CHORUS. (_dressed in sable vestments, bearing vessels with libations._) STROPHE I. Missioned from these halls I come In the sable pomp of woe, Here to wail and pour libations, With the bosom-beating blow; And my cheeks, that herald sorrow,[n4] With the fresh-cut nail-ploughed furrow, Grief's vocation show. {100} See! my rent and ragged stole Speaks the conflict of my soul; My vex'd heart on grief is feeding, Night and day withouten rest; Riven with the ruthless mourning, Hangs the linen vest, adorning Woefully my breast. ANTISTROPHE I. Breathing wrath through nightly slumbers, By a dream-encompassed lair, Prophet of the house of Pelops, Terror stands with bristling hair. Through the dark night fitful yelling, He within our inmost dwelling Did the sleeper scare. Heavily, heavily terror falls On the woman-governed halls! And, instinct with high assurance, Speak the wise diviners all; "The dead, the earth-hid dead are fretful, And for vengeance unforgetful, From their graves they call." STROPHE II. This graceless grace to do, to ward What ills the dream portendeth This pomp--O mother Earth!--and me The godless woman sendeth. Thankless office! Can I dare, Naming thee, to mock the air? Blood that stains with purple track The ground, what price can purchase back? O the hearth beset with mourning! O the proud halls' overturning! Darkness, blithe sight's detestation, Sunless sorrow spread Round the house of desolation, Whence the lord is fled. ANTISTROPHE II. The kingly majesty that was The mighty, warlike-hearted, That swayed the general ear and will, The unconquered, hath departed. {101} And now fear rules,[n5] and we obey, Unwillingly, a loveless sway. Who holds the key of plenty's portals Is god, and more than god to mortals; But justice from her watchful station, With a sure-winged visitation Swoops; and some in blazing noon She for doom doth mark, Some in lingering eve, and some In the deedless dark.