That ye are standing, not upon the brink,
But in the midst of mortal jeopardy?
Nay, had I not kept watch this weary while,
Here at the door, your plot had slipped inside
Ere ye yourselves had entered. As it is,
My watchfulness has fended this mishap.
Now that your wordy eloquence has an end,
And your insatiate cries of joy, go in.
’Tis ill delaying in such case, and well
To make an end.
How shall I fare within?
Right well; to start with, thou art known to none.
Thou hast reported, I presume, my death.
They’ll speak of thee as though thou wert a shade.
And are they glad thereat, or what say they?
I’ll tell thee when the time is ripe: meanwhile
Whate’er they do, however ill, is well.
I pray thee, brother, tell me who is this?
Dost thou not see?
I know not, nor can guess.
Not know the man to whom thou gav’st me once?
What man? how mean’st thou?
He that stole me hence,
Through thy forethought, and safe to Phocis bore.
Can this be he who, when our sire was slain,
Faithful among the many false I found?
’Tis he; let that suffice thee; ask no more.
O happy day! O sole deliverer
Of Agamemnon’s house, how cam’st thou hither?
Art thou indeed our saviour who redeemed
From endless woes my brother and myself?
O hands beloved, O messenger whose feet
Were bringers of glad tidings, how so long
Couldst thou be with me and remain unknown,
Stay me with feigned fables and conceal
The truth that gave me life? Hail, father, hail!
For ’tis a father whom I seem to see.
Verily no man in the self-same day
Was hated so and so much loved as thou.
Enough methinks; the tale ’twixt then and now—
Many revolving nights and days as many
Shall serve, Electra, to unfold it all.
Why stand ye here! ’tis time for you to act,
Now Clytemnestra is alone; no man
Is now within; but, if ye stay your hand,
Not only with her house-carls will ye fight
But with a troop more numerous and more skilled.
Our business, Pylades, would seem to crave
No longer parley; let us instantly
Enter, but ere we enter first adore
The gods who keep the threshold of the house. Orestes and Pylades enter the palace.
O King Apollo! lend a gracious ear
To them and me, to me too who so oft
Laid on thy shrine with humble hands my best.
And now with vows (I cannot offer more),
Apollo, Lord Lycean, I beseech,
Implore, adjure thee, prosper this our work,
Defend the right and show to godless men
How the gods vindicate impiety.
Strophe
Breathing out blood and vengeance, lo!
Stalks Ares, sure though slow.
F’en now the hounds are on the trail;
Within, the sinners at their coming quail.
A little while and death shall realise
The vision that now floats before mine eyes.
Antistrophe
For now within the house is led
By stealth the champion of the dead;
He treads once more the ancestral hall of kings,
And death new-whetted in his hands he brings.
Great Maia’s son conducts him on his way
And shrouds his guile and brooks not more delay.
Strophe
O dearest women, even as I speak
The men are at their work; but not a word.
What work? what are they at?
E’en now she decks
The urn for burial and the pair stand by.
Why spedst thou forth?
To keep a watch for fear
Aegisthus should forestall us unawares.
Within.
Woe! woe! O woeful house,
Of friends forsaken, full of murderers!
Listen! acry within—hear ye not, friends?
I heard and shuddered—oh, an awesome cry.
Ah woe is me! Aegisthus, where art thou?
Hark; once again a wail.
O son, my son,
Have pity on thy mother!
Thou hadst none
On him or on the father that begat him.
Unhappy realm and house,
The curse that dogged thee day by day
Is dying, dying fast.
I am stricken, ah!
Strike, if thou canst, again.
Woe, woe is me once more!
I would that woe
Were for Aegisthus not for thee alone.
The curses work; the buried live again,
And blood for blood, the slayer’s blood they drain,
The ghosts of victims long since slain.
Antistrophe
Lo they come forth with gory hands that reek
Of sacrifice to Ares—’twas done well.
How have ye sped, Orestes?
All within
Is well, if Phoebus’ oracle spake well.
The wretched woman’s dead?
No longer fear
Thy mother’s arrogance will flout thee more.
Cease, for I see Aegisthus full in sight.
Back, youths, back to the house!
Where see ye him?
Approaching from the suburb with an air
Of exultation. He is ours!
Quick to the palace doorway! half your work
Is well done; do no less well what remains.
Fear not, we shall.
Then speed thee on thy way.
See, I am gone.
Leave what is here to me. Exeunt Orestes and Pylades; Aegisthus approaches.
’Twere not amiss to breathe some soft words in his ear,
That he may blindly rush into the lists of doom.
Could any of you tell me where to find
The Phocian strangers who, I hear, have brought
News of Orestes midst the chariots wrecked?
Thee, thee I question, thee, in former days
So froward: it concerns thee most, methinks,
And thou, as best informed, canst tell me best.
I know for sure, else were I unconcerned
In what has happened to my nearest kin.
Where then are these newcomers? Tell me straight.
Within; they’ve won their kindly hostess’ heart.
Did they in very truth report his death?
They did; and more, they showed us the dead man.
May I too view the body to make sure?
Thou mayst, but ’tis a gruesome spectacle.
Thou givest me much joy against thy wont.
I wish thee joy, if here is food for joy.
Silence!
