STROPHE IV. ELECTRA. Chiefly to me! Thy words shoot like an arrow, And pierce my marrow. O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from below[n30] The retribution slow, Against the stout heart and bold hand, That dared defy thy high command. Even though a parent feel the woe, Prepare, prepare the finished blow. STROPHE V. CHORUS. Mine be soon to lift the strain, O'er the treacherous slayer slain, To shout with bitter exultation, O'er the murtherous wife's prostration! Why should I the hate conceal, That spurs my heart with promptest zeal, Bitter thoughts, that gathering grow, Like blustering winds, that beat the plunging vessel's prow? ANTISTROPHE IV. ORESTES. O thou that flourishest, and mak'st to flourish, By thy hands perish All they that hate me! Cleave the heads of those, That are Orestes' foes! {111} Pledge the land in peace to live, For injustice justice give; Ye that honoured reign below,[n31] Furies! prepare the crowning blow. CHORUS. Wont hath been, and shall be ever, That when purple gouts bedash The guilty ground, then BLOOD DOTH BLOOD DEMAND, AND BLOOD FOR BLOOD SHALL FLOW. Fury to Havoc cries; and Havoc, The tainted track of blood pursuing, From age to age works woe. STROPHE VI. ELECTRA. Ye powers of Hades dread! Fell Curses of the Dead, Hear, me when I call! Behold! The Atridan hall, Dashed in dishonoured fall, Lies low and graceless all. O mighty Jove, I see Mine only help in thee! ANTISTROPHE V. CHORUS. Thy piteous tale doth make my heart From its central hold back start; Hope departs, and blackening Fear Rules my fancy, while I hear. And if blithe confidence awhile[n32] Lends my dull faith the feeble smile, Soon, soon departs that glimpse of cheer, And all my map of things is desolate and drear. ANTISTROPHE VI. ORESTES. For why! our tale of wrong In hate of parents strong, Spurneth the flatterer's arm, Mocketh the soothing charm. The mother gave her child[n33] This wolfish nature wild; And I from her shall learn To be thus harsh and stern. {112} STROPHE VII. CHORUS. Like a Persian mourner[n34] Singing sorrow's tale, Like a Cissian wailer, I did weep and wail. O'er my head swift-oaring Came arm on arm amain, The voice of my deploring Like the lashing rain! Sorrow's rushing river O'er me flooding spread, Black misfortune's quiver Emptied on my head! ELECTRA. Mother bold, all-daring, On a bloody bier Thine own lord forth bearing Slain without a tear. Alone, unfriended he did go Down to the sunless homes below.