The wind as a changed thing
Whispereth overhead
Of one that of old lay dead
In the water lapping long:
My King, O my King!
Whispereth overhead
Of one that of old lay dead
In the water lapping long:
My King, O my King!
Euripides - Electra
Soil not thy robe! . . .
Not far now shall it be,
The sacrifice God asks of me and thee.
The bread of Death is broken, and the knife
Lifted again that drank the Wild Bull's life:
And on his breast. . . . Ha, Mother, hast slept well
Aforetime? Thou shalt lie with him in Hell.
That grace I give to cheer thee on thy road;
Give thou to me--peace from my father's blood!
[_She follows her mother into the house_.
CHORUS.
Lo, the returns of wrong.
The wind as a changed thing
Whispereth overhead
Of one that of old lay dead
In the water lapping long:
My King, O my King!
A cry in the rafters then
Rang, and the marble dome:
"Mercy of God, not thou,
"Woman! To slay me now,
"After the harvests ten
"Now, at the last, come home! "
O Fate shall turn as the tide,
Turn, with a doom of tears
For the flying heart too fond;
A doom for the broken bond.
She hailed him there in his pride,
Home from the perilous years,
In the heart of his walled lands,
In the Giants' cloud-capt ring;
Herself, none other, laid
The hone to the axe's blade;
She lifted it in her hands,
The woman, and slew her king.
Woe upon spouse and spouse,
Whatso of evil sway
Held her in that distress!
Even as a lioness
Breaketh the woodland boughs
Starving, she wrought her way.
VOICE OF CLYTEMNESTRA.
O Children, Children; in the name of God,
Slay not your mother!
A WOMAN.
Did ye hear a cry
Under the rafters?
ANOTHER.
I weep too, yea, I;
Down on the mother's heart the child hath trod!
[_A death-cry from within_.
ANOTHER.
God bringeth Justice in his own slow tide.
