 | Electra |  |
454
86–250.
Electra.
O holy light of morn!
O air that dost the whole earth compass round!
Oft have ye heard my cries of grief forlorn,
And oft the echoing sound
Of blows the breast that smite,
When darkness yields to light;
And for my nightly vigils they know well,
Those loathèd couches of my hated home,
How I upon my father's sorrows dwell;
To whom in no strange land did Ares come,
Breathing out slaughter dread;
But she, my mother, and her paramour,
Ægisthos, smote him dead
With axe of murderous power;
As men who timber hew
Cut down a lofty oak, so him they slew;
And from none else but me
Comes touch of sympathy,
Though thou wast doomed to die,
My father, with such shame and foulest ignominy.
O air that dost the whole earth compass round!
Oft have ye heard my cries of grief forlorn,
And oft the echoing sound
Of blows the breast that smite,
When darkness yields to light;
And for my nightly vigils they know well,
Those loathèd couches of my hated home,
How I upon my father's sorrows dwell;
To whom in no strange land did Ares come,
Breathing out slaughter dread;
But she, my mother, and her paramour,
Ægisthos, smote him dead
With axe of murderous power;
As men who timber hew
Cut down a lofty oak, so him they slew;
And from none else but me
Comes touch of sympathy,
Though thou wast doomed to die,
My father, with such shame and foulest ignominy.
And, lo! I will not fail
To weep and mourn with wailings and with sighs,
While yet I see the bright stars in the skies,
Or watch the daylight glad,—
No, no, I will not fail,
Like sorrowing nightingale,
Before the gate to pour my sorrows free,
My woe and sorrow at my father's doom.
O house of Hades and Persephone,
O Hermes, guide of dwellers in the gloom,
Thou, awful Curse, and ye,
Erinnyes, daughters of the Gods, most dread,
Whose eyes for ever see
Men foully slain, and those whose marriage bed
The lust of evil guile
Doth stealthily defile,
Come, come, avengers of my father's fate!
Come, send my brother back!
For I the courage lack,
Alone to bear the burden of this evil weight.
To weep and mourn with wailings and with sighs,
While yet I see the bright stars in the skies,
Or watch the daylight glad,—
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Like sorrowing nightingale,
Before the gate to pour my sorrows free,
My woe and sorrow at my father's doom.
O house of Hades and Persephone,
O Hermes, guide of dwellers in the gloom,
Thou, awful Curse, and ye,
Erinnyes, daughters of the Gods, most dread,
Whose eyes for ever see
Men foully slain, and those whose marriage bed
The lust of evil guile
Doth stealthily defile,
Come, come, avengers of my father's fate!
Come, send my brother back!
For I the courage lack,
Alone to bear the burden of this evil weight.
Chorus.
Stroph. I.
O child, Electra, child
Of mother doomed to all extremest ill,
Why thus in wailing wild
Dost thou unceasing pour thy sorrows still
For him who, long ago,
Caught in thy mother's base and godless cheat,
Fell by the fatal blow,
Our chieftain, Agamemnon? Yea, may he
Who planned this vile deceit
(If so to speak is meet)
Perish most wretchedly!
Electra.
O daughters of the brave and true of heart,
Ye come to comfort me in all my woe;
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And yet I have no wish to stop the flow
Of tears and wailings for my ill-starred sire;
But, O my friends, who meet,
With true affection, all my heart's desire,
Suffer me thus, I pray,
To pine and waste away.
Chorus.
Antistroph. I.
And yet thou can'st not raise
Thy father, nor with wailing nor with prayer,
From Hades' darkling ways,
And gloomy lake where all that die repair;
But thou, thus grieving still,
Dost pass, brought low, from evil one might bear
To that worst form of ill,
In which for deepest woe is no relief.
Ah me! why striv'st thou so
For such increase of woe,
Still adding to my grief?
Electra.
Ah, weak as infant he who can forget
His parents that have perished wretchedly;
Far more she pleaseth me that mourneth yet,
And “Itys, Itys,” wails unceasingly;
The bird heart-broken, messenger of Heaven.
Ah, Niobe, most sad!
To thee, I deem, high fate divine was given,
For thou in cavern grot,
Still weeping, ceasest not.
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Stroph. II.
Ah, not for thee alone
Of mortal race hath come the taste of woes.
What cause hast thou above those twain to moan,
In whom the self-same blood of kindred flows,
Iphianassa and Chrysothemis?
And one in youth obscure and sad doth live,
Yet blest, at least, in this,
That unto him Mykenæ famed shall give
Its welcome as the son of noble sire,
Beneath the care of Zeus' almighty hand,
Returning once again, Orestes, to our land.
Electra.
Yes, he it is for whom I waste away,
Wailing for him, in vain, unweariedly;
And in my sorrow know no bridal day,
But weep sad tears from eyelids never dry,
Bearing my endless weight
Of dark and dreary fate:
And he remembers not
All that I did for him, and all he knew.
What message comes, yea, what,
That is not cheated of fulfilment true?
He yearneth still for home;
Yet yearning will not come.
Chorus.
Antistroph. II.
Take heart, my child, take heart;
Still mighty in the heavens Zeus doth reign,
Who sees the whole world, rules its every part:
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Nor be thou over-vexèd, nor forget
Those whom thou hatest sorely evermore;
Time is a kind God yet;
For neither he who dwells on Crisa's shore,
Where feed the oxen, Agamemnon's son,
Unheeding, there lives on;
Nor yet the God who reigns
By Acheron's waters o'er his dark and drear domains.
Electra.
Nay, but the larger half of life is gone,
And all hope fails, and I no more can bear;
No parents left, I waste my days alone,
And no true husband guardeth me from fear;
Like one of alien race,
I, in my sore disgrace,
My father's chambers tend,
In this unsightly and unseemly dress,
And still as slave attend,
And wait on tables in my sore distress,
Tables that empty stand,
No friends on either hand.
Chorus.
Stroph. III.
Sad was thy father's cry,
When home he came, and sad when, as he lay,
The stern, keen blow came nigh
Of brazen hatchet sharp to smite and slay;
Guile was it that devised the murderous crime,
And lust that slew him there,
Strangely strange form begetting of old time;
Whether a God it were,
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Who wrought these deeds of darkness and disgrace.
Electra.
O day of all the days that ever came,
Most hateful unto me!
O night! O woes of banquets none may name,
Which he, my sire, did see!
Foul death which their hands wrought,
The two that took by basest treachery
Him who my life's joy brought,
And so destroyed, destroyed me utterly.
May He who dwells in might,
On yon Olympian height,
Give them to grieve with guilt-avenging groan,
And ne'er may they whose souls such deeds have known
Share in good fortune bright!
Chorus.
Antistroph. III.
Take heed, and speak no more;
Hast thou no thought from what high, prosperous state
Thou now art passing o'er,
Into what sorrow lorn and desolate?
For thou hast gained a burden infinite
Of woe and wretchedness,
Still cherishing thy wrath in sore despite,
Fierce war and bitterness;
And yet it were ill done
To come in conflict with a mighty one.
Electra.
By sufferings dire, most dire, I was constrained:
I know it, wrath blinds not;
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The misery of my lot,
Not while in life I dwell.
Ah me! from whom, my friends, companions dear,
From whom that thinketh well,
Shall I a word in season hope to hear?
O ye, who fain would cheer,
Leave me, oh, leave me here,
For these my woes as endless shall be known;
Nor will I cease to make my wailing moan,
And weep full many a tear.
Chorus.
And yet of mere good will,
As mother fond and true,
I bid thee this vain toil no more pursue,
Still breeding ill on ill.
Electra.
Nay; but what bounds are set to baseness here?
Come, tell me this, I pray,
How can it e'er be right
Those who are dead to slight?
Where did that law appear?
May I ne'er walk in honour in their way,
Nor if aught good be mine,
Dwell with it happily,
Should I the wings confine
That rise with bitter cry,
And bid them cease to pay
Due reverence to my father past away!
If he who dies be but as dust and nought,
And poor and helpless lie,
And these no vengeance meet for what they wrought,
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And all men lose their natural piety.
| Electra | |