The action of this play is the simplest possible, and will, for the most part, explain itself sufficiently as it proceeds. Clytemnestra, disturbed in conscience, and troubled by evil dreams, sends a chorus of young women to offer libations at the tomb of Agamemnon, which, in the present play, may fitly be conceived as occupying the centre of the stage.[f3] These "libation-bearers" give the name to the piece. In their pious function, Electra, the daughter of Agamemnon, joins; and as she is engaged in the solemn rite, her brother Orestes (who had been living as an exile in Phocis with Strophius, married to Anaxibia, the sister of Agamemnon) suddenly arrives, and making himself known to his sister, plans with her the murder of Ægisthus and Clytemnestra--which is accordingly executed. Scarcely is this done, when the Furies of the murdered mother appear, and commence that chase of the unhappy son from land to land, which is ended in the next piece only by the eloquent intercession of Apollo, and the deliberative wisdom of the blue-eyed virgin-goddess of the Acropolis. As a composition, the Choephoræ is decidedly inferior both to {98} the Agamemnon which precedes, and the Eumenides which follows it; and the poet, as if sensible of this weakness, following the approved tactics of rhetoricians and warriors, has dexterously placed it in a position where its deficiencies are least observed. At the same time, in passing a critical judgment on this piece we must bear in mind two things--_first_, that some parts of this play that appear languid, long-drawn, and ineffective to us who read, may have been overflowing with the richest emotional power in their living musical exhibition; and, _secondly_, that many parts, especially of the choral chaunts, have been so maimed and shattered by time that the modern commentator is perhaps as much chargeable with the faults of the translation as the ancient tragedian. CHOEPHORÆ {99} [_Enter_ ORESTES. _and_ PYLADES. ORESTES. Hermes, that wieldest underneath the ground What power thy father lent,[n1] be thou my saviour And my strong help, and grant his heart's request To the returning exile! On this mound, My father's tomb, my father I invoke, To hear my cry! * * * * * * * * My early growth of hair To Inachus I vowed;[n2] this later lock The right of grief for my great sire demands. * * * * * * But what is this? what sad procession comes Of marshalled maids in sable mantles clad? What mission brings them? Some new woe that breaks Upon our fated house? Or, do they come To soothe the ancient anger of the dead With sweet libations for my father's tomb? 'Tis even so: for lo! Electra comes-- My sister--with them in unblissful grief Pre-eminent. O Jove, be thou mine aid,[n3] And nerve my hand to avenge my father's wrong! Stand we aside, my Pylades, that we May learn the purpose of the murky pomp. [_They go aside._