 | Electra |  |
472–515.
Chorus.Strophe.
Unless I be a brainstruck, erring seer,
Wanting in wisdom true,
Right doth her course pursue,
With dim foreshadowing:
She in her hands doth righteous victory bring,
And will ere long appear.
Yes, courage comes to me,
Hearing but now the tidings that they bring,
These visions breathing forth sweet hope and glee.
For never shall thy father, Lord and King
Of all the Hellenes' race,
Forget the dire disgrace,
Nor that sharp brazen axe of yon far time,
Which slew him with all shame of foulest crime.
Antistrophe.
Wanting in wisdom true,
Right doth her course pursue,
With dim foreshadowing:
She in her hands doth righteous victory bring,
And will ere long appear.
Yes, courage comes to me,
Hearing but now the tidings that they bring,
These visions breathing forth sweet hope and glee.
For never shall thy father, Lord and King
Of all the Hellenes' race,
Forget the dire disgrace,
Nor that sharp brazen axe of yon far time,
Which slew him with all shame of foulest crime.
And so with many a foot and many a hand,
Lurking in ambush dread,
Shall come with brazen tread,
Erinnys terrible;
For lo! the clasp of blood-stained marriage-bed
Came in foul wedlock's band
On those who might not wed;
And now, in face of these things, I must deem
That those who did or shared the deed of guilt
Shall have good reason to mislike their dream:
Yea, oracles are vain,
In dreams or prophet's strain,
Unless this shadowy phantom of the night
Shall reach its goal, victorious in the right.
Epode.
Lurking in ambush dread,
Shall come with brazen tread,
Erinnys terrible;
For lo! the clasp of blood-stained marriage-bed
Came in foul wedlock's band
On those who might not wed;
And now, in face of these things, I must deem
That those who did or shared the deed of guilt
Shall have good reason to mislike their dream:
462
In dreams or prophet's strain,
Unless this shadowy phantom of the night
Shall reach its goal, victorious in the right.
O chariot-race of old,
Full of great woe untold,
From Pelops' hand;
How did'st thou come, yon time,
Dark with the guilt of crime,
To this our land!
For since the ocean wave
Gave Myrtilos a grave,
Out of the golden car
Hurled headlong forth afar,
With shame and foul despite,
No shame hath failed to light
On this our dwelling-place,
Bringing most foul disgrace.
Full of great woe untold,
From Pelops' hand;
How did'st thou come, yon time,
Dark with the guilt of crime,
To this our land!
For since the ocean wave
Gave Myrtilos a grave,
Out of the golden car
Hurled headlong forth afar,
With shame and foul despite,
No shame hath failed to light
On this our dwelling-place,
Bringing most foul disgrace.
| Electra | |