Part 27 (1/2)
Follow, seek him--round and round Scent and snuff and scan the ground, Lest unharmed he slip away, He who did his mother slay!
Hist--he is there! See him his arms entwine Around the image of the maid divine-- Thus aided, for the deed he wrought Unto the judgment wills he to be brought.
It may not be! a mother's blood, poured forth Upon the stained earth, None gathers up: it lies--bear witness, h.e.l.l!-- For aye indelible!
And thou who sheddest it shalt give thine own That shedding to atone!
Yea, from thy living limbs I suck it out, Red, clotted, gout by gout,-- A draught abhorred of men and G.o.ds; but I Will drain it, suck thee dry; Yea, I will waste thee living, nerve and vein; Yea, for thy mother slain, Will drag thee downward, there where thou shalt dree The weird of agony!
And thou and whatsoe'er of men hath sinned-- Hath wronged or G.o.d, or friend, Or parent,--learn ye how to all and each The arm of doom can reach!
Sternly requiteth, in the world beneath, The judgment-seat of Death; Yea, Death, beholding every man's endeavour Recordeth it for ever.
ORESTES
I, schooled in many miseries, have learnt How many refuges of cleansing shrines There be; I know when law alloweth speech And when imposeth silence. Lo, I stand Fixed now to speak, for he whose word is wise Commands the same. Look, how the stain of blood Is dull upon mine hand and wastes away, And laved and lost therewith is the deep curse Of matricide; for while the guilt was new, 'Twas banished from me at Apollo's hearth, Atoned and purified by death of swine.
Long were my word if I should sum the tale, How oft since then among my fellow-men I stood and brought no curse. Time cleanses all-- Time, the coeval of all things that are.
Now from pure lips, in words of omen fair, I call Athena, lady of this land, To come, my champion: so, in aftertime, She shall not fail of love and service deal, Not won by war, from me and from my land And all the folk of Argos, vowed to her.
Now, be she far away in Libyan land Where flows from Triton's lake her natal wave,-- Stand she with planted feet, or in some hour Of rest conceal them, champion of her friends Where'er she be,--or whether o'er the plain Phlegraean she look forth, as warrior bold-- I cry to her to come, where'er she be, (And she, as G.o.ddess, from afar can hear,) And aid and free me, set among my foes.
CHORUS
Thee not Apollo nor Athena's strength Can save from peris.h.i.+ng, a castaway Amid the Lost, where no delight shall meet Thy soul--a bloodless prey of nether powers, A shadow among shadows. Answerest thou Nothing? dost cast away my words with scorn, Thou, prey prepared and dedicate to me?
Not as a victim slain upon the shrine, But living shalt thou see thy flesh my food.
Hear now the binding chant that makes thee mine.
Weave the weird dance,--behold the hour To utter forth the chant of h.e.l.l, Our sway among mankind to tell, The guidance of our power.
Of Justice are we ministers, And whosoe'er of men may stand Lifting a pure unsullied hand, That man no doom of ours incurs, And walks thro' all his mortal path Untouched by woe, unharmed by wrath.
But if, as yonder man, he hath Blood on the hands he strives to hide, We stand avengers at his side, Decreeing, _Thou hast wronged the dead: We are doom's witnesses to thee_.
The price of blood, his hands have shed, We wring from him; in life, in death, Hard at his side are we!
Night, Mother Night, who brought me forth, a torment To living men and dead, Hear me, O hear! by Leto's stripling son I am dishonoured: He hath ta'en from me him who cowers in refuge, To me made consecrate,-- A rightful victim, him who slew his mother.
Given o'er to me and fate.
Hear the hymn of h.e.l.l, O'er the victim sounding,-- Chant of frenzy, chant of ill, Sense and will confounding!
Round the soul entwining Without lute or lyre-- Soul in madness pining, Wasting as with fire!
Fate, all-pervading Fate, this service spun, commanding That I should bide therein: Whosoe'er of mortals, made perverse and lawless, Is stained with blood of kin, By his side are we, and hunt him ever onward, Till to the Silent Land, The realm of death, he cometh; neither yonder In freedom shall he stand.
Hear the hymn of h.e.l.l, O'er the victim sounding,-- Chant of frenzy, chant of ill, Sense and will confounding!
Round the soul entwining Without lute or lyre-- Soul in madness pining, Wasting as with fire!
When from womb of Night we sprang, on us this labour Was laid and shall abide.
G.o.ds immortal are ye, yet beware ye touch not That which is our pride!
None may come beside us gathered round the blood feast-- For us no garments white Gleam on a festal day; for us a darker fate is, Another darker rite.
That is mine hour when falls an ancient line-- When in the household's heart The G.o.d of blood doth slay by kindred hands,-- Then do we bear our part: On him who slays we sweep with chasing cry: Though he be triply strong, We wear and waste him; blood atones for blood, New pain for ancient wrong.
I hold this task--'tis mine, and not another's.
The very G.o.ds on high, Though they can silence and annul the prayers Of those who on us cry, They may not strive with us who stand apart, A race by Zeus abhorred, Blood-boltered, held unworthy of the council And converse of Heaven's lord.
Therefore the more I leap upon my prey; Upon their head I bound; My foot is hard; as one that trips a runner I cast them to the ground; Yea, to the depth of doom intolerable; And they who erst were great, And upon earth held high their pride and glory, Are brought to low estate.