Daughter to Agamemnon born,
Or Troy, that, smitten by my sire,
Of him in nightmare memories dreameth?
Chorus.
(Ant. 3)
Great is the Goddess:[1] borrow then of me 190
Robes woven cunningly,
And jewels whereby shall beauty fairer shine.
Dost think these tears of thine,
If thou give honour not to Gods, shall bring
Thy foes low?—reverencing
The Gods with prayers, not groans, shalt thou obtain
Clear shining after rain.
Electra.
No God regards a wretch's cries,
Nor heeds old flames of sacrifice
Once on my father's altars burning. 200
Woe for the dead, the unreturning!
Woe for the living, homeless now,
In alien land constrained, I trow
To serfdom's board in grief to bow—
That hero's son afar sojourning!
In a poor hovel I abide,
An exile from my father's door,
Wasting my soul with tears outwelling,
Mid scaurs of yon wild mountain-side:— 210
My mother with her paramour
In murder-bond the while is dwelling!
- ↑ Therefore her festival is not lightly to be neglected.
