EPODE. When mother Earth hath drunk black gore, Printed on the faithful floor, The staring blot remaineth; There the deep disease is lurking; There thrice double-guilt is working Woes that none restraineth. As virgin-chambers once polluted Never may be pure again, So filthy hands with blood bedabbled[n6] All the streams of all the rivers Flow to wash in vain. For me I suffer what I must; By ordinance divine, Since Troy was levelled with the dust The bondman's fate is mine. What the masters of my fate In their strength decree,[n7] Just or unjust, matters not, Is the law to me. I must look content; and chain Strongest hate with tightest rein; I for my mistress' woes must wail, And for my own, beneath the veil;[n8] I must sit apart, And thaw with tears my frozen heart, When no eye may see. [_Enter_ ELECTRA. ELECTRA. Ye ministering maids with dexterous heed That tend this household, as with me ye share {102} This pomp of supplication, let me share In your good counsel. Speak, and tell me how, This flood funereal pouring on the tomb, I shall find utterance in well-omened words? Shall I declare me bearer of sweet gifts From a dear wife to her dear lord? I fear To mingle faslehood with libations pure, Poured on my father's tomb.[n9] Or shall I pray, As mortals wont to pray, that he may send Just retribution, and a worthy gift Of ill for ill to them that sent these garlands? Or shall I silent stand, nor with my tongue Give honour, as in dumb dishonoured death My father died, and give the Earth to drink A joyless stream, as who throws lustral ashes[n10] With eyes averse, and flings the vase away? Your counsel here I crave; ye are my friends, And bear with me, within these fated halls A common burden. Speak, and no craven fear Lurk in your breasts! The man that lives most free, And him to sternest masterdom enthralled, One fate abides. Lend me your wisdom, friends. CHORUS. Thy father's tomb shall be to me an altar; As before God I'll speak the truth to thee. ELECTRA. Speak thus devoutly, and thou'lt answer well. CHORUS. Give words of seemly honour, as thou pourest, To all that love thy father. ELECTRA. Who are they? CHORUS. Thyself the first, and whoso hates Ægisthus. ELECTRA. That is myself and thou. CHORUS. Thyself may'st judge. ELECTRA. Hast thou none else to swell the scanty roll? CHORUS. One far away, thy brother, add--Orestes. ELECTRA. 'Tis well remembered, very well remembered. CHORUS. Nor them forget that worked the deed of guilt. ELECTRA. Ha! what of them? I'd hear of this more nearly. CHORUS. Pray that some god may come, or mortal man. ELECTRA. Judge or avenger? CHORUS. Roundly pray the prayer, Some god or man may come to slay the slayer.