With majesty arrayed, and might,
A king in Pluto's gloomy reign,
Serving the great ones who command 350
In Hades.—For in upper day
King was he over kings, whose hand
The fatal sceptre wields which men obey.
Electra. Antistrophe III.
Nay, Father, under Troia's wall
With other victims of the spear,
What need for thee in death to fall,
And near Scamander grace a foreign bier?
Oh rather might the murderous twain
Themselves have met their death-blow, slain 360
†By kindred hands, so from afar the tale
Had reached thine ear, shielded thyself from bale.
Chorus. [Mesode.]
Richer, my child, thy words than gold;—
Bliss Hyperborean they excel,
†It may not be! Of scourge twofold
The clang resounds.—Already dwell
'Neath earth your champions; here who reign
Have hands unclean; hateful to me the twain;
Them in more direful hate these children hold.
Electra. Strophe IV.
Like dart thy word of dread,
Piercing mine car, hath sped.
Zeus, Zeus, upsending from below
Late thine avenging blow,—
