STROPHE VIII. ORESTES. Thou hast named the dire dishonor; The gods shall send swift judgment on her. By Heaven's command, By her own son's hand, Slain she shall lie; And I, having dealt the fated death, Myself shall die! ANTISTROPHE VII. ELECTRA. Be the butcher's work remembered, Mangled was he, and dismembered; Like vilest clay, She cast him away, With burial base; Mocking the son, the father branding With dark disgrace. ANTISTROPHE VIII. ORESTES. Thou dost tell too truly All my father's woe. ELECTRA. I, the while, accounted Lower than most low, {113} Like a dog, was sundered From my father's hearth, An evil dog, and wandered Far from seats of mirth; In my chamber weeping Tears of silent woe, From rude gazers keeping Grief too great for show. Hear these words; and hearing Nail them in thy soul, With steady purpose nearing, And noiseless pace, thy goal. Go where just wrath leads the way, With stout heart tread the lists to-day. STROPHE IX. ORESTES. O father, help thy friends, when helping thee! ELECTRA. My tears, if they can help, shall flow for thee. CHORUS. And this whole mingled choir shall raise for thee The sistered cry: O hear! In light of day appear, And help thy banded friends, to avenge thy foes for thee! ANTISTROPHE IX. ORESTES. Now might with might engage, and right with right! ELECTRA. And the gods justly the unjust shall smite. CHORUS.[n36] The tremulous fear creeps o'er my frame to hear Thy words; for, though long-dated, The thing divinely fated Shall surely come at last, our cloudy prayers to clear. STROPHE X. ELECTRA. O home-bred pain, Stroke of perdition that refuses Concord with the holy Muses! O burden more than heart can bear, Disease that no physician's care Makes sound again! ANTISTROPHE X. ORESTES. So; even so. No far-sent leech this tetter uses; A home-bred surgery it chooses. {114} I the red strife myself pursue, Pouring this dismal hymn to you, Ye gods below! CHORUS. Blessed powers, propitious dwelling, Deep in subterranean darkness, Hear this pious prayer; May all trials end in triumph To the suppliant pair! ORESTES. Father, who died not as a king should die, Give me to rule, as thou didst rule, these halls. ELECTRA. My supplication hear, thy strong help lend me, Scathless myself[n37] to work Ægisthus' harm. ORESTES. Thus of the rightful feasts that soothe the Shades Thou too shalt taste,[n38] and not dishonoured lie, When savoury fumes mount to our country's dead. ELECTRA. And I my whole of heritage will offer, The blithe libations of my marriage feast. Thy tomb before all tombs I will revere. ORESTES. O Earth, relax thy hold, and give my father To see the fight!