Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/288

190 From whom to learn the speech that profiteth,

Whose thoughts befit the time?

Leave me, oh, leave me, friends that fain would soothe,

For these my woes as endless shall be known,

And never from my waitings shall I cease,

Nor pause to count my tears.

Chor. And yet, in pure goodwill I speak to thee,

As mother faithful found,

Not to heap ills on ills.

Elec. What limit is there then to miser?

What? Is it noble to neglect the dead?

Where has this custom grown?

May I ne'er share their praise,

Nor, should I come to any form of good,

Dwell with it peaceably,

If I should stay my wailing sorrow's wings,

And leave my father shamed?

For if the dead, as dust and nothing found,

Shall lie there in his woe,

And they shall fail to pay

The penalty of blood,

Then should all fear of Gods from earth decay,

And all men's worship prove a thing of nought.

Chor. I came, my child, in earnest zeal for thee

And for myself. But if I speak not well,

Have thou thy way, and we will follow thee.

Elec. I feel some shame, ye women, if I seem

To over-weary you with many tears:

But hard compulsion forces me to this,

Therefore bear with me. What maid nobly born,

Seeing a father's sorrows, would not do

As I am doing,—sorrows which, by night

As well as day, I see bud forth and bloom,

In nowise wither,—I who, first of all,