Electra
I am myself to blame, and blush to think
How much unfit I seem to liear the weight
Imposed upon me ; but indeed 'tis great.
Forgive me, friends, a woman born as I am,
Must she not grieve to see each added minute
Fraught with new mis'ries? Thus to be a slave
E'en in my father's house, and from those hands
Which shed his blood to ask the means of life !
Think what my soul must sufter to behold
The cursed Aigisthus seated on the throne
Of Agamemnon, in the very robes
Which once were his — to see the tyrant pour
Libations forth e'en on the fat;d spot
Where the sad deed was done. But, worst of all.
To see the murderer usurp his bed.
Embrace my mother (by that honoured name
If I may call a guilty wretch like her).
Who, pleased, returns his love, and, of her crimes i
I Unconscious, smiles, nor fears th' avenging Furies U
I But ever as the bloody day returns ' 1
Which gave the royal victim to her wiles, j ^
Annual the dance and choral song proclaim
A solemn feast, nor impious sacrifice
Forgets she then to her protecting gods.
Shocked at the cruel banquet I letire,
And in some corner hide my griefs, denied
E'en the sad comfort to indulge my sorrows,
For Clytemnestra in opprobrious terms
lleviles me oft ; *' To thee alone," she cries,
" Is Agamemnon lost, detested maid !
Perdition on thee ! May th' infernal gods
J^efuse thee succour, and protract thy pains ! "
Thus rails she bitter, and if chance she hear
Orestes is approaching, stung with rage
Wild she exclaims, " Thou art th' accursed cause ;
This is thy deed, who stole Orestes from mo.
And hid him from my rage ; but be assured
Ere long my vengeance shall o'ertake thee for it
These threats her noble lord still urges on —
That vile adulterei", that abandoned coward,
Whose fearful soul called in a woman's aid
To execute his bloody purposes.
Her wished avenger ; his unkind delay
Destroys my hopes. Alas ! my gentle friends,
Who can bear this, and keep an equal mind?
To suffer ills like mine, and not to err
From wild distraction, would be strange indeed.
Or may we speak our thoughts unblamed ?
Electra. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.