Sophocles Electra 122

Thomas Francklin (Translator)

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Chrysothemis
Know, then, that soon as to our father's tomb
Eager I came, my wondering eyes beheld
Down from its side a milky fountain flow,
As lately poured by some benignant hand ;
With various flowers the sacred spot adorned
Increased my doubts : on every side I looked
And listened long impatient for the tread
Of human footsteps there ; but all was peace.
Fearless approaching then the hallowed spot,
I saw it spread with fresh devoted hair ;
Instant my soul recalled its dearest hope,
Nor doubted whence the pious offerings came ;
I snatched them up and silent gazed, while joy
Sprang in my heart, and filled my eyes with tears —
They were, they must be his ; ourselves alone
Excepted, who could bring them? 'twas not I,
And 'tis not given to thee to leave these walls
E'en for the gods : our mother scarce would do
So good an office ; or e'en grant she might.
We must have known it soon. Be confident,
Sister, rejoice ! Whe same destructive power
Doth not for ever rule.^/ Behold at last
A milder god, and happier days appear !

Electra. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.

Current edition Experimental

English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) (English) (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (2)
Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) — 122 focus
Ηλέκτρα ματρός, τίν' ἀεὶ
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 121-250 focus
Translations (4)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 122 focus
EL
Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony
Weeps inconsolably her perished son?
She left us with a laugh! O misery!
How thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine,
By dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart
The only hope I cherished yet, that thou
Living wouldst come hereafter to avenge
Thy father’s woes and mine. Where must I go?
Since I am left of thee and of my sire
Bereaved and lonely, and once more must be
The drudge and menial of my bitterest foes,
My father’s murderers. Say, is it well?
Nay, nevermore will I consort with these,
But sinking here before the palace gate,
Thus, friendless, I will wither out my life.
Hereat if any in the house be vexed,
Let them destroy me; for to take my life
Were kindness, and to live is only pain:
Life hath not kindled my desires with joy.
O ever-blazing sun!
O lightning of the eternal Sire!
Can ye behold this done
And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?
Ah me!
My daughter, why these tears?
Woe!
Weep not, calm thy fears.
You kill me.
How?
To breathe
A hope for one beneath
So clearly sunk in death,
’Tis to afflict me more
Already pining sore.
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 121 focus
Ha, Kind, Kind des entsezlichen Weibs,
120
Was, Elektra, strömest du stets
Niegesättigte Klagen aus um ihu,
Den schon lange die Mutter, die Frevlerin,
Trüglich verstrickt in dem Neze der Täuschungen,
Mit schnöder Hand erschlagen? Sterbe, wer die That
125
Vollbracht, wenn mir ein solches Wort ziemt!
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 122 focus
Electra
860
And on her vengeance fell.
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 121-250 focus