_Chor._ *I strike an Arian stroke, and in the strain Of Kissian mourner skilled,[428] Ye might have seen the stretching forth of hands, With rendings of the hair, and random blows, In quick succession given, Dealt from above with arm at fullest length, And with the beating still my head is stunned, 420 Battered and full of woe. _Elect._ O mother, hostile found, and daring all! With burial as of foe Thou had'st the heart a ruler to inter, His citizens not there, A spouse unwept, with no lamentings loud. STROPHE VIII _Orest._ Ah! thou hast told the whole full tale of shame; Shall she not pay then for that outrage dire Unto my father done, So far as Gods prevail, So far as my hands work? May it be mine to smite her and then die! 430 ANTISTROPHE VII _Chor._ Yea, he was maimed![429] (that thou the tale may'st know) And as she slaughtered, so she buried him, Seeking to work a doom For thy young life all unendurable. Now thou dost hear the woes Thy father suffered, stained with foulest shame. ANTISTROPHE VIII _Elect._ Thou tellest of my father's death, but I Stood afar off, contemned, Counted as nought, and like a cursèd hound Shut up within, I poured the tide of tears (More ready they than smiles) Uttering in secret wail of weeping full. 440 Hear thou these things, and write them in my mind. _Chor._ Let the tale pierce thine ears, While thy soul onward moves with tranquil step: So much, thou know'st, stands thus; Seek thou with all desire to know the rest; 'Tis meet to enter now Within the lists with mind inflexible. STROPHE IX _Orest._ I bid thee, O my father, help thy friends. _Elect._ Bitterly weeping, these my tears I add. _Chor._ With full accord so cries our company. Come then to light, and hear; 450 Be with us 'gainst our foes. ANTISTROPHE IX _Orest._ My Might their Might, my Right their Right must meet. _Elect._ *Ye Gods, give righteous issue in our cause. _Chor._ Fear creeps upon me as I hear your prayers. Long tarries destiny, But comes to those who pray. STROPHE X _Semi-Chor. A._ Oh, woe that haunts the race, And harsh, shrill stroke of Atè's bloody scourge! Woes sad and hard to bear, 460 Calling for wailing loud, Ah, woe is me, a grief immedicable. ANTISTROPHE X