ORESTES. Fear not. The mighty oracle of Loxias, By whose commands I dare the thing I dare, Will not deceive me. He, with shrill-voiced warning, Foretold that freezing pains through my warm liver Should torturing shoot, if backward to avenge My father's death, and even as he was slain, To slay the slayers, exasperate at the loss[n22] Of my so fair possessions. Thus to do He gave me strict injunction: else myself With terrible pains, of filial zeal remiss, Should pay the fine. The evil-minded Powers Beneath the Earth[n23] would visit me in wrath, A leprous tetter with corrosive tooth Creep o'er my skin, and fasten on my flesh, And with white scales the white hair grow, defacing My bloom of health; and from my father's tomb Ripe with avenging ire the Erinnyes Should ruthlessly invade me. Thus he spake, And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.[n24] Sharp arrows through the subterranean night, Shot by dear Shades that through the Infernal halls Roam peaceless, madness, and vain fear o' nights, Prick with sharp goads, and chase from street to street, With iron scourge, the meagre-wasted form Of the Fury-hunted sinner; him no share In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop Of pure libation;[n25] the paternal wrath, Hovering unseen, shall drive him from the altar; Him shall no home receive, no lodgment hold, Unhonoured and unfriended he shall die, Withered and mummied with the hot dry plague. Such oracle divine behoves me trust With single faith, or, be I faithless, still The vengeance must be done. All things concur {108} To point my purpose; the divine command My sore heart-grief for a loved father's death, The press of want, the spoiling of my goods, The shame to see these noble citizens, Proud Troy's destroyers, basely bent beneath The yoke of two weak women: for he hath A woman's soul: if not, the proof is near. CHORUS. Mighty Fates, divinely guiding Human fortunes to their end, Send this man, with Jove presiding, Whither Justice points the way. Words of bitter hatred duly Pay with bitter words: for thus With loud cry triumphant shouting Justice pays the sinner's debt. BLOOD FOR BLOOD AND BLOW FOR BLOW, THOU SHALT REAP AS THOU DIDST SOW; Age to age with hoary wisdom Speaketh thus to men.[n26] STROPHE I. ORESTES. O father, wretched father, with what air Of word or deed impelling, Shall I be strong to waft the filial prayer To thy dim distant dwelling? There where in dark, the dead-man's day, thou liest,[n27] Be our sharp wailing (Grace of the dead, and Hades' honour highest), With thee prevailing!