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
Shorn from wnat man or what deep-girded maid?
ELECTRA
That may he, guess who will; the sign is plain.
LEADER
Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.
ELECTRA
None is there here but I, to clip such gift.
LEADER
For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.
ELECTRA
And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like-
LEADER
Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that.
ELECTRA
Like unto those my father’s children wear.
LEADER
Then is this lock Orestes’ secret gift?
ELECTRA
Most like it is unto the curls he wore.
LEADER
Yet how dared he to come unto his home?
ELECTRA
He hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.
LEADER
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
Pray thou, in gratitude for prayers fulfilled,  Fair fall the rest of what I ask of heaven.
ELECTRA
Wherefore? what win I from the gods by prayer?
ORESTES
This, that thine eyes behold thy heart’s desire.
ELECTRA
On whom of mortals know’st thou that I call?
ORESTES
I know thy yearning for Orestes deep.
ELECTRA
Say then, wherein event hath crowned my prayer?
ORESTES
I, I am he; seek not one more akin.
ELECTRA
Some fraud, O stranger, weavest thou for me?
ORESTES
Against myself I weave it, if I weave.
ELECTRA
Ah, thou hast mind to mock me in my woel
ORESTES
‘Tis at mine own I mock then, mocking thine.
ELECTRA
Speak I with thee then as Orestes’ self?
ORESTES
My very face thou see’st and know’st me not,  And yet but now, when thou didst see the lock  Shorn for my father’s grave, and when thy quest  Was eager on the footprints I had made,  Even I, thy brother, shaped and sized as thou,  Fluttered thy spirit, as at sight of me!  Lay now this ringlet whence ’twas shorn, and judge,  And look upon this robe, thine own hands’ work,  The shuttle-prints, the creature wrought thereon-  Refrain thyself, nor prudence lose in joy,  For well I wot, our kin are less than kind.
ELECTRA
O thou that art unto our father’s home  Love, grief and hope, for thee the tears ran down,  For thee, the son, the saviour that should be;  Trust thou thine arm and win thy father’s halls!  O aspect sweet of fourfold love to me,  Whom upon thee the heart’s constraint bids cal  As on my father, and the claim of love  From me unto my mother turns to thee,  For she is very hate; to thee too turns  What of my heart went out to her who died  A ruthless death upon the altar-stone;  And for myself I love thee-thee that wast  A brother leal, sole stay of love to me.  Now by thy side be strength and right, and Zeus  Saviour almighty, stand to aid the twain!
ORESTES
Zeus, Zeus! look down on our estate and us,  The orphaned brood of him, our eagle-sire,  Whom to his death a fearful serpent brought,  Enwinding him in coils; and we, bereft  And foodless, sink with famine, all too weak  To bear unto the eyrie, as he bore,  Such quarry as he slew. Lo! I and she,  Electra, stand before thee, fatherless,  And each alike cast out and homeless made.
ELECTRA
And if thou leave to death the brood of him  Whose altar blazed for thee, whose reverence  Was thine, all thine,-whence, in the after years,  Shall any hand like his adorn thy shrine  With sacrifice of flesh? the eaglets slain,  Thou wouldst not have a messenger to bear  Thine omens, once so clear, to mortal men;  So, if this kingly stock be withered all,  None on high festivals will fend thy shrine.  Stoop thou to raise us! strong the race shall grow,  Though puny now it seem, and fallen low.
LEADER
O children, saviours of your father’s home,  Beware ye of your words, lest one should hear  And bear them, for the tongue hath lust to tell,  Unto our masters-whom God grant to me  In pitchy reek of fun’ral flame to seel
ORESTES
Nay, mighty is Apollo’s oracle  And shall not fail me, whom it bade to pass  Thro’ all this peril; clear the voice rang out  With many warnings, sternly threatening  To my hot heart the wintry chill of pain,  Unless upon the slayers of my sire  I pressed for vengeance: this the god’s command-  That I, in ire for home and wealth despoiled,  Should with a craft like theirs the slayers slay:  Else with my very life I should atone  This deed undone, in many a ghastly wise.  For he proclaimed unto the ears of men  That offerings, poured to angry powers of death,  Exude again, unless their will be done,  As grim disease on those that poured them forth-  As leprous ulcers mounting on the flesh  And with fell fangs corroding what of old  Wore natural form; and on the brow arise  White poisoned hairs, the crown of this disease.  He spake moreover of assailing fiends  Empowered to quit on me my father’s blood,  Wreaking their wrath on me, what time in night  Beneath shut lids the spirit’s eye sees clear.  The dart that flies in darkness, sped from hell  By spirits of the murdered dead who call  Unto their kin for vengeance, formless fear,  The night-tide’s visitant, and madness’ curse  Should drive and rack me; and my tortured frame  Should be chased forth from man’s community  As with the brazen scorpions of the scourge.  For me and such as me no lustral bowl  Should stand, no spilth of wine be poured to God  For me, and wrath unseen of my dead sire  Should drive me from the shrine; no man should dare  To take me to his hearth, nor dwell with me:  Slow, friendless, cursed of all should be mine end,  And pitiless horror wind me for the grave.  This spake the god-this dare I disobey?  Yea, though I dared, the deed must yet be done;  For to that end diverse desires combine,-  The god’s behest, deep grief for him who died,  And last, the grievous blank of wealth despoiled-  All these weigh on me, urge that Argive men,  Minions of valour, who with soul of fire  Did make of fenced Troy a ruinous heap,  Be not left slaves to two and each a woman!  For he, the man, wears woman’s heart; if not,  Soon shall he know, confronted by a man.
ORESTES, ELECTRA, and the CHORUS gather round the tomb of Agamemnon. The following lines are chanted responsively.
CHORUS
Mighty Fates, on you we call!  Bid the will of Zeus ordain  Power to those, to whom again  Justice turns with hand and aid!  Grievous was the prayer one made  Grievous let the answer fall!  Where the mighty doom is set,  Justice claims aloud her debt.  Who in blood hath dipped the steel,  Deep in blood her meed shall feel  List an immemorial word-  Whosoe’er shall take the sword  Shall perish by the sword.
ORESTES
Father, unblest in death, O father mine!  What breath of word or deed  Can I waft on thee from this far confine  Unto thy lowly bed,-  Waft upon thee, in midst of darkness lying,  Hope’s counter-gleam of fire?  Yet the loud dirge of praise brings grace undying  Unto each parted sire.
CHORUS
O child, the spirit of the dead,  Altho’ upon his flesh have fed  The grim teeth of the flame,  Is quelled not; after many days  The sting of wrath his soul shall raise,  A vengeance to reclaim!  To the dead rings loud our cry-  Plain the living’s treachery-  Swelling, shrilling, urged on high,  The vengeful dirge, for parents slain,  Shall strive and shall attain.
ELECTRA
Hear me too, even me, O father, hear!  Not by one child alone these groans, these tears are shed  Upon thy sepulchre.  Each, each, where thou art lowly laid,  Stands, a suppliant, homeless made:  Ah, and all is full of ill,  Comfort is there none to say!  Strive and wrestle as we may,  Still stands doom invincible.
CHORUS
Nay, if so he will, the god  Still our tears to joy can turn.  He can bid a triumph-ode  Drown the dirge beside this urn;  He to kingly halls can greet  The child restored, the homeward-guided feet.
ORESTES
Ah my father! hadst thou lain  Under Ilion’s wall,  By some Lycian spearman slain,  Thou hadst left in this thine hall  Honour; thou hadst wrought for us  Fame and life most glorious.  Over-seas if thou hadst died,  Heavily had stood thy tomb,  Heaped on high; but, quenched in pride,  Grief were light unto thy home.
CHORUS
Loved and honoured hadst thou lain  By the dead that nobly fell,  In the under-world again,  Where are throned the kings of hell,  Full of sway, adorable  Thou hadst stood at their right hand-  Thou that wert, in mortal land,  By Fate’s ordinance and law,  King of kings who bear the crown  And the staff, to which in awe  Mortal men bow down.
ELECTRA
Nay, O father, I were fain  Other fate had fallen on thee.  Ill it were if thou hadst lain  One among the common slain,  Fallen by Scamander’s side-  Those who slew thee there should be!  Then, untouched by slavery,  We had heard as from afar  Deaths of those who should have died  ‘Mid the chance of war.
CHORUS
O child, forbear! things all too high thou sayest.  Easy, but vain, thy cry!  A boon above all gold is that thou prayest,  An unreached destiny,  As of the blessed land that far aloof  Beyond the north wind lies;  Yet doth your double prayer ring loud reproof;  A double scourge of sighs  Awakes the dead; th’ avengers rise, though late;  Blood stains the guilty pride  Of the accursed who rule on earth, and Fate  Stands on the children’s side.
The Choephori by Aeschylus