Page:House of Atreus 2nd ed (1889).djvu/131

Rh 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 fencèd 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 for the invocation which follows.

Mighty Fates, on you we call!

Bid the will of Zeus ordain