Works of Aeschylus - Aeschylus [23]
Grant that some fair fate bring Orestes home,
And unto me grant these-a purer soul
Than is my mother's, a more stainless hand.
These be my prayers for us; for thee, O sire,
I cry that one may come to smite thy fops,
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 of Slave Women:
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 of Slave Women:
chanting
Woe, woe, woe!
Let the teardrop fall, plashing on the ground
Where our lord lies low:
Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation's stair.,
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-
She notices the locks of Orestes:.
Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.
Leader of the Chorus:
Speak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.
Electra:
I see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.
Leader of the Chorus:
Shorn from wnat man or what deep-girded maid?
Electra:
That may he, guess who will; the sign is plain.
Leader of the Chorus:
Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.
Electra:
None is there here but I, to clip such gift.
Leader of the Chorus:
For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.
Electra:
And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like-
Leader of the Chorus:
Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that.
Electra:
Like unto those my father's children wear.
Leader of the Chorus:
Then is this lock Orestes' secret gift?
Electra:
Most like it is unto the curls he wore.
Leader of the Chorus:
Yet how dared he to come unto his home?
Electra:
He hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.
Leader of the 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, looks-
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: and PYLADES enter suddenly.
Orestes: