Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/168

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My father, who didst die

A cruel death of piteous agony.

But ne’er will I

Cease from my crying and sad mourning lay,

While I behold the sky,

Glancing with myriad fires, or this fair day.

But, like some brood-bereaved nightingale,

With far-heard wail,

Here at my father’s door my voice shall sound.

O home beneath the ground!

Hades unseen, and dread Persephonè,

And darkling Hermes, and the Curse revered,

And ye, Erinyës, of mortals feared,

Daughters of Heaven, that ever see

Who die unjustly, who are wronged i’ the bed

Of those they wed,

Avenge our father’s murder on his foe!

Aid us, and send my brother to my side;

Alone I cannot longer bide

The oppressive strain of strength-o’ermastering woe.

O sad Electra, child

Of a lost mother, why still flow

Unceasingly with lamentation wild

For him who through her treachery beguiled,

Inveigled by a wife’s deceit,

Fallen at the foul adulterer’s feet,

Most impiously was quelled long years ago?

Perish the cause! if I may lawfully pray so.

. O daughters of a noble line,

Ye come to soothe me from my troublous woe.

I see, I know:

Your love is not unrecognized of mine.

But yet I will not seem as I forgot,

Or cease to mourn my hapless father’s lot.

Oh, of all love

That ever may you move,

This only boon I crave—

Leave me to rave!