Chorus.
Why not? just homage just regard requites.
Athena.
What wilt thou, stranger, to this charge reply?
Thy land, thy race, and thy misfortunes tell,
And then ward off the blame thus cast on thee.
If, trusting in the right, thou thus dost sit
Clasping mine image, near my sacred shrine,
Ixion-like, a suppliant revered,—
To all these queries give me clear reply. 420
Orestes.
Athena queen! matter of grave import
First will I from thy closing words remove.
Not blood-polluted am I, nor doth stain
Cleave to thine image from thy suppliant's hand.
Sure proof of this will I adduce;—'tis law
That voiceless lives the man defiled by blood,
Till purifier's hand hath him besprent
With victim's blood, slain in life's budding prime.
Long since in other homes have been performed,
With victims and with streams, these lustral rites. 430
Thus then this care, as cancelled, I dismiss.
My lineage, what it is, thou soon shalt hear.
Argive am I, my sire thou knowest well,
Marshal of naval heroes, Agamemnon,
In league with whom thou madest Ilion,
Troia's proud city, and uncited waste.
Returning home, he without honour perished;
