Leader: Antistrophe 9
His hands and feet, they were hacked away from him! Yea, she that buried him, she wrought it so. To make thy life blasted, without help or stay from him. Thou hast it all, the defiling and shame and woe! Orestes breaks down in speechless tears.
Electra: Antistrophe 7
Thou tellest the doom he died, but I saw him not; I was far off, dishonoured and nothing worth. Like a dog they drove me back, and the door was shut, And alone I poured my tears to him through the earth. I laughed not, yet rejoiced that none saw me weep.— Write this in thine heart, O Father; grave it deep.
Leader: Antistrophe 8
Write! Yea, and draw the word Deep unto that still land Where thy soul dwells in peace. What is, thou hast this day heard; What shall be, reach forth thine hand And take it! Be hard, be hard To smite and not cease!
Orestes, Electra, and the Leader.
Orestes: Strophe 10
Thee, thee I call. Father, be near thine own.
Electra: I also cry thee, choked with the tears that flow.
Leader: Yea, all this band, it crieth to thee as one.
All: O great King, hear us. Awake thee to the sun. Be with us against thy foe!
Orestes: Antistrophe 10
The slayer shall meet the slayer, wrong smite with wrong.
Electra: O Zeus, bless thou the murder to be this day.
Leader: (Dost hear? Oh, fear is upon me and trembling strong.)
All: The day of Fate is old, it hath lingered long; It cometh to them that pray.
Divers Women: Strophe 11
—Alas, alas, for the travail born in the race, —Alas for the harp of Atê, whose strings run blood, —The beaten bosom, the grief too wild to bear. —The pain that gnaweth, and will not sink to sleep.
Antistrophe 11
—The House hath healing for its own bitterness; —It is here within. None other can stay the flood; —Through bitter striving, through hate and old despair. —Behold the Song of the Daemons of the deep!
Orestes: O Father mine, O most unkingly slain, Grant me the lordship of thy House again.
Electra: A boon for me likewise, O Father, give; To lay Aigisthos in his blood and live.
Orestes: So men shall honour thee with wassail high; Else without meat or incense shalt thou lie, Unhonoured when the dead their banquets call.
Electra: And I will pour thee offerings wondrous fair From my stored riches for a marriage-prayer, And this thy grave will honour more than all.