Welcome
   Home | Texts by category | | Quick Search:   
Authors
Works by Aeschylus
Pages of The Choephori



Previous | Next
                  

The Choephori   


Who like Ares bend until it quiver,
Bend the northern bow?
Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive,
Thrust and slay and save?
ELECTRA
Lo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pass- She notices the
locks of ORESTES.
Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS
Speak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.

ELECTRA
I see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.
LEADER
Shorn from wnat man or what deep-girded maid?

ELECTRA
That may he, guess who will; the sign is plain.

LEADER
Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.

ELECTRA
None is there here but I, to clip such gift.

LEADER
For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.

ELECTRA
And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like-

LEADER
Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that.

ELECTRA
Like unto those my father's children wear.

LEADER
Then is this lock Orestes' secret gift?

ELECTRA
Most like it is unto the curls he wore.

LEADER
Yet how dared he to come unto his home?

ELECTRA
He hath but sent it, clipt to mourn his sire.

LEADER
It is a sorrow grievous as his death,
That he should live yet never dare return.
ELECTRA
Yea, and my heart o'erflows with gall of grief,
And I am pierced as with a cleaving dart;
Like to the first drops after drought, my tears
Fall down at will, a bitter bursting tide,
As on this lock I gaze; I cannot deem
That any Argive save Orestes' self
Was ever lord thereof; nor, well I wot,
Hath she, the murd'ress, shorn and laid this lock
To mourn him whom she slew-my mother she,
Bearing no mother's heart, but to her race
A loathing spirit, loathed itself of heaven!
Yet to affirm, as utterly made sure,

Previous | Next
Site Search