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Unmelting, uneffaced the stain.

And Ate tarries long, but at the last

The sinner's heart is cast

Into pervading, waxing pangs of pain.

antistrophe 3

Lo, when man's force doth ope

The virgin doors, there is nor cure nor hope

For what is lost,-even so, I deem,

Though in one channel ran Earth's every stream,

Laving the hand defiled from murder's stain,

It were in vain.

epode

And upon me-ah me!-the gods have laid

The woe that wrapped round Troy,

What time they led me down from home and kin

Unto a slave's employ-

The doom to bow the head

And watch our master's will

Work deeds of good and ill-

To see the headlong sway of force and sin,

And hold restrained the spirit's bitter hate,

Wailing the monarch's fruitless fate,

Hiding my face within my robe, and fain

Of tears, and chilled with frost of hidden pain.

Electra:

Handmaidens, orderers of the palace-halls,

Since at my side ye come, a suppliant train,

Companions of this offering, counsel me

As best befits the time: for I, who pour

Upon the grave these streams funereal,

With what fair word can I invoke my sire?

Shall I aver, Behold, I bear these gifts

From well-loved wife unto her well-loved lord,

When 'tis from her, my mother, that they come?

I dare not say it: of all words I fail

Wherewith to consecrate unto my sire

These sacrificial honours on his grave.

Or shall I speak this word, as mortals use-

Give back, to those who send these coronals,

Full recompense-of ills for acts malign?

Or shall I pour this draught for Earth to drink,

Sans word or reverence, as my sire was slain,

And homeward pass with unreverted eyes,

Casting the bowl away, as one who flings

The household cleansings to the common road?

Be art and part, O friends, in this my doubt,

Even as ye are in that one common hate

Whereby we live attended: fear ye not

The wrath of any man, nor hide your word

Within your breast: the day of death and doom

Awaits alike the freeman and the slave.

Speak, then, if aught thou know'st to aid us more.

Leader of the Chorus:

Thou biddest; I will speak my soul's thought out,

Revering as a shrine thy father's grave.

Electra:

Say then thy say, as thou his tomb reverest.

Leader of the Chorus:

Speak solemn words to them that love, and pour.

Electra:

And of his kin whom dare I name as kind?

Leader of the Chorus:

Thyself; and next, whoe'er Aegisthus scorns.

Electra:

Then 'tis myself and thou, my prayer must name.

Leader of the Chorus:

Whoe'er they be, 'tis thine to know and name them.

Electra:

Is there no other we may claim as ours?

Leader of the Chorus:

Think of Orestes, though far-off he be.

Electra:

Right well in this too hast thou schooled my thought.

Leader of the Chorus:

Mindfully, next, on those who shed the blood-

Electra:

Pray on them what? expound, instruct my doubt.

Leader of the Chorus:

This: Upon them some god or mortal come-

Electra:

As judge or as avenger? speak thy thought.

Leader of the Chorus:

Pray in set terms, Who shall the slayer slay.

Electra:

Beseemeth it to ask such boon of heaven?

Leader of the Chorus:

How not, to wreak a wrong upon a foe?

Electra:

praying at the tomb

O mighty Hermes, warder of the shades,

Herald of upper and of under world,

Proclaim and usher down my prayer's appeal

Unto the gods below, that they with eyes

Watchful behold these halls. my sire's of old-

And unto Earth, the mother of all things,

And loster-nurse, and womb that takes their seed.

Lo, I that pour these draughts for men now dead,

Call on my father, who yet holds in ruth

Me and mine own Orestes, Father, speak-

How shall thy children rule thine halls again?

Homeless we are and sold; and she who sold

Is she who bore us; and the price she took

Is he who joined with her to work thy death,

Aegisthus, her new lord. Behold me here

Brought down to slave's estate, and far away

Wanders Orestes, banished from the wealth

That once was thine, the profit of thy care,

Whereon these revel in a shameful joy.

Father,