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Theseus
STRO:
ANTIS.
472
amidst you well the secret guard;
For should my mother know it, much I fear
I should have cause the daring deed to mourn.
If wisdom with one prescient ray
Illumes the darkness of my soul,
The vengeful Fury speeds her way;
Before her, baleful omens scowl;
I hear the flaping of their wings;
The force of justice in her hands she brings.
The dreadful visions of the night I hear:
They breathe sweet music to my ear;
My courage kindles at thinspiring sound.
Thy father rouses in the realms below;"
Ne'er will the king of Greece forget his wound,
Ne'er the old Axe of brass, that struck th' insidious blow..
She comes, with all her hundred hands,
Her hundred feet, the furious pow'r,
No more in dreadful ambush stands;
She comes, she knows her torturing hour;
With feet of brass I hear her tread;
She marks th' unholy, blood-polluted bed:
Vengeful 'gainst those th' accursed attempt who dared,
And those the horrid deed who shared,
She sends these boding signs, nor sends in vain.
If aught of truth terrific dreams disclose,
If aught the oracle's prophetic strain,
This vision of the night our happier state foreshows.
How black with miseries to this land,
O Pelops, was thy fatal course,
When jealous Pisa's dangerous strand...
Saw thy swift car's victorious force!
For since by rage, untaught to spare,
The hapless Myrtilus was slain,
Hurl'd headlong from the golden car,
And plunged into the roaring main,
Strife in this house delights to dwell,
And Murder shrieks with hideous yell.
amidst you well the secret guard;
For should my mother know it, much I fear
I should have cause the daring deed to mourn.
If wisdom with one prescient ray
Illumes the darkness of my soul,
The vengeful Fury speeds her way;
Before her, baleful omens scowl;
I hear the flaping of their wings;
The force of justice in her hands she brings.
The dreadful visions of the night I hear:
They breathe sweet music to my ear;
My courage kindles at thinspiring sound.
Thy father rouses in the realms below;"
Ne'er will the king of Greece forget his wound,
Ne'er the old Axe of brass, that struck th' insidious blow..
She comes, with all her hundred hands,
Her hundred feet, the furious pow'r,
No more in dreadful ambush stands;
She comes, she knows her torturing hour;
With feet of brass I hear her tread;
She marks th' unholy, blood-polluted bed:
Vengeful 'gainst those th' accursed attempt who dared,
And those the horrid deed who shared,
She sends these boding signs, nor sends in vain.
If aught of truth terrific dreams disclose,
If aught the oracle's prophetic strain,
This vision of the night our happier state foreshows.
How black with miseries to this land,
O Pelops, was thy fatal course,
When jealous Pisa's dangerous strand...
Saw thy swift car's victorious force!
For since by rage, untaught to spare,
The hapless Myrtilus was slain,
Hurl'd headlong from the golden car,
And plunged into the roaring main,
Strife in this house delights to dwell,
And Murder shrieks with hideous yell.
Electra. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.