds. These be no halls where such as you can prowl— Go where men lay on men the doom of blood, Heads lopped from necks, eyes from their spheres plucked out, Hacked flesh, the flower of youthful seed crushed out, Feet hewn away, and hands, and death beneath The smiting stone, low moans and piteous Of men impaled—Hark, hear ye for what feast Ye hanker ever, and the loathing gods Do spit upon your craving? Lo, your shape Is all too fitted to your greed; the cave Where lurks some lion, lapping gore, were home More meet for you. Avaunt from sacred shrines, Nor bring pollution by your touch on all That nears you. Hence! and roam unshepherded— No god there is to tend such herd as you.

CHORUS O king Apollo, in our turn hear us. Thou hast’not only part in these ill things, But art chief cause and doer of the same. APOLLO How? stretch thy speech to tell this, and have done. CHORUS Thine oracle bade this man slay his mother. APOLLO I bade him quit his sire’s death,—wherefore not? CHORUS Then didst thou aid and guard red-handed crime. APOLLO Yea, and I bade him to this temple flee. CHORUS And yet forsooth dost chide us following him! APOLLO Ay—not for you it is, to near this fane. CHORUS Yet is such office ours, imposed by fate. APOLLO What office? vaunt the thing ye deem so fair. CHORUS From home to home we chase the matricide. APOLLO What? to avenge a wife who slays her lord? CHORUS That is not blood outpoured by kindred hands.

APOLLO How darkly ye dishonour and annul The troth to which the high accomplishers, Hera and Zeus, do honour. Yea, and thus Is Aphrodite to dishonour cast, The queen of rapture unto mortal men. Know, that above the marriage-bed ordained For man and woman standeth Right as guard, Enhancing sanctity of troth-plight sworn; Therefore, if thou art placable to those Who have their consort slain, nor will’st to turn On them the eye of wrath, unjust art thou In hounding to his doom the man who slew His mother. Lo, I know thee full of wrath Against one deed, but all too placable Unto the other, minishing the crime. But in this cause shall Pallas guard the right. CHORUS Deem not my quest shall ever quit that man. APOLLO Follow then, make thee double toil in vain! CHORUS Think not by speech mine office to curtail. APOLLO None hast thou, that I would accept of thee! CHORUS Yea, high thine honour by the throne of Zeus: But I, drawn on by scent of mother’s blood, Seek vengeance on this man and hound him down.

APOLLO But I will stand beside him; ’tis for me To guard my suppliant: gods and men alike Do dread the curse of such an one betrayed, And in me Fear and Will say Leave him not. [Exeunt omnes _The scene changes to Athens. In the foreground, the Temple of Athena on the Acropolis; her statue stands in the centre; Orestes is seen clinging to it._ ORESTES Look on me, queen Athena; lo, I come By Loxias’ behest; thou of thy grace Receive me, driven of avenging powers— Not now a red-hand slayer unannealed, But with guilt fading, half-effaced, outworn On many homes and paths of mortal men. For to the limit of each land, each sea, I roamed, obedient to Apollo’s hest, And come at last, O Goddess, to thy fane, And clinging to thine image, bide my doom. [Enter the Chorus of Furies, questing like hounds

CHORUS Ho! clear is here the trace of him we seek: Follow the track of blood, the silent sign! Like to some hound that hunts a wounded fawn, We snuff along the scent of dripping gore, And inwardly we pant, for many a day Toiling in chase that shall fordo the man; For o’er and o’er the wide land have I ranged, And o’er the wide sea, flying without wings, Swift as a sail I pressed upon his track, Who now hard by is crouching, well I wot, For scent of mortal blood allures me here. Follow, seek him—round and round Scent and snuff and scan the ground, Lest unharmed he slip away, He who did his mother slay! Hist—he is there! See him his arms entwine Around the image of the maid divine— Thus aided, for the deed he wrought Unto the judgment wills he to be brought.

It may not be! a mother’s blood, poured forth Upon the stainèd earth, None gathers up: it lies—bear witness, Hell!— For aye indelible! And thou who sheddest it shalt give thine own That shedding to atone! Yea, from thy living limbs I suck it out, Red, clotted, gout by gout,— A draught abhorred of men and gods; but I Will drain it, suck thee dry; Yea, I will waste thee living, nerve and vein; Yea, for thy mother slain, Will drag thee downward, there where thou shalt dree The weird of agony! And thou and whatsoe’er of men hath sinned— Hath wronged or God, or friend, Or parent,—learn ye how to all and each The arm of doom can reach! Sternly requiteth, in the world beneath, The judgment-seat of Death; Yea, Death, beholding every man’s endeavour Recordeth it for ever.

ORESTES I, schooled in many miseries, have learnt How many refuges of cleansing shrines There be; I know when law alloweth speech And when imposeth silence. Lo, I stand Fixed now to speak, for he whose word is wise Commands the same. Look, how the stain of blood Is dull upon mine hand and wastes away, And laved and lost therewith is the deep curse Of matricide; for while the guilt was new, ’Twas banished from me at Apollo’s hearth, Atoned and purified by death of swine. Long were my word if I should sum the tale, How oft since then among my fellow-men I stood and brought no curse. Time cleanses all— Time, the coeval of all things that are. Now from pure lips, in words of omen fair, I call Athena, lady of this land, To come, my champion: so, in aftertime, She shall not fail of love and service leal, Not won by war, from me and from my land, And all the folk of Argos, vowed to her. Now, be she far away in Libyan land Where flows from Triton’s lake her natal wave,— Stand she with planted feet, or in some hour Of rest conceal them, champion of her friends Where’er she be,—or whether o’er the plain Phlegraean she look forth, as warrior bold— I cry to her to come, where’er she be, (And she, as goddess, from afar can hear,) And aid and free me, set among my foes.

CHORUS Thee not Apollo nor Athena’s strength Can save from perishing, a castaway Amid the Lost, where no delight shall meet Thy soul—a bloodless prey of nether powers, A shadow among shadows. Answerest thou Nothing? dost cast away my words with scorn, Thou, prey prepared and dedicate to me? Not as a victim slain upon the shrine, But living shalt thou see thy flesh my food. Hear now the binding chant that makes thee mine. Weave the weird dance,—behold the hour To utter forth the chant of hell, Our sway among mankind to tell, The guidance of our power. Of Justice are we ministers, And whosoe’er of men may stand Lifting a pure unsullied hand, That man no doom of ours incurs, And walks thro’ all his mortal path Untouched by woe, unharmed by wrath. But if, as yonder man, he hath Blood on the hands he strives to hide, We stand avengers at his side, Decreeing, Thou hast wronged the dead: We are doom’s witnesses to thee. The price of blood, his hands have shed, We wring from him; in life, in death, Hard at his side are we!

Night, Mother Night, who brought me forth, a torment To living men and dead, Hear me, O hear! by Leto’s stripling son I am dishonourèd: He hath ta’en from me him who cowers in refuge, To me made consecrate,— A rightful victim, him who slew his mother. Given o’er to me and fate. Hear the hymn of hell, O’er the victim sounding,— Chant of frenzy, chant of ill, Sense and will confounding! Round the soul entwining Without lute or lyre— Soul in madness pining, Wasting as with fire! Fate, all-pervading Fate, this service spun, commanding That I should bide therein: Whosoe’er of mortals, made perverse and lawless, Is stained with blood of kin, By his side are we, and hunt him ever onward, Till to the Silent Land, The realm of death, he cometh; neither yonder In freedom shall he stand. Hear the hymn of hell, O’er the victim sounding,— Chant of frenzy, chant of ill, Sense and will confounding! Round the soul entwining Without lute or lyre— Soul in madness pining, Wasting as with fire!

When from womb of Night we sprang, on us this labour Was laid and shall abide. Gods immortal are ye, yet beware ye touch not That which is our pride! None may come beside us gathered round the blood feast— For us no garments white Gleam on a festal day; for us a darker fate is, Another darker rite. That is mine hour when falls an ancient line— When in the household’s heart The god of blood doth slay by kindred hands,— Then do we bear our part: On him who slays we sweep with chasing cry: Though he be triply strong, We wear and waste him; blood atones for blood, New pain for ancient wrong.

I hold this task—’tis mine, and not another’s. The very gods on high, Though they can silence and annul the prayers Of those who on us cry, They may not strive with us who stand apart, A race by Zeus abhorred, Blood-boltered, held unworthy of the council And converse of Heaven’s lord. Therefore the more I leap upon my prey; Upon their head I bound; My foot is hard; as one that trips a runner I cast them to the ground; Yea, to the depth of doom intolerable; And they who erst were great, And upon earth held high their pride and glory, Are brought to low estate. In underworld they waste and are diminished, The while around them fleet Dark wavings of my robes, and, subtly woven, The paces of my feet.

Who falls infatuate, he sees not, neither knows he That we are at his side; So closely round about him, darkly flitting, The cloud of guilt doth glide. Heavily ’tis uttered, how around his hearthstone The mirk of hell doth rise. Stern and fixed the law is; we have hands t’achieve it, Cunning to devise. Queens are we and mindful of our solemn vengeance. Not by tear or prayer Shall a man avert it. In unhonoured darkness, Far from gods, we fare, Lit unto our task with torch of sunless regions, And o’er a deadly way— Deadly to the living as to those who see not Life and light of day— Hunt we and press onward. Who of mortals hearing Doth not quake for awe, Hearing all that Fate thro’ hand of God hath given us For ordinance and law? Yea, this right to us, in dark abysm and backward Of ages it befel: None shall wrong mine office, tho’ in nether regions And sunless dark I dwell. [Enter Athena from above.

ATHENA Far off I heard the clamour of your cry, As by Scamander’s side I set my foot Asserting right upon the land given o’er To me by those who o’er Achaia’s host Held sway and leadership: no scanty part Of all they won by spear and sword, to me They gave it, land and all that grew theron, As chosen heirloom for my Theseus’ clan. Thence summoned, sped I with a tireless foot,— Hummed on the wind, instead of wings, the fold Of this mine aegis, by my feet propelled, As, linked to mettled horses, speeds a car. And now, beholding here Earth’s nether brood, I fear it nought, yet are mine eyes amazed With wonder. Who are ye? of all I ask, And of this stranger to my statue clinging. But ye—your shape is like no human form, Like to no goddess whom the gods behold, Like to no shape which mortal women wear. Yet to stand by and chide a monstrous form Is all unjust—from such words Right revolts. CHORUS O child of Zeus, one word shall tell thee all. We are the children of eternal Night, And Furies in the underworld are called. ATHENA I know your lineage now and eke your name. CHORUS Yea, and eftsoons indeed my rights shalt know.

ATHENA Fain would I learn them; speak them clearly forth. CHORUS We chase from home the murderers of men. ATHENA And where at last can he that slew make pause? CHORUS Where this is law—All joy abandon here. ATHENA Say, do ye bay this man to such a flight? CHORUS Yea, for of choice he did his mother slay. ATHENA Urged by no fear of other wrath and doom? CHORUS What spur can rightly goad to matricide? ATHENA Two stand to plead—one only have I heard. CHORUS He will not swear nor challenge us to oath. ATHENA The form of justice, not its deed, thou willest. CHORUS Prove thou that word; thou art not scant of skill. ATHENA I say that oaths shall not enforce the wrong. CHORUS Then test the cause, judge and award the right. ATHENA Will ye to me then this decision trust? CHORUS Yea, reverencing true child of worthy sire. ATHENA (to Orestes) O man unknown, make thou thy plea in turn. Speak forth thy land, thy lineage, and thy woes; Then, if thou canst, avert this bitter blame— If, as I deem, in confidence of right Thou sittest hard beside my holy place, Clasping this statue, as Ixion sat, A sacred suppliant for Zeus to cleanse,— To all this answer me in words made plain.

ORESTES O queen Athena, first from thy last words Will I a great solicitude remove. Not one blood-guilty am I; no foul stain Clings to thine image from my clinging hand; Whereof one potent proof I have to tell. Lo, the law stands—The slayer shall not plead, Till by the hand of him who cleanses blood A suckling creature’s blood besprinkle him. Long since have I this expiation done,— In many a home, slain beasts and running streams Have cleansed me. Thus I speak away that fear. Next, of my lineage quickly thou shalt learn: An Argive am I, and right well thou know’st My sire, that Agamemnon who arrayed The fleet and them that went therein to war— That chief with whom thy hand combined to crush To an uncitied heap what once was Troy; That Agamemnon, when he homeward came, Was brought unto no honourable death, Slain by the dark-souled wife who brought me forth To him,—enwound and slain in wily nets, Blazoned with blood that in the laver ran. And I, returning from an exiled youth, Slew her, my mother—lo, it stands avowed! With blood for blood avenging my loved sire; And in this deed doth Loxias bear part, Decreeing agonies, to goad my will, Unless by me the guilty found their doom. Do thou decide if right or wrong were done— Thy dooming, whatsoe’er it be, contents me.

ATHENA Too mighty is this matter, whatsoe’er Of mortals claims to judge hereof aright. Yea, me, even me, eternal Right forbids To judge the issues of blood-guilt, and wrath That follows swift behind. This too gives pause, That thou as one with all due rites performed Dost come, unsinning, pure, unto my shrine. Whate’er thou art, in this my city’s name, As uncondemned, I take thee to my side,— Yet have these foes of thine such dues by fate, I may not banish them: and if they fail, O’erthrown in judgment of the cause, forthwith Their anger’s poison shall infect the land— A dropping plague-spot of eternal ill. Thus stand we with a woe on either hand: Stay they, or go at my commandment forth, Perplexity or pain must needs befall. Yet, as on me Fate hath imposed the cause, I choose unto me judges that shall be An ordinance for ever, set to rule The dues of blood-guilt, upon oath declared. But ye, call forth your witness and your proof, Words strong for justice, fortified by oath; And I, whoe’er are truest in my town, Them will I chose and bring, and straitly charge, Look on this cause, discriminating well, And pledge your oath to utter nought of wrong. [Exit Athena.

CHORUS Now are they all undone, the ancient laws, If here the slayer’s cause Prevail; new wrong for ancient right shall be If matricide go free. Henceforth a deed like his by all shall stand, Too ready to the hand: Too oft shall parents in the aftertime Rue and lament this crime,— Taught, not in false imagining, to feel Their children’s thrusting steel: No more the wrath, that erst on murder fell From us, the queens of Hell. Shall fall, no more our watching gaze impend— Death shall smite unrestrained. Henceforth shall one unto another cry Lo, they are stricken, lo, they fall and die Around me! and that other answers him, _O thou that lookest that thy woes should cease, Behold, with dark increase They throng and press upon thee; yea, and dim Is all the cure, and every comfort vain!_ Let none henceforth cry out, when falls the blow Of sudden-smiting woe, Cry out in sad reiterated strain O Justice, aid! aid, O ye thrones of Hell! So though a father or a mother wail New-smitten by a son, it shall no more avail, Since, overthrown by wrong, the fane of Justice fell!

Know, that a throne there is that may not pass away, And one that sitteth on it—even Fear, Searching with steadfast eyes man’s inner soul: Wisdom is child of pain, and born with many a tear; But who henceforth, What man of mortal men, what nation upon earth, That holdeth nought in awe nor in the light Of inner reverence, shall worship Right As in the older day? Praise not, O man, the life beyond control, Nor that which bows unto a tyrant’s sway. Know that the middle way Is dearest unto God, and they thereon who wend, They shall achieve the end; But they who wander or to left or right Are sinners in his sight. Take to thy heart this one, this soothfast word— Of wantonness impiety is sire; Only from calm control and sanity unstirred Cometh true weal, the goal of every man’s desire.

Yea, whatsoe’er befall, hold thou this word of mine: Bow down at Justice’ shrine, Turn thou thine eyes away from earthly lure, Nor with a godless foot that altar spurn. For as thou dost shall Fate do in return, And the great doom is sure. Therefore let each adore a parent’s trust, And each with loyalty revere the guest That in his halls doth rest. For whoso uncompelled doth follow what is just, He ne’er shall be unblest; Yea, never to the gulf of doom That man shall come. But he whose will is set against the gods, Who treads beyond the law with foot impure,

Till o’er the wreck of Right confusion broods— Know that for him, though now he sail secure, The day of storm shall be; then shall he strive and fail, Down from the shivered yard to furl the sail, And call on Powers, that heed him nought, to save And vainly wrestle with the whirling wave, Hot was his heart with pride— I shall not fall, he cried. But him with watching scorn The god beholds, forlorn, Tangled in toils of Fate beyond escape, Hopeless of haven safe beyond the cape— Till all his wealth and bliss of bygone day Upon the reef of Rightful Doom is hurled, And he is rapt away Unwept, for ever, to the dead forgotten world. [Re-enter Athena, with twelve Athenian citizens. ATHENA O herald, make proclaim, bid all men come. Then let the shrill blast of the Tyrrhene trump, Fulfilled with mortal breath, thro’ the wide air Peal a loud summons, bidding all men heed. For, till my judges fill this judgment-seat, Silence behoves,—that this whole city learn, What for all time mine ordinance commands, And these men, that the cause be judged aright. [Apollo approaches. CHORUS O king Apollo, rule what is thine own, But in this thing what share pertains to thee?

APOLLO First, as a witness come I, for this man Is suppliant of mine by sacred right, Guest of my holy hearth and cleansed by me Of blood-guilt: then, to set me at his side And in his cause bear part, as part I bore Erst in his deed, whereby his mother fell. Let whoso knoweth now announce the cause. ATHENA (to the Chorus) ’Tis I announce the cause—first speech be yours; For rightfully shall they whose plaint is tried Tell the tale first and set the matter clear. CHORUS Though we be many, brief shall be our tale. (To Orestes) Answer thou, setting word to match with word; And first avow—hast thou thy mother slain? ORESTES I slew her. I deny no word hereof. CHORUS Three falls decide the wrestle—this is one. ORESTES Thou vauntest thee—but o’er no final fall. CHORUS Yet must thou tell the manner of thy deed. ORESTES Drawn sword in hand, I gashed her neck. ’Tis told. CHORUS But by whose word, whose craft, wert thou impelled? ORESTES By oracles of him who here attests me. CHORUS The prophet-god bade thee thy mother slay? ORESTES Yea, and thro’ him less ill I fared, till now. CHORUS If the vote grip thee, thou shalt change that word.

ORESTES Strong is my hope; my buried sire shall aid. CHORUS Go to now, trust the dead, a matricide! ORESTES Yea, for in her combined two stains of sin. CHORUS How? speak this clearly to the judges’ mind. ORESTES Slaying her husband, she did slay my sire. CHORUS Therefore thou livest; death assoils her deed. ORESTES Then while she lived why didst thou hunt her not? CHORUS She was not kin by blood to him she slew. ORESTES And I, am I by blood my mother’s kin? CHORUS O cursed with murder’s guilt, how else wert thou The burden of her womb? Dost thou forswear Thy mother’s kinship, closest bond of love? ORESTES It is thine hour, Apollo—speak the law, Averring if this deed were justly done; For done it is, and clear and undenied. But if to thee this murder’s cause seem right Or wrongful, speak—that I to these may tell.

APOLLO To you, Athena’s mighty council-court, Justly for justice will I plead, even I, The prophet-god, nor cheat you by one word. For never spake I from my prophet-seat One word, of man, of woman, or of state, Save what the Father of Olympian gods Commanded unto me. I rede you then, Bethink you of my plea, how strong it stands, And follow the decree of Zeus our sire,— For oaths prevail not over Zeus’ command. CHORUS Go to; thou sayest that from Zeus befel The oracle that this Orestes bade With vengeance quit the slaying of his sire, And hold as nought his mother’s right of kin!

APOLLO Yea, for it stands not with a common death, That he should die, a chieftain and a king Decked with the sceptre which high heaven confers— Die, and by female hands, not smitten down By a far-shooting bow, held stalwartly By some strong Amazon. Another doom Was his: O Pallas, hear, and ye who sit In judgment, to discern this thing aright!— She with a specious voice of welcome true Hailed him, returning from the mighty mart Where war for life gives fame, triumphant home; Then o’er the laver, as he bathed himself, She spread from head to foot a covering net, And in the endless mesh of cunning robes Enwound and trapped her lord, and smote him down. Lo, ye have heard what doom this chieftain met, The majesty of Greece, the fleet’s high lord: Such as I tell it, let it gall your ears, Who stand as judges to decide this cause. CHORUS Zeus, as thou sayest, holds a father’s death As first of crimes,—yet he of his own act Cast into chains his father, Cronos old: How suits that deed with that which now ye tell? O ye who judge, I bid ye mark my words!

APOLLO O monsters loathed of all, O scorn of gods, He that hath bound may loose: a cure there is, Yea, many a plan that can unbind the chain. But when the thirsty dust sucks up man’s blood Once shed in death, he shall arise no more. No chant nor charm for this my Sire hath wrought. All else there is, he moulds and shifts at will, Not scant of strength nor breath, whate’er he do. CHORUS Think yet, for what acquittal thou dost plead: He who hath shed a mother’s kindred blood, Shall he in Argos dwell, where dwelt his sire? How shall he stand before the city’s shrines, How share the clansmen’s holy lustral bowl?

APOLLO This too I answer; mark a soothfast word, Not the true parent is the woman’s womb That bears the child; she doth but nurse the seed New-sown: the male is parent; she for him, As stranger for a stranger, hoards the germ Of life; unless the god its promise blight. And proof hereof before you will I set. Birth may from fathers, without mothers, be: See at your side a witness of the same, Athena, daughter of Olympian Zeus, Never within the darkness of the womb Fostered nor fashioned, but a bud more bright Than any goddess in her breast might bear. And I, O Pallas, howsoe’er I may, Henceforth will glorify thy town, thy clan, And for this end have sent my suppliant here Unto thy shrine; that he from this time forth Be loyal unto thee for evermore, O goddess-queen, and thou unto thy side Mayst win and hold him faithful, and his line, And that for aye this pledge and troth remain To children’s children of Athenian seed. ATHENA Enough is said; I bid the judges now With pure intent deliver just award. CHORUS We too have shot our every shaft of speech, And now abide to hear the doom of law. ATHENA (to Apollo and Orestes) Say, how ordaining shall I ’scape your blame?

APOLLO I spake, ye heard; enough. O stranger men, Heed well your oath as ye decide the cause.

ATHENA O men of Athens, ye who first do judge The law of bloodshed, hear me now ordain. Here to all time for Aegeus’ Attic host Shall stand this council-court of judges sworn, Here the tribunal, set on Ares’ Hill Where camped of old the tented Amazons, What time in hate of Theseus they assailed Athens, and set against her citadel A counterwork of new sky-pointing towers, And there to Ares held their sacrifice, Where now the rock hath name, even Ares’ Hill. And hence shall Reverence and her kinsman Fear Pass to each free man’s heart, by day and night Enjoining, Thou shalt do no unjust thing, So long as law stands as it stood of old Unmarred by civic change. Look you, the spring Is pure; but foul it once with influx vile And muddy clay, and none can drink thereof. Therefore, O citizens, I bid ye bow In awe to this command, Let no man live Uncurbed by law nor curbed by tyranny; Nor banish ye the monarchy of Awe Beyond the walls; untouched by fear divine, No man doth justice in the world of men. Therefore in purity and holy dread Stand and revere; so shall ye have and hold A saving bulwark of the state and land, Such as no man hath ever elsewhere known, Nor in far Scythia, nor in Pelops’ realm. Thus I ordain it now, a council-court Pure and unsullied by the lust of gain, Sacred and swift to vengeance, wakeful ever To champion men who sleep, the country’s guard. Thus have I spoken, thus to mine own clan Commended it for ever. Ye who judge, Arise, take each his vote, mete out the right, Your oath revering. Lo, my word is said.

[_The twelve judges come forward, one by one, to the urns of decision; the first votes; as each of the others follows, the Chorus and Apollo speak alternately._ CHORUS I rede ye well, beware! nor put to shame, In aught, this grievous company of hell. APOLLO I too would warn you, fear mine oracles— From Zeus they are,—nor make them void of fruit. CHORUS Presumptuous is thy claim, blood-guilt to judge, And false henceforth thine oracles shall be. APOLLO Failed then the counsels of my sire, when turned Ixion, first of slayers, to his side? CHORUS These are but words; but I, if justice fail me, Will haunt this land in grim and deadly deed. APOLLO Scorn of the younger and the elder gods Art thou: ’tis I that shall prevail anon. CHORUS Thus didst thou too of old in Pheres’ halls, O’erreaching Fate to make a mortal deathless. APOLLO Was it not well, my worshipper to aid, Then most of all when hardest was the need? CHORUS I say thou didst annul the lots of life, Cheating with wine the deities of eld. APOLLO I say thou shalt anon, thy pleadings foiled, Spit venom vainly on thine enemies.

CHORUS Since this young god o’errides mine ancient right, I tarry but to claim your law, not knowing If wrath of mine shall blast your state or spare ATHENA Mine is the right to add the final vote, And I award it to Orestes’ cause. For me no mother bore within her womb, And, save for wedlock evermore eschewed, I vouch myself the champion of the man, Not of the woman, yea, with all my soul,— In heart, as birth, a father’s child alone. Thus will I not too heinously regard A woman’s death who did her husband slay, The guardian of her home; and if the votes Equal do fall, Orestes shall prevail. Ye of the judges who are named thereto, Swiftly shake forth the lots from either urn. [Two judges come forward, one to each urn. ORESTES O bright Apollo, what shall be the end? CHORUS O Night, dark mother mine, dost mark these things? OSESTES Now shall my doom be life, or strangling cords. CHORUS And mine, lost honour or a wider sway. APOLLO O stranger judges, sum aright the count Of votes cast forth, and, parting them, take heed Ye err not in decision. The default Of one vote only bringeth ruin deep, One, cast aright, doth stablish house and home.

ATHENA Behold, this man is free from guilt of blood, For half the votes condemn him, half set free!

ORESTES O Pallas, light and safety of my home, Thou, thou hast given me back to dwell once more In that my fatherland, amerced of which I wandered; now shall Grecian lips say this, _The man is Argive once again, and dwells Again within his father’s wealthy hall, By Pallas saved, by Loxias, and by Him, The great third saviour, Zeus omnipotent—_ Who thus in pity for my father’s fate Doth pluck me from my doom, beholding these, Confederates of my mother. Lo, I pass To mine own home, but proffering this vow Unto thy land and people: _Nevermore, Thro’ all the manifold years of Time to be, Shall any chieftain of mine Argive land Bear hitherward his spears for fight arrayed._ For we, though lapped in earth we then shall lie, By thwart adversities will work our will On them who shall transgress this oath of mine, Paths of despair and journeyings ill-starred For them ordaining, till their task they rue. But if this oath be rightly kept, to them Will we the dead be full of grace, the while With loyal league they honour Pallas’ town. And now farewell, thou and thy city’s folk— Firm be thine arm’s grasp, closing with thy foes, And, strong to save, bring victory to thy spear. [Exit Orestes, with Apollo.

CHORUS Woe on you, younger gods! the ancient right Ye have o’erridden, rent it from my hands. I am dishonoured of you, thrust to scorn! But heavily my wrath Shall on this land fling forth the drops that blast and burn Venom of vengeance, that shall work such scathe As I have suffered; where that dew shall fall, Shall leafless blight arise, Wasting Earth’s offspring,—Justice, hear my call!— And thorough all the land in deadly wise Shall scatter venom, to exude again In pestilence on men. What cry avails me now, what deed of blood, Unto this land what dark despite? Alack, alack, forlorn Are we, a bitter injury have borne! Alack, O sisters, O dishonoured brood Of mother Night! ATHENA Nay, bow ye to my words, chafe not nor moan: Ye are not worsted nor disgraced; behold, With balanced vote the cause had issue fair, Nor in the end did aught dishonour thee. But thus the will of Zeus shone clearly forth, And his own prophet-god avouched the same, Orestes slew: his slaying is atoned. Therefore I pray you, not upon this land Shoot forth the dart of vengeance; be appeased, Nor blast the land with blight, nor loose thereon Drops of eternal venom, direful darts Wasting and marring nature’s seed of growth.

For I, the queen of Athens’ sacred right, Do pledge to you a holy sanctuary Deep in the heart of this my land, made just By your indwelling presence, while ye sit Hard by your sacred shrines that gleam with oil Of sacrifice, and by this folk adored. CHORUS Woe on you, younger gods! the ancient right Ye have o’erridden, rent it from my hands. I am dishonoured of you, thrust to scorn! But heavily my wrath Shall on his land fling forth the drops that blast and burn. Venom of vengeance, that shall work such scathe As I have suffered; where that dew shall fall, Shall leafless blight arise, Wasting Earth’s offspring,—Justice, hear my call!— And thorough all the land in deadly wise Shall scatter venom, to exude again In pestilence of men. What cry avails me now, what deed of blood, Unto this land what dark despite? Alack, alack, forlorn Are we, a bitter injury have borne! Alack, O sisters, O dishonoured brood Of mother Night!

ATHENA Dishonoured are ye not; turn not, I pray. As goddesses your swelling wrath on men, Nor make the friendly earth despiteful to them. I too have Zeus for champion—’tis enough— I only of all goddesses do know. To ope the chamber where his thunderbolts Lie stored and sealed; but here is no such need. Nay, be appeased, nor cast upon the ground The malice of thy tongue, to blast the world; Calm thou thy bitter wrath’s black inward surge, For high shall be thine honour, set beside me For ever in this land, whose fertile lap Shall pour its teeming firstfruits unto you, Gifts for fair childbirth and for wedlock’s crown: Thus honoured, praise my spoken pledge for aye. CHORUS I, I dishonoured in this earth to dwell,— Ancient of days and wisdom! I breathe forth Poison and breath of frenzied ire. O Earth, Woe, woe, for thee, for me! From side to side what pains be these that thrill? Hearken, O mother Night, my wrath, mine agony! Whom from mine ancient rights the gods have thrust, And brought me to the dust— Woe, woe is me!—with craft invincible.

ATHENA Older art thou than I, and I will bear With this thy fury. Know, although thou be More wise in ancient wisdom, yet have I From Zeus no scanted measure of the same, Wherefore take heed unto this prophecy— If to another land of alien men Ye go, too late shall ye feel longing deep For mine. The rolling tides of time bring round A day of brighter glory for this town; And thou, enshrined in honour by the halls Where dwelt Erechtheus, shalt a worship win From men and from the train of womankind, Greater than any tribe elsewhere shall pay. Cast thou not therefore on this soil of mine Whetstones that sharpen souls to bloodshedding. The burning goads of youthful hearts, made hot With frenzy of the spirit, not of wine. Nor pluck as ’twere the heart from cocks that strive, To set it in the breasts of citizens Of mine, a war-god’s spirit, keen for fight, Made stern against their country and their kin. The man who grievously doth lust for fame, War, full, immitigable, let him wage Against the stranger; but of kindred birds I hold the challenge hateful. Such the boon I proffer thee—within this land of lands, Most loved of gods, with me to show and share Fair mercy, gratitude and grace as fair.

CHORUS I, I dishonoured in this earth to dwell,— Ancient of days and wisdom! I breathe forth Poison and breath of frenzied ire. O Earth, Woe, woe for thee, for me! From side to side what pains be these that thrill? Hearken, O mother Night, my wrath, mine agony! Whom from mine ancient rights the gods have thrust, And brought me to the dust— Woe, woe is me!—with craft invincible. ATHENA I will not weary of soft words to thee, That never mayst thou say, _Behold me spurned, An elder by a younger deity, And from this land rejected and forlorn, Unhonoured by the men who dwell therein_. But, if Persuasion’s grace be sacred to thee, Soft in the soothing accents of my tongue, Tarry, I pray thee; yet, if go thou wilt, Not rightfully wilt thou on this my town Sway down the scale that beareth wrath and teen Or wasting plague upon this folk. ’Tis thine, If so thou wilt, inheritress to be Of this my land, its utmost grace to win. CHORUS O queen, what refuge dost thou promise me? ATHENA Refuge untouched by bale: take thou my boon. CHORUS What, if I take it, shall mine honour be? ATHENA No house shall prosper without grace of thine.

CHORUS Canst thou achieve and grant such power to me? ATHENA Yea, for my hand shall bless thy worshippers. CHORUS And wilt thou pledge me this for time eterne? ATHENA Yea: none can bid me pledge beyond my power. CHORUS Lo, I desist from wrath, appeased by thee. ATHENA Then in the land’s heart shalt thou win thee friends. CHORUS What chant dost bid me raise, to greet the land? ATHENA Such as aspires towards a victory Unrued by any: chants from breast of earth, From wave, from sky; and let the wild winds’ breath Pass with soft sunlight o’er the lap of land,— Strong wax the fruits of earth, fair teem the kine, Unfailing, for my town’s prosperity, And constant be the growth of mortal seed. But more and more root out the impious, For as a gardener fosters what he sows, So foster I this race, whom righteousness Doth fend from sorrow. Such the proffered boon. But I, if wars must be, and their loud clash And carnage, for my town, will ne’er endure That aught but victory shall crown her fame.

CHORUS Lo, I accept it; at her very side Doth Pallas bid me dwell: I will not wrong the city of her pride, Which even Almighty Zeus and Ares hold Heaven’s earthly citadel, Loved home of Grecian gods, the young, the old, The sanctuary divine, The shield of every shrine! For Athens I say forth a gracious prophecy,— The glory of the sunlight and the skies Shall bid from earth arise Warm wavelets of new life and glad prosperity. ATHENA Behold, with gracious heart well pleased I for my citizens do grant Fulfilment of this covenant: And here, their wrath at length appeased, These mighty deities shall stay, For theirs it is by right to sway The lot that rules our mortal day, And he who hath not inly felt Their stern decree, ere long on him, Not knowing why and whence, the grim Life-crushing blow is dealt. The father’s sin upon the child Descends, and sin is silent death, And leads him on the downward path, By stealth beguiled, Unto the Furies: though his state On earth were high, and loud his boast, Victim of silent ire and hate He dwells among the Lost.

CHORUS To my blessing now give ear.— Scorching blight nor singèd air Never blast thine olives fair! Drouth, that wasteth bud and plant, Keep to thine own place. Avaunt, Famine fell, and come not hither Stealthily to waste and wither! Let the land, in season due, Twice her waxing fruits renew; Teem the kine in double measure; Rich in new god-given treasure; Here let men the powers adore For sudden gifts unhoped before! ATHENA O hearken, warders of the wall That guards mine Athens, what a dower Is unto her ordained and given! For mighty is the Furies’ power, And deep-revered in courts of heaven And realms of hell; and clear to all They weave thy doom, mortality! And some in joy and peace shall sing; But unto other some they bring Sad life and tear-dimmed eye.

CHORUS And far away I ban thee and remove, Untimely death of youths too soon brought low! And to each maid, O gods, when time is come for love, Grant ye a warrior’s heart, a wedded life to know. Ye too, O Fates, children of mother Night, Whose children too are we, O goddesses Of just award, of all by sacred right Queens who in time and in eternity Do rule, a present power for righteousness, Honoured beyond all Gods, hear ye and grant my cry! ATHENA And I too, I with joy am fain, Hearing your voice this gift ordain Unto my land. High thanks be thine, Persuasion, who with eyes divine Into my tongue didst look thy strength, To bend and to appease at length Those who would not be comforted. Zeus, king of parley, doth prevail, And ye and I will strive nor fail, That good may stand in evil’s stead, And lasting bliss for bale.

CHORUS And nevermore these walls within Shall echo fierce sedition’s din Unslaked with blood and crime; The thirsty dust shall nevermore Suck up the darkly streaming gore Of civic broils, shed out in wrath And vengeance, crying death for death! But man with man and state with state Shall vow The pledge of common hate And common friendship, that for man Hath oft made blessing out of ban, Be ours unto all time. ATHENA Skill they, or not, the path to find Of favouring speech and presage kind? Yea, even from these, who, grim and stern, Glared anger upon you of old, O citizens, ye now shall earn A recompense right manifold. Deck them aright, extol them high, Be loyal to their loyalty, And ye shall make your town and land Sure, propped on Justice’ saving hand, And Fame’s eternity. CHORUS Hail ye, all hail! and yet again, all hail O Athens, happy in a weal secured! O ye who sit by Zeus’ right hand, nor fail Of wisdom set among you and assured, Loved of the well-loved Goddess-Maid! the King Of gods doth reverence you, beneath her guarding wing.

ATHENA All hail unto each honoured guest! Whom to the chambers of your rest ’Tis mine to lead, and to provide The hallowed torch, the guard and guide. Pass down, the while these altars glow With sacred fire, to earth below And your appointed shrine. There dwelling, from the land restrain The force of fate, the breath of bane, But waft on us the gift and gain Of Victory divine! And ye, the men of Cranaos’ seed, I bid you now with reverence lead These alien Powers that thus are made Athenian evermore. To you Fair be their will henceforth, to do Whate’er may bless and aid! CHORUS Hail to you all! hail yet again, All who love Athens, Gods and men, Adoring her as Pallas’ home! And while ye reverence what ye grant— My sacred shrine and hidden haunt— Blameless and blissful be your doom!

ATHENA Once more I praise the promise of your vows, And now I bid the golden torches’ glow Pass down before you to the hidden depth Of earth, by mine own sacred servants borne, Mv loyal guards of statue and of shrine. Come forth, O flower of Theseus’ Attic land, O glorious band of children and of wives, And ye, O train of matrons crowned with eld! Deck you with festal robes of scarlet dye In honour of this day: O gleaming torch, Lead onward, that these gracious powers of earth Henceforth be seen to bless the life of men. [_Athena leads the procession downwards into the Cave of the Furies, under Areopagus: as they go, the escort of women and children chant aloud._

CHANT With loyalty we lead you; proudly go, Night’s childless children, to your home below! (O citizens, awhile from words forbear!) To darkness’ deep primeval lair, Far in Earth’s bosom, downward fare, Adored with prayer and sacrifice. (O citizens, forbear your cries!) Pass hitherward, ye powers of Dread, With all your former wrath allayed, Into the heart of this loved land; With joy unto your temple wend, The while upon your steps attend The flames that fed upon the brand— (Now, now ring out your chant, your joy’s acclaim!) Behind them, as they downward fare, Let holy hands libations bear, And torches’ sacred flame. All-seeing Zeus and Fate come down To battle fair for Pallas’ town! Ring out your chant, ring out your joy’s acclaim! [Exeunt omnes.