And now the sword already at the heart, Sharp-pointed, strikes a blow that pierces through, While Vengeance guides the hand; 630 For lo! the lawlessness Of one who doth transgress all lawlessly The might and majesty of Zeus, lies not As trampled under foot.[439] ANTISTROPHE IV The anvil-block of Vengeance firm is set, And Fate, the swordsmith, hammers on the bronze Beforehand; and the child Is brought unto his home, And in due time the debt of guilt is paid By the dark-souled Erinnys, famed of old, For blood of former days. ORESTES _and_ PYLADES _enter, disguised as Phokian travellers, go to the door of the palace, and knock loudly_ _Orest._ What ho, boy! hear us knocking at the gate. 640 Who is within, boy? who, boy?—hear, again; A third time now I give my summons here, If good Ægisthos' house be hospitable. [_A_ SLAVE _opens the door_ _Slave._ Hold, hold; I hear. What stranger comes, and whence? _Orest._ Tell thou thy lords who over this house rule, To whom I come and tidings new report; And make good speed, for now the dusky car Of night comes on apace, and it is time For travellers in hospitable homes To cast their anchor; and let some one come From out the house who hath authority; 650 The lady, if so be one ruleth here, But, seemlier far, her lord; for then no shame In converse makes our words obscure and dim; But man with man gains courage to speak out, And makes his mission manifest as day. _Enter_ CLYTÆMNESTRA _Clytæm._ If ye need aught, O strangers, speak; for here Is all that's fitting for a house like ours; Warm baths,[440] and bed that giveth rest from toil, And presence of right honest faces too; If there be aught that needeth counsel more, That is men's business, and to them we'll tell it. 660 _Orest._ A Daulian traveller, from Phokis come, Am I, and as I went on business bound, My baggage with me, unto Argos, I (Just as I set forth,) met a man I knew not, Who knew not me, and he then, having asked My way and told me his, the Phokian Strophios (For so I learnt in talking) said to me, “Since thou dost go, my friend, for Argos bound, In any case, tell those who gave him birth, Remembering it right well, Orestes' death; See thou forget it not, and whether plans 670 Prevail to fetch him home, or bury him There where he is, a stranger evermore, Bear back the message as thy freight for us; For now the ribbed sides of an urn of bronze The ashes hide of one whom men have wept.” So much I heard and now have told; and if I speak to kin that have a right in him I know not, but his father sure should know it.