HKB
CHORUS Alas, that none of mortal men Can pass his life untouched by pain! Behold, one woe is here— Another loometh near.
ORESTES Hark ye and learn—for what the end shall be For me I know not: breaking from the curb My spirit whirls me off, a conquered prey, Borne as a charioteer by steeds distraught Far from the course, and madness in my breast Burneth to chant its song, and leap, and rave— Hark ye and learn, friends, ere my reason goes! I say that rightfully I slew my mother, A thing God-scorned, that foully slew my sire And chiefest wizard of the spell that bound me Unto this deed I name the Pythian seer Apollo, who foretold that if I slew, The guilt of murder done should pass from me; But if I spared, the fate that should be mine I dare not blazon forth—the bow of speech Can reach not to the mark, that doom to tell. And now behold me, how with branch and crown I pass, a suppliant made meet to go Unto Earth’s midmost shrine, the holy ground Of Loxias, and that renownèd light Of ever-burning fire, to ’scape the doom Of kindred murder: to no other shrine (So Loxias bade) may I for refuge turn. Bear witness, Argives, in the after time, How came on me this dread fatality. Living, I pass a banished wanderer hence, To leave in death the memory of this cry.
CHORUS Nay, but the deed is well; link not thy lips To speech ill-starred, nor vent ill-boding words— Who hast to Argos her full freedom given, Lopping two serpents’ heads with timely blow.
ORESTES Look, look, alas! Handmaidens, see—what Gorgon shapes throng up; Dusky their robes and all their hair enwound— Snakes coiled with snakes—off, off, I must away!
CHORUS Most loyal of all sons unto thy sire, What visions thus distract thee? Hold, abide; Great was thy victory, and shalt thou fear?
ORESTES These are no dreams, void shapes of haunting ill, But clear to sight my mother’s hell-hounds come!
CHORUS Nay, the fresh bloodshed still imbrues thine hands, And thence distraction sinks into thy soul.
ORESTES O king Apollo—see, they swarm and throng— Black blood of hatred dripping from their eyes!
CHORUS One remedy thou hast; go, touch the shrine Of Loxias, and rid thee of these woes.
ORESTES Ye can behold them not, but I behold them. Up and away! I dare abide no more.
[Exit
CHORUS Farewell then as thou mayst,—the god thy friend Guard thee and aid with chances favouring.
Behold, the storm of woe divine That the raves and beats on Atreus’ line Its great third blast hath blown. First was Thyestes’ loathly woe— The rueful feast of long ago, On children’s flesh, unknown. And next the kingly chief’s despite, When he who led the Greeks to fight Was in the bath hewn down. And now the offspring of the race Stands in the third, the saviour’s place, To save—or to consume? O whither, ere it be fulfilled, Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled, Shall blow the wind of doom?
[Exeunt.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE PYTHIAN PRIESTESS APOLLO ORESTES THE GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA CHORUS OF FURIES ATHENA ATTENDANTS OF ATHENA TWELVE ATHENIAN CITIZENS
The Scene of the Drama is the Temple of Apollo, at Delphi: afterwards the Temple of Athena, on the Acropolis of Athens, and the adjoining Areopagus.
The Temple at Delphi
The Pythian Priestess