Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/159

 His paramour? So lost to shame is she

That the adulteress fears no vengeance. No,

As if exulting in her infamy,

She watches month to month to know the day

Whereon by treachery she slew my sire,

And keeps that day with dance and sacrifice,

Each month, of sheep to tutelary gods.

Beholding this I weep and waste within,

And to myself bewail the unhallowed feast

Named of my sire, with silent tears, for e’en

The luxury of wailing is denied me.

This woman (saintly is her speech) upbraids

And rates me thus: “Ungodly, hateful girl,

Hast thou alone to bear a father’s loss,

Art thou the only mourner? Out upon thee!

Perdition seize thee I and in hell may’st thou

Find no deliverance from thy present grief!”

So rails she, save at times when rumours run

Orestes is at hand, then wild with rage

She thunders in my ears “This is thy doing;

Was it not thou who from my hands didst steal

Orestes and convey him safe away?

Mark my words, thou shalt rue it!” So she screams,

And her abettor’s there to egg her on,

Her glorious consort who repeats her gibes,

That rogue in grain, that dastardly poltroon,

Who fights his battles with a woman’s aid.

Meanwhile I wait until Orestes comes

To end my woes, and waiting pine away.

By ever dallying he has quite destroyed 147