Sophocles Electra 105

OLD M

For that I am here, and I will tell the whole.

He, entering on the great arena famed

As Hellas’ pride, to win a Delphian prize,

On hearing the loud summons of the man

Calling the foot-race, which hath trial first,

Came forward, a bright form, admired by all.

And when his prowess in the course fulfilled

The promise of his form, he issued forth

Dowered with the splendid meed of victory.—

To tell a few out of the many feats

Of such a hero were beyond my power.

Know then, in brief, that of the prizes set

For every customary course proclaimed

By order of the judges, the whole sum

Victoriously he gathered, happy deemed

By all; declared an Argive, and his name

Orestes, son of him who levied once

The mighty armament of Greeks for Troy.

So fared he then: but when a God inclines

To hinder happiness, not even the strong

Are scatheless. So, another day, when came

At sunrise the swift race of charioteers,

He entered there with many a rival car:—

One from Achaia, one from Sparta, two

Libyan commanders of the chariot-yoke;

And he among them fifth, with steeds of price

From Thessaly;—the sixth Aetolia sent

With chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man;

The eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta’s vale;

The ninth from god-built Athens; and the tenth

Boeotia gave to make the number full.

Then stood they where the judges of the course

Had posted them by lot, each with his team;

And sprang forth at the brazen trumpet’s blare.

Shouting together to their steeds, they shook

The reins, and all the course was filled with noise

Of rattling chariots, and the dust arose

To heaven. Now all in a confusèd throng

Spared not the goad, each eager to outgo

The crowded axles and the snorting steeds;

For close about his nimbly circling wheels

And stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam.

Orestes, ever nearest at the turn,

With whirling axle seemed to graze the stone,

And loosing with free rein the right-hand steed

That pulled the side-rope, held the near one in.

So for a time all chariots upright moved,

But soon the Oetaean’s hard-mouthed horses broke

From all control, and wheeling as they passed

From the sixth circuit to begin the seventh,

Smote front to front against the Barcan car.

And when that one disaster had befallen,

Each dashed against his neighbour and was thrown,

Till the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck.

Then the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein,

Drew on one side, and heaving to, let pass

The rider-crested surge that rolled i’ the midst.

Meanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end,

Was driving hindmost with tight rein; but now,

Seeing him left the sole competitor,

Hurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued:

So drave they yoke by yoke—now this, now that

Pulling ahead with car and team. Orestes,

Ill-fated one, each previous course had driven

Safely without a check, but after this,

In letting loose again the left-hand rein,

He struck the edge of the stone before he knew,

Shattering the axle’s end, and tumbled prone,

Caught in the reins, that dragged him with sharp thongs.

Then as he fell to the earth the horses swerved,

And roamed the field. The people when they saw

Him fallen from out the car, lamented loud

For the fair youth, who had achieved before them

Such glorious feats, and now had found such woe,—

Dashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft

Against the sky,—until the charioteers,

Hardly restraining the impetuous team,

Released him, covered so with blood that none,—

No friend who saw—had known his hapless form.

Which then we duly burned upon the pyre.

And straightway men appointed to the task

From all the Phocians bear his mighty frame—

Poor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn,—

That he may find in his own fatherland

His share of sepulture.—Such our report,

Painful to hear, but unto us, who saw,

The mightiest horror that e’er met mine eye.