Till, without worship, without love, alone
He crawls to his death, a carcase to the core
Through-rotted, and embalmed to suffer more.
Collecting himself]
So spake he . . . God, and is one to believe
Such oracles as these? Nay, though I give
No credence, the deed now must needs be done.
So many things of power work here as one:
The God's command; grief for my father slain;
And mine own beggary urgeth me amain,
That never shall these Argives, famed afar,
High conquerors of Troy in joyous war
Cower to . . . two women. For he bears, I know,
A woman's heart. . . . If not, this day will show.
[He kneels at the Grave: Electra kneels opposite him and the Chorus gather behind.
Chorus.
Ye great Apportionments of God,
The road of Righteousness make straight:
"For tongue of hate be tongue of hate
Made perfect": thus, as falls her rod,
God's justice crieth: "For the blow
Of death the blow of death atone."
"On him that doeth shall be done":
Speaks a grey word of long ago.
Orestes.
[Strophe 1
O Father, Father of Doom,
What word, what deed from me,
Can waft afar to the silent room
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