The Electra of Euripides | Page 7

may be, even yet. Apollo spake
The word; and surely, though
small store I make
Of man's divining, God will fail us not.
[ORESTES _and_ PYLADES _go in, following the_ SERVANTS.
LEADER.
O never was the heart of hope so hot
Within me. How? So moveless
in time past,
Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last?
ELECTRA.
Now know'st thou not thine own ill furniture,
To bid these strangers
in, to whom for sure
Our best were hardship, men of gentle breed?
PEASANT.
Nay, if the men be gentle, as indeed
I deem them, they will take good
cheer or ill
With even kindness.

ELECTRA.
'Twas ill done; but still--
Go, since so poor thou art, to that old friend

Who reared my father. At the realm's last end
He dwells, where
Tanaos river foams between
Argos and Sparta. Long time hath he
been
An exile 'mid his flocks. Tell him what thing
Hath chanced on
me, and bid him haste and bring
Meat for the strangers'
tending.--Glad, I trow,
That old man's heart will be, and many a vow

Will lift to God, to learn the child he stole
From death, yet
breathes.--I will not ask a dole
From home; how should my mother
help me? Nay,
I pity him that seeks that door, to say
Orestes liveth!
PEASANT.
Wilt thou have it so?
I will take word to the old man. But go

Quickly within, and whatso there thou find
Set out for them. A
woman, if her mind
So turn, can light on many a pleasant thing
To
fill her board. And surely plenishing
We have for this one day.--'Tis
in such shifts
As these, I care for riches, to make gifts
To friends, or
lead a sick man back to health
With ease and plenty. Else small aid is
wealth
For daily gladness; once a man be done
With hunger, rich
and poor are all as one.
[_The_ PEASANT _goes off to the left_; ELECTRA _goes into the
house._

CHORUS.
O for the ships of Troy, the beat [_Strophe_ 1. Of oars that shimmered

Innumerable, and dancing feet
Of Nereids glimmered;
And
dolphins, drunken with the lyre,
Across the dark blue prows, like fire,

Did bound and quiver,
To cleave the way for Thetis' son,

Fleet-in-the-wind Achilles, on
To war, to war, till Troy be won

Beside the reedy river.

Up from Euboea's caverns came [_Antistrophe_ 1. The Nereids,
bearing
Gold armour from the Lords of Flame,
Wrought for his
wearing:
Long sought those daughters of the deep,
Up Pelion's glen,
up Ossa's steep
Forest enchanted,
Where Peleus reared alone, afar,

His lost sea-maiden's child, the star
Of Hellas, and swift help of
war
When weary armies panted.
There came a man from Troy, and told [_Strophe_ 2. Here in the haven,

How, orb on orb, to strike with cold
The Trojan, o'er that targe of
gold,
Dread shapes were graven.
All round the level rim thereof

Perseus, on wingèd feet, above
The long seas hied him;
The
Gorgon's wild and bleeding hair
He lifted; and a herald fair,
He of
the wilds, whom Maia bare,
God's Hermes, flew beside him.
[_Antistrophe_ 2. But midmost, where the boss rose higher,
A sun
stood blazing,
And wingèd steeds, and stars in choir,
Hyad and
Pleiad, fire on fire,
For Hector's dazing:
Across the golden helm,
each way,
Two taloned Sphinxes held their prey,
Song-drawn to
slaughter:
And round the breastplate ramping came
A mingled
breed of lion and flame,
Hot-eyed to tear that steed of fame
That
found Pirênê's water.
The red red sword with steeds four-yoked [_Epode_. Black-maned, was
graven,
That laboured, and the hot dust smoked
Cloudwise to
heaven.
Thou Tyndarid woman! Fair and tall
Those warriors were,
and o'er them all
One king great-hearted,
Whom thou and thy false
love did slay:
Therefore the tribes of Heaven one day
For these thy
dead shall send on thee
An iron death: yea, men shall see

The white
throat drawn, and blood's red spray,
And lips in terror parted.
[_As they cease, there enters from the left a very old man, bearing a
lamb, a wineskin, and a wallet_.
OLD MAN.

Where is my little Princess? Ah, not now;
But still my queen, who
tended long ago
The lad that was her father.... How steep-set
These
last steps to her porch! But faint not yet:
Onward, ye failing knees
and back with pain
Bowed, till we look on that dear face again.
[_Enter_ ELECTRA.
Ah, daughter, is it thou?--Lo, here I am,
With
gifts from all my store; this suckling lamb
Fresh from the ewe, green
crowns for joyfulness,
And creamy things new-curdled from the press.

And this long-storèd juice of vintages
Forgotten, cased in fragrance:
scant it is,
But passing sweet to mingle nectar-wise
With feebler
wine.--Go, bear them in; mine eyes...
Where is my cloak?--They are
all blurred with tears.
ELECTRA.
What ails thine eyes, old friend? After these years
Doth my low
plight still stir thy memories?
Or think'st thou of Orestes, where he
lies
In exile, and my father? Aye, long love
Thou gavest him, and
seest the fruit thereof
Wasted, for thee and all who love thee!
OLD MAN.
All
Wasted! And yet 'tis that lost hope withal
I cannot brook. But
now I turned aside
To see my master's grave. All, far and wide,

Was silence; so I bent these knees of mine
And wept and poured