Then, Pylades, we need no more to dwell
On words, but enter on this act with speed,
First worshipping the holy shrines o’ the Gods
That were my father’s, harboured at the gate.
1375
EL
O King Apollo! hear them graciously,
And hear me too, that with incessant hand
Honoured thee richly from my former store!
And now, fierce slayer, I importune thee,
And woo thee with such gifts as I can give,
Be kindly aidant to this enterprise,
And make the world take note, what meed of bane
Heaven still bestows on man’s iniquity.
Lo, where the War-god moves
With soft, sure footstep, on to his design,
Breathing hot slaughter of an evil feud!
Even now the inevitable hounds that track
1380
Dark deeds of hideous crime
1380
Are gone beneath the covert of the domes.
1380
Not long in wavering suspense shall hang
The dreaming presage of my wistful soul.
For lo! within is led
With crafty tread the avenger of the shades,
Even to his father’s throne of ancient power,
And in his hand the bright new-sharpened death!
And Hermes, Maia’s son,
Is leading him, and hath concealed the guile
Electra. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.