Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/172

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Sure holy shame

And pious care would vanish among men,

If he, mere earth and nothingness, must lie

In darkness, and his foes shall not again

Render him blood for blood in amplest penalty.

. Less from our own desires, my child, we came,

Than for thy sake. But, if we speak amiss,

Take thine own course. We still will side with thee.

. Full well I feel that too impatiently

I seem to multiply the sounds of woe.

Yet suffer me, dear women! Mighty force

Compels me. Who that had a noble heart

And saw her father’s cause, as I have done,

By day and night more outraged, could refrain?

Are my woes lessening? Are they not in bloom?—

My mother full of hate and hateful proved,

Whilst I in my own home must dwell with these,

My father’s murderers, and by them be ruled,

Dependent on their bounty even for bread.

And then what days suppose you I must pass,

When I behold Aegisthus on the throne

That was my father’s: when I see him wear

Such robes, and pour libations by the hearth

Where he destroyed him; lastly, when I see

Their crowning insolence,—our regicide

Laid in my father’s chamber beside her,

My mother—if she still must bear the name

When resting in those arms? Her shame is dead.

She harbours with blood-guiltiness, and fears

No vengeance, but, as laughing at the wrong,

She watches for the hour wherein with guile

She killed our sire, and orders dance and mirth

That day o’ the month, and joyful sacrifice

Of thanksgiving. But I within the house

Beholding, weep and pine, and mourn that feast

Of infamy, called by my father’s name,

All to myself; for not even grief may flow

As largely as my spirit would desire.

That so-called princess of a noble race