First of all Gods I worship in this prayer5
Earth, the primeval prophet; after her
Themis, the Wise, who on her mother’s throne⁠—
So runs the tale⁠—sat second; by whose own
Accepted will, with never strife nor stress,
Third reigned another earth-born Titaness,
Phoebe; from whom (for that he bears her name)
To Phoebus as a birthtide gift it came.

He left his isle, he left his Delian seas,6
He passed Athena’s wave-worn promontories,
In haste this great Parnassus to possess
And Delphi, thronèd in the wilderness.
And with him came, to escort him and revere,
A folk born of Hephaistos, pioneer
Of God’s way, making sweet a bitter land.
And much this people and the King whose hand
Then steered them, Delphos, glorified his name,
Till Zeus into his heart put mystic flame
And prophet here enthroned him, fourth in use:
So Loxias’ lips reveal the thought of Zeus.7

These gods be foremost in all prayers of mine,
Who have held the Throne. Next, She before the shrine,
Pallas, is praisèd, and the Nymphs who keep
Yon old Corycian bird-belovèd steep,
Deep-caverned, where things blessèd come and go.
And Bromios walks the mountain, well I know,
Since first he led his Maenad host on high
And doomed King Pentheus like a hare to die.8
And Pleistos’ fountains and Poseidon’s power
I call, and Him who brings the Perfect Hour,
Zeus, the Most Highest. With which prayers I go
To seat me, priestess, on the Throne. And, oh,
May God send blessing on mine entrance, more
And deeper than He e’er hath sent of yore!

If there be present men of Greece but not
Of Delphi, let them enter as the lot
Ordains; I speak but as God leadeth me. She enters the Inner Shrine, and the stage is for a moment empty. Then she returns, grasping at the wall for support.
Ah! Horrors, horrors, dire to speak or see,
From Loxias’ chamber drive me reeling back.
My knees are weak beneath me, and I lack
The strength to fly.⁠ ⁠… O hands, drag me from here
If feet fail!⁠ ⁠… An old woman, and in fear,
A thing of naught, a babe in helplessness!
I made my way into the Holy Place,
And there, at the inmost Altar of the world,
A man abhorred of God, his body hurled
Earthward in desperate prayer; blood on his hand9
Yet reeking, and a naked new-drawn brand
Wreathed in beseeching wool, a suppliant’s weed
Of snow-white fleece⁠ ⁠… so much mine eyes could read.
But out in front of him a rout unknown
Of women sleepeth, flung from throne to throne.
Women? Nay, never women! Gorgons more:
And yet not like the Gorgon shapes of yore.⁠ ⁠…10
I saw a picture once of woman things
That ravished Phineus’ banquet. But no wings
Have these; all shadows, black, abominable.
The voices of their slumber rise and swell,
Back-beating, and their eyes drop gouts of gore.
Their garb, it is no garb to show before
God’s altar nor the hearths of human kind.
I cannot read what lineage lies behind
These shapes, nor what land, having born such breed,
Hath trembled not before and shall not bleed
Hereafter. Let Apollo great in power
Take to his care the peril of this hour:
Being Helper, Prophet, Seer of things unseen,
The stainèd hearth he knoweth to make clean. The Prophetess departs. The doors open and reveal the inner shrine, Orestes at the Altar, the Furies asleep about him, and Apollo standing over them.11

I fail thee not. For ever more I stay,
Or watching at thy side or far away,
Thy guard, and iron against thine enemies.
Even now my snares have closèd upon these,
The ragers sleep: the Virgins without love,
So grey, so old, whom never god above
Hath kissed, nor man, nor from the wilderness
One wild beast. They were born for wickedness
And sorrow;12 for in evil night they dwell,
And feed on the great darkness that is Hell,
Most hated by the Gods and human thought.
But none the less, fly thou and falter not.
For these shall hunt thee, ever on through earth
Unwandered, through the vast lands of the North,
The sea-ways and the cities ringed with sea.
But faint not. Clasp thy travail unto thee;
On till thou come to Pallas’ Rock,13 and fold
Thine arms in prayer about her image old.
In Athens there be hearts to judge, there be
Words that bring peace; and I shall set thee free
At last from all this woe.⁠—If thou didst kill
Thy mother, was it not my word and will?

Not to betray thou knowest. Oh, ponder yet
One other lesson, Lord⁠—not to forget!
Thy strength in doing can be trusted well. Orestes departs.

Remember! Let no fear thy spirit quell!

Do thou, O Hermes, brother of my blood,
Watch over him. Thou guide of man, make good
The name thou bearest, shepherding again
My suppliant. Him who pitieth suffering men
Zeus pitieth,14 and his ways are sweet on earth. Exit Apollo. Presently enter the Ghost of Clytemnestra. She watches the sleeping Furies.

Ye sleep. O God, and what are sleepers worth?
’Tis you, have left me among all the dead
Dishonoured. Alway, for that blood I shed,
Rebuke and hissing cease not, and I go
Wandering in shame. Oh, hear!⁠ ⁠… For that old blow
I struck still I am hated, but for his
Who smote me, being of my blood, there is
No wrath in all the darkness: there is none
Cares for a mother murdered by her son.

Open thine heart to see this gash!⁠—She shows the wound in her throat. In sleep
The heart hath many eyes and can see deep:
’Tis daylight makes man’s fate invisible.

Oft of my bounty ye have lapt your fill;
Oft the sad peace of wineless cups to earth
I have poured, and midmurk feastings on your hearth
Burned, when no other god draws near to eat.

And all these things ye have cast beneath your feet,
And he is fled, fled lightly like a fawn
Out of your nets! With mocking he is gone
And twisting of the lips.⁠ ⁠… I charge you, hark!
This is my life, my death. Oh, shake the dark
From off you, Children of the Deep. ’Tis I,
Your dream, I, Clytemnestra, stand and cry. Moaning among the Furies.
Moan on, but he is vanished and forgot.
So strong the prayers of them that love me not! Moaning.
Too sound ye sleep.⁠—And have ye for the dead
No pity?⁠ ⁠… And my son, my murderer, fled! Groaning.
Ye groan; ye slumber. Wake!⁠ ⁠… What task have ye
To do on earth save to work misery? Groaning.
Can sleep and weariness so well conspire
To drain the fell she-dragon of her fire? Sharp repeated muttering: then words “At him! At him! Catch, catch, catch! Ah, beware!”
Ah, hunting in your dreams, and clamorous yet,
Tired bloodhounds that can sleep but not forget!

How now? Awake! Be strong! And faithful keep
Thy lust of pain through all the drugs of sleep.

Thou feelst my scorn? Aye, feel and agonize
Within; such words are scourges to the wise.
Thy blood-mist fold about him, like a doom.
Waste him with vapour from thy burning womb.
A second chase is death!⁠ ⁠… Pursue! Pursue! The Ghost vanishes as the Furies gradually wake.

Awake! Quick, waken her as I wake you!
Thou sleepest? Rise; cast slumber from thy brain
And search. Is our first hunt so all in vain?

Avaunt, I charge you! Get ye from my door!
Darken this visionary dome no more!
Quick, lest ye meet that snake of bitter wing
That leaps a-sudden from my golden string,
And in your agony spue forth again
The black froth ye have sucked from tortured men!

This floor shall be no harbour to your feet.
Are there not realms where Law upon her seat
Smites living head from trunk? Where prisoners bleed
From gougèd eyes? Children with manhood’s seed
Blasted are there; maimed foot and severed hand,
And stoning, and a moan through all the land
Of men impaled to die. There is the board
Whereat ye feast, and, feasting, are abhorred
Of heaven.⁠—But all the shapes of you declare
Your souls within. Some reeking lion’s lair
Were your fit dwelling, not this cloistered Hall
Of Mercy, which your foulness chokes withal.

Out, ye wild goats unherded! Out, ye drove
Accursed, that god nor devil dares to love! During this speech the Furies fly confusedly from the Temple down into the Orchestra. The Leader turns.

Phoebus Apollo, in thy turn give heed!
I hold thee not a partner in this deed;
Thou hast wrought it all. The guilt is thine alone.

What sayst thou there?⁠—One word, and then begone.

Thou spakest and this man his mother slew.

I spoke, and he avenged his father. True.

Thou stoodest by, to accept the new-shed gore.

I bade him turn for cleansing to my door.

Ha! And revilest us who guide his feet?18

Ye be not clean to approach this Mercy Seat.

We be by Law eternal what we be.

And what is that? Reveal thy dignity.

We hunt from home his mother’s murderer.

A husband-murdering woman, what of her?

’Twas not one blood19 in slayer and in slain.

How? Would ye count as a light thing and vain
The perfect bond of Hera and high Zeus?
Yea, and thy word dishonoured too the use
Of Cypris, whence love groweth to his best.
The fate-ordainèd meeting, breast to breast,
Of man and woman is a tie more sure
Than oath or pact, if Justice guards it pure.
If them so joined ye heed not when they slay,
Nor rise in wrath, nor smite them on their way,
Unrighteous is thine hunting of this man,
Orestes. Why on him is all thy ban
Unloosed? The other never broke thy rest⁠ ⁠…
But Pallas, child of Zeus, shall judge this quest.

I cleave to him. I leave him never more.

Oh, hunt thy fill! Make sorrow doubly sore.

Abridge not thou the Portions of my lot.

Keep thou thy portions. I will touch them not.

Thou hast thy greatness by the throne of God;20
I⁠ ⁠… But the scent draws of that mother’s blood.
I come! I come! I hunt him to the grave.⁠ ⁠… The Furies go out on the track of Orestes.

’Tis mine then to bring succour, and to save
My suppliant. Earth and Heaven are both afraid
For God’s wrath, if one helpless is betrayed. Apollo returns behind the shrine, and the doors close. When they open again, they reveal, in place of Apollo’s Central Altar, the Statue of Athena Parthenos: the scene now represents the Temple of Athena in Athens.21

Pallas Athena, from Apollo’s wing
I come; receive in peace this hunted thing
My sin no more polluteth, nor with hand
Unpurified before thy throne I stand.
A blunted edge, grief-worn and sanctified
By pain, where’er men traffic or abide,
On, on, o’er land and sea I have made my way,
True-purposed Loxias’ bidding to obey.
At last I have found thy House; thine image I
Clasp, and here wait thy judgement till I die. He throws himself down at the feet of the Statue, but no answer comes. Presently enter the Furies, following him.

Ha! Here he has passed. Spot reeketh upon spot.
Blood is a spy that points and babbles not.
Like hounds that follow some sore-wounded fawn,
We smell the way that blood and tears are gone,
And follow.⁠—Oh, my belly gaspeth sore
With toils man-wasting; I can chase no more.
Through all the ways of the world I have shepherded
My lost sheep, and above the salt sea sped,
Wingless pursuing, swift as any sail.
And now ’tis here, meseemeth, he doth quail
And cower.⁠—Aye, surely it is here; the smell
Of man’s blood laughs to meet me. All is well.

Searching.

I have known much evil, and have learnt therein23
What divers roads man goes to purge his sin,
And when to speak and when be dumb; and eke
In this thing a wise master bids me speak.
The blood upon this hand is fallen asleep
And fades. And though a sin be ne’er so deep
’Twill age with the aging years. When this of mine
Was fresh, on Phoebus’ hearth with blood of swine
’Twas washed and blurred. ’Twere a long tale since then,
To tell how I have spoke with many men
In scatheless parle. And now, with lips of grace,
Once more I pray the Lady of this place,
Athena, to mine aid. Let her but come;
Myself, mine Argive people and my home
Shall without war be hers, hers true of heart
And changeless. Therefore, wheresoe’er thou art,
In some far wilderness of Libyan earth,
By those Tritonid waters of thy birth;
Upgirt for deeds or veilèd on thy throne;
Or is it Phlegra’s field thou brood’st upon,24
Guiding the storm, like some bold Lord of War,
Oh, hear! A goddess heareth though afar:
Bring me deliverance in this mine hour! He waits expectant, but there is no answer.25

Not Lord Apollo’s, not Athena’s power
Shall reach thee any more. Forgot, forgot,
Thou reelest back to darkness, knowing not
Where in man’s heart joy dwelleth; without blood,
A shadow, flung to devils for their food!

Wilt answer not my word? Wilt spurn thereat,
Thou that art mine, born, doomed, and consecrate
My living feast, at no high altar slain?
Hark thou this song to bind thee like a chain!

As they move into position for the Dance.

Mother, who didst bear a being26
Dread to the eyeless and the seeing,
Night, my Mother!
Leto’s Child would wrong me, tear
From my clutch this trembling hare,
My doomèd prey: he bore to slay,
And shall he not the cleansing bear,
He, none other?

But our sacrifice to bind,
Lo, the music that we wind,
How it dazeth and amazeth
And the will it maketh blind,
As it moves without a lyre
To the throb of my desire;
’Tis a chain about the brain,
’Tis a wasting of mankind.

Thus hath Fate, through weal and woe,
For our Portion as we go
Spun the thread:
Whenso mortal man in sin
’Brueth hand against his kin,
Mine till death He wandereth,
And freedom never more shall win,
Not when dead.

But our sacrifice to bind,
Lo, the music that we wind,
How it dazeth and amazeth
And the will it maketh blind,
As it moves without a lyre
To the throb of my desire;
’Tis a chain about the brain,
’Tis a wasting of mankind.

Since the hour we were begot
Of this rite am I the priest;
Other gods may share it not;
Nor is any man nor beast
That dare eat the food we eat
Nor among us take his seat;
For no part have I nor lot
In the white robe and the feast.

For the tale I make mine own
Is of houses overthrown,
When the Foe within the Dwelling27
Slays a brother and is flown:
Up and after him, Io!
While the blood is still a-flow,
Though his strength be full and swelling,
We shall waste him, flesh from bone!

Would they take thee from the care
We have guarded thee withal?
Would the Gods disown our prayer
Till no Law be left at all?
Yea, because of blood that drips
As aforetime from our lips,
And the world’s hate that we bear,
God hath cast us from His hall!

I am on them as they fly,
With a voice out of the sky,
And my armèd heel is o’er them
To fall crashing from on high.
There be fliers far and fast,
But I trip them at the last,
And my arms are there before them,
And shall crush them ere they die!

Far off I heard the calling of my name,
Beside Scamander, where I took in claim
The new land which the Achaean lords and kings,28
In royal spoil for many warfarings,
Gave, root and fruit for ever, as mine own
Exempted prize, to Theseus’ sons alone.
Thence came I speeding, while behind me rolled
My wingless aegis, floating fold on fold.29

But these strange visitants⁠ ⁠… I tremble not
Beholding, yet I marvel. Who and what
Are ye? I speak to all. And who is he
Who round mine image clings so desperately?

But ye are like no earth-seed ever sown,
No goddess-shape that Heaven hath looked upon,
Nor any semblance borne of human kind⁠ ⁠…

Howbeit, ye have not wronged me. I were blind
To right and custom did I speak you ill.

Virgin of God most high, have all thy will.30
Still-weeping Night knows us the brood she bears;
The wronged ones in the darkness call us Prayers.

I know your lineage and the names ye hold.

Our office and our lot can soon be told.

Make clear thy word, that all be understood.

We hunt from home the shedder of man’s blood.

What end appoint ye to that flight of his?

A land where none remembereth what joy is.

And such a chase on this man thou wilt cry?

Who dared to be his mother’s murderer, aye,

What goaded him? Some fear, some unseen wrath?

What goad could drive a man on such a path?

Looking at Orestes.

He will not swear, nor challenge me to swear.

Which wouldst thou, to seem righteous, or to be?

What meanst thou there? Speak out thy subtlety.

Let no bare oath the deeper right subdue.

Try thou the cause, then, and give judgement true.

Ye trust me this whole issue to decide?

Who would not trust thee? True thou art and tried.

Turning to Orestes.

Most high Athena, let me from the last
Of these thy questionings one fear outcast.
Pollution is not in me, nor with hand
Blood-reeking cleave I to thine altar-strand;
In sign whereof, behold, I have cast away
That silence which the man of blood alway
Observeth, till some hand, that hath the power
To cleanse the sins of man, new blood shall shower
Of swine upon him, drowning the old stain.
I have been cleansed again and yet again
In others’ dwellings, both by blood that fell
And running rivers that have washed me well.
Be that care then forgot. My name and birth
Are quickly told. I am sprung of Argive earth;
My father’s name was known upon thy lips,
Agamemnon, marshal of a thousand ships,
With whom thou madest Troy, that city of pride,
No more a city. He returning died,
Not kingly. ’Twas my mother black of heart
Met him and murdered, snaring him with art
Of spangled webs.⁠ ⁠… Alas, that robe of wrath,
That cried to heaven the blood-stain of the bath!
Then came long exile; then, returning, I
Struck dead my mother. Nought will I deny;
So, for my sire belovèd, death met death.

And Loxias in these doings meriteth
His portion, who foretold strange agonies
To spur me if I left unsmitten these
That slew him.⁠ ⁠… Take me thou, and judge if ill
I wrought or righteously. I will be still
And praise thy judgement, whatsoe’er betide.

This is a mystery graver to decide
Than mortal dreameth.31 Nor for me ’twere good
To sift the passionate punishments of blood.
Since thou hast cast thee on my altar stair
Perfect by suffering, from thy stains that were
Made clean and harmless, suppliant at my knee,
I, in my City’s name, must pity thee
And chide not. Yet these too, I may not slight:
They have their portion in the Orb of Right
Eternal. If they are baffled of their will,
The wrath of undone Justice shall distil
Through all the air a poison; yea, a pall
Intolerable about the land shall fall
And groaning sickness. Doubtful thus it lies:
To cast them out or keep them in mine eyes
Were equal peril, and I must ponder sore.
Yet, seeing fate lays this matter at my door,
Myself not judging, I will judges find
In mine own City, who will make no blind
Oath-challenge to pursuer and pursued,
But follow this new rule, by me indued
As law for ever. Proofs and witnesses
Call ye on either side, and set to these
Your oaths. Such oath helps Justice in her need.

I will go choose the noblest of the breed
Of Athens, and here bring them to decide
This bloody judgement even as truth is tried,
And then, their oath accomplished, to depart,
Right done, and no transgression in their heart. Exit Athena. The Shrine is closed, Orestes remaining inside at the foot of the Image.

Herald, thine office! See that yonder crowds
Hold back, and let this piercer of the clouds,
Filled with man’s breath, the Tuscan trumpet, blow
His fiery summons to the host below.
Then all be silence, while the people fill
This Council Hall. Thus shall my sovran will
And ordinance to this people, great and small,34
Be known for ever, and upheld by all
Within our gates; and thus my wardens do
Justice this day, discerning false from true.

Apollo, thou! Go, reign where thou art king!
What portion hast thou in this doom-saying?

I come to bear my witness.35 This is one
Who in great anguish came to me alone
For refuge, and knelt suppliant at my shrine.
Therefore the cleansing of his stain is mine.
Likewise I share his plea, and on me take
What guilt he bears for that dead mother’s sake.

Ope thou the court, O Pallas, and, as well
Thou canst, establish justice durable.

Ho! Opened is the Court; and yours the speech.

He who pursueth, speaking first, can teach
Best his whole grief, and how the evil grew.

Many are we, yet shall our words be few.
Make answer thou, point against point. And say
First this one thing: thy mother didst thou slay?

I slew her.⁠ ⁠… Aye. Denied it cannot be.

Aha! The first of the three bouts36 to me!

Too soon ye vaunt. I am not yet outsped.

How didst thou slay? That also must be said.

With an effort.

Who and what tempted thee? Who laid the plot?

He who is with me now, and witnesseth.

God’s prophet bade thee plot thy mother’s death?

Yes: and hath never failed me to this day.

And when the vote is cast, what wilt thou say?

I fear not. Helpers from my father’s grave.

Go, mother-murderer! Call the dead to save!

Two stains of death lay mingled on her hand.

How two? Let these who judge thee understand.

A husband and a father, both, she slew.

And death hath purged her. Shalt not thou die too?

Ye never hunted her, for all her stain.

’Twas not one blood in slayer and in slain.

And are my mother’s blood and my blood one?

How did she feed thee else beneath her zone?
Caitiff! Thy mother’s blood wilt thou deny?

Overcome.

Ye judges of Athena’s Court most high,
I come to speak before you faithfully,
Being God’s prophet: therefore truth is mine.
Nor ever spake I from my throne divine
Of man nor woman, land nor city wall,
Save by command of Him who ruleth all,
Zeus, the Olympian Father. Is there Right
Holier than this, I charge ye think, or Might
More mighty? Follow ye the All-father’s will:
If oaths be strong, is Zeus not stronger still?

’Twas Zeus, thou tellest, laid this duty large
Upon thy lips? ’Twas Zeus who bade thee charge
This man to avenge his father and cast down,
As nothing worth, his mother’s sacred crown?

Are these the same? That a great man, raised high
By royal sceptre, given of God, should die,
And die by a woman’s hand⁠—and not in war
By Amazonian arrow, sped from far,⁠ ⁠…
But⁠—Hear my tale, O Pallas, and ye too
Who sit enthronèd to sift false from true;
He came from battle after sufferings sore
But greater glories, and she stood before
The gate to greet and praise him, strewed his path
With crimson robes and led him to his bath⁠—
A marble bed!38⁠—and o’er the end thereof
Laid the great web and curtained it above,
To ensnare him as he rose; then, in the wide
Unending folds, she smote him and he died!
So died a man, ye hear it from my lips,
All-honoured, War-Lord of a thousand ships;
And such a wife was she! Be stern, and smite
The guilty, ye who sit to establish right!

Doth Zeus count fatherhood so high a thing?
Who cast in bonds his father and his king,39
Old Cronos? Are these things not contrary?
I charge ye, judges, hearken his reply.

Ye worms of hate, O ye that Gods abhor,
Bonds can be loosened; there is cure therefor,
And many and many a plan in God’s great mind
To free the prisoners whom he erst did bind.
But once the dust hath drunk the blood of men
Murdered, there is no gathering it again.
For that no magic doth my Father know,
Though all things else he changeth high and low
Or fixeth, and no toil is in his breath.

Is that thy pleading against this man’s death?
The kindred blood, his mother’s blood, the well
Of his own life, he hath spilt. How shall he dwell
In Argos? In his home? What altar-stair,
When Argos worships, will receive his prayer?
What love-bowl of the brethren cleanse his hand?

That too I answer; mark and understand.
The mother to the child that men call hers
Is no true life-begetter, but a nurse
Of live seed. ’Tis the sower of the seed
Alone begetteth. Woman comes at need,
A stranger, to hold safe in trust and love
That bud of new life⁠—save when God above
Wills that it die. And would ye proof of this,
There have been fathers where no mother is.
Whereof a perfect witness standeth nigh,
Athena Pallas, child of the Most High,40
A thought-begotten unconceivèd bloom,
No nursling of the darkness of the womb,
But such a flower of life as goddess ne’er
Hath born in heaven nor ever more shall bear.

Pallas, in all things it is mine to swell
In power thy people and thy citadel;
And therefore to thine Altar did I send
This suppliant, that hereafter to the end
Of mortal time he may be true to thee,
And plant his spear by thine unfalteringly,
And on through generations yet unborn
Argos observe the pact her King hath sworn.

Now shall I charge upon their faith these men
To cast true stones, or would ye speak again?

Shot is our every arrow: I but stay
To learn how ends the issue of the day.

How shall I cast a judgement in this cause
Unblamed of you, and of the eternal laws?

Ye have heard what ye have heard. Strangers, revere
Your oaths, and cast your judgement without fear.

Hear now mine ordinance, ye who have striven
This day to give, what none before hath given,41
True judgement o’er spilt blood. O Attic Folk,
Henceforth for ever, under Aigeus’ yoke,
This Council and this Judgement Seat by me
Are stablisht. On this mountain shall it be,
Here in the Amazons’ most virgin hold,
Who came in wrath for Theseus’ wrongs of old
Embattled, and this fortress against ours,
Hill against hill, towers against soaring towers,
Built, and to Ares on the rock with flame
Gave sacrifice: whence comes its awful name,
The Rock, the Mount, of Ares. All things here
Being holy, Reverence and her sister, Fear,
In darkness as in daylight shall restrain
From all unrighteousness the sons of men,
While Athens’ self corrupt not her own law.
With mire and evil influx ye can flaw
Fair water till no lips may drink thereof.
I charge you, citizens, enfold and love
That spirit that nor anarch is nor thrall;
And casting away Fear, yet cast not all;
For who that hath no fear is safe from sin?
That Fear which is both Ruth and Law within
Be yours, and round your city and your land
Shall be upraised a rampart, yea, a hand
Of strong deliverance, which no sons of men,
From the Isle of Pelops to the Scythian fen,
Possess nor know, this Council of the Right,
Untouched of lucre, terrible to smite,
And swift and merciful, a guard to keep
Vigil above my people while they sleep.
Which here I establish. Let these words advise
My city evermore.⁠—I charge you, rise
And lift your stones of doom and judge, alway
Your oath remembering. I have said my say. The Judges rise and go one by one past the two urns, casting their stones as they pass.

Behold, an awful presence moveth yet
Within your land, which mock not nor forget!

The will of Zeus, by my lips ministered,
I charge you make not fruitless nor unfeared!

And what wouldst thou with blood, having therein
No place? Henceforth thine altars are unclean!

Did Zeus, then, sin, who bowed his head to spare
Blood-red Ixion for his burning prayer?

Thou speakest: but my Law, if it be broke,
Shall come again in wrath to haunt this folk.

Thou hast no honour more ’mid things divine,
Or old or new: the victory shall be mine.

So in Admêtus’ House thou didst betray
The Fates, to make man deathless past his day.

Shall not a god regard his worshipper
Then chiefliest, when in peril and in prayer?

The ancient boundaries thou didst desecrate,
Thou mad’st a drunkard of Eternal Fate!

True Justice thou canst know not. Thou shalt spue
Thy venom forth, and none give heed thereto.

Women are we, and old; and thou dost ride
Above us, trampling, in thy youth and pride.
Howbeit, I wait to know the end, being still
In doubt to work this City good or ill.

One judgement still remains. I, at the last,
To set Orestes free this stone will cast:
For, lo, no mother bare me: I approve
In all⁠—save only that I know not love⁠—
The man’s way. Flesh and spirit I am His
Who gave me life. And in this coil it is
No dire deed that a woman, who had slain
Her mate and house-lord, should be quelled again.
Wherefore I judge that here, if equal be
The votes ye cast, Orestes shall go free.

Ye judges, haste: on you this office turns:
And cast the gathered sea-stones from the urns.

Apollo, Lord, what shall the issue be?

O Night, O dark-eyed Mother, dost thou see?

Is it the noose of death, or life and light?

My law down-trodden or enthroned in right?

Divide the fallen sea-stones as is due,
Strangers, and in the count see all be true.
An absent voice hath made life ruinous,
And one cast pebble42 built a fallen house. The scrutineers bring their results to Athena.

This prisoner, since the stones for ill and good
Are equal, hath escaped the doom of blood.43

O Pallas, O deliverer of my race,
Thou hast led back the wanderer to his place,
The homeless to his home; and men shall say
“Once more he is an Argive, and this day
Dwells in his father’s riches, by the word
Of Pallas, Loxias, and Zeus the Third,
Who saveth all and all accomplisheth.”
’Twas He of old who saw my father’s death,
And pitied; He who saw pursuing me
My mother’s ministers, and set me free.

Pallas, to this thy people and thy clime
Through all the long years of ensuing Time
I swear, ere I depart to mine own land,
This oath. No captain of an Argive band
Shall ever against Athens raise his spear.
Yea, and if any break this law, I swear
Myself out of the grave bewilderment
Shall set before their host, and discontent,
Disheartened roads and rivers evil-starred,
Till back they turn, bowed down by toils too hard
For bearing. But if still with vow unbroke,
Through storm or shine, for Pallas and her folk
Their lance is lifted, then to Argos too
My love shall be the greater, and hold true.
And fare thee well, O Pallas; fare you well,
All that within her ancient rampart dwell;
Iron may your grasp against all evil be,
And strong to save, and big with victory! Exit Orestes.

Woe on you, woe, ye younger gods!
Ye have trampled the great Laws of old
Beneath your chariots! Ye have broke the rods
Of justice, yea and torn them from my hold!
Mine office gone, unhappy and angered sore,
I rage alone. What have I any more
To do? Or be? Shall not mine injury turn
And crush this people? Shall not poison rain
Upon them, even the poison of this pain
Wherewith my heart doth burn?
And up therefrom there shall a lichen creep,
A leafless, childless, blight,
A stain in the earth man-slaying.⁠ ⁠… O just
Throne of Right!
Have ye not suffered deep,
Deep, ye unhappy children of old Night,
Born to be scorned and weep!

I pray you, nay! Make not this bitter moan;44
Ye are not conquered. Equal, stone for stone,
The judgement fell, in honesty of thought,
Not scorn of thee. From Zeus on high was brought
A shining witness; and the god, who gave
The word to slay, himself was here to save,
Lest this man for obedience to his will
Should perish.⁠ ⁠… And for this ye fain would spill
Your poison? Ah, take thought! Nor on our heads
Rain the strange dew a spirit’s anger sheds,
Seed-ravening blight and mildews merciless,
Till all the land lie waste in fruitlessness.
Spare us, and, lo, I promise: here shall be
A home your own, a caverned mystery,
Where alway ye shall sit, enthroned in pride
And shining, by my people glorified.

Woe on you, woe, ye younger gods!45
Ye have trampled the great Laws of old
Beneath your chariots! Ye have broke the rods
Of justice, yea and torn them from my hold!
Mine office gone, unhappy and angered sore,
I rage alone. What have I any more
To do? Or be? Shall not mine injury turn
And crush this people? Shall not poison rain
Upon them, even the poison of this pain
Wherewith my heart doth burn?
And up therefrom there shall a lichen creep,
A leafless, childless, blight,
A stain in the earth man-slaying.⁠ ⁠… O just
Throne of Right!
Have ye not suffered deep,
Deep, ye unhappy children of old Night,
Born to be scorned and weep!

Ah, rage not. No dishonour comes you nigh;
Nor, being immortal, blast for these who die
Their little life and land. I, even as you,
Obey the supreme Father, yea, I too.
What boots it to say more? To me alone
The keys of that great treasure-house are known
Where sleep the lightnings.⁠—But He needs them not!
Accept my word, and cast not here the hot
Fruits of a passion that turns all to ill:
Bid the dark tempest’s bitter surge be still,
Thou great in glory, partner of my home!
From many miles of land to thee shall come
First-fruits for maidens wed, for children born;46
Then shall ye bless this peace that we have sworn.

That this should fall on me,
Me of the ancient way,
The faithful of heart! To be
Unclean, abominable,
In the darkness where I dwell,
And mine honour shorn away!
My breath is as a fire flung far and wide,
And a strange anguish stabbeth at my side.
Hear thou my wrath, O Mother, Night, mine own,
Hear what these young false-handed gods have wrought!
Mine immemorial honour is overthrown,
And I am naught!

Thine heaviness myself will help thee bear.
Older thou art than I, and surely ware
Of wisdom that I wot not: yet also
To me Zeus giveth both to think and know.
And if ye leave us for the stranger’s shore,
This know I, that your heart shall still be sore
For Athens. Time’s great river in its flow
From darkness shall but make her glory grow.
And here in honour at Erechtheus’ side
Enthronèd, thou shalt garner gifts of pride
From men and women worshippers, in fair
Procession moving, richer and more rare
Than eye of man hath seen in other lands.
Such offering now awaits thee at my hands:
Blessing and blest, ’mid glories gladly given,
To share this land, the best beloved of Heaven.

That this should fall on me,
Me of the ancient way,
The faithful of heart! To be
Unclean, abominable,
In the darkness where I dwell,
And mine honour shorn away!
My breath is as a fire flung far and wide,
And a strange anguish stabbeth at my side.
Hear thou my wrath, O Mother, Night, mine own,
Hear what these young false-handed gods have wrought!
Mine immemorial honour is overthrown,
And I am naught!

I will not cease thine anger to assuage
With good words. None shall say that, in thine age,
By younger gods and city-building men
Thou and thy law were mocked, cast out again
To walk the wilderness, exiles from hence.
If thou canst hold that spirit in reverence
Which hears Persuasion and which thinks again,
Whose understanding and whose peace doth reign
By God’s appointment in my word and thought,
Here thou wilt stay. Or, if that please thee not,
Thou shalt not justly lay upon this land
Or wrath, or vengeance, or afflicting hand.
Stay, if ye will. Let this soil be your own
With Right made perfect and an ageless throne.

Great Pallas, what abode shall be my lot?

A throne unwashed by tears; reject it not.

Say I consent; what shall mine office be?

No house shall prosper save by aid of thee.

Such greatness mine! Wilt thou thereof have care?

Yea; and through life uphold thy worshipper.

For dateless time thou giv’st me warranty?

How should I speak the thing that shall not be?

Thou wilt soften me.⁠ ⁠… Methinks mine anger bends.

Stay, and that softened mood will find thee friends.

What spell upon the land wouldst have me lay?

All that brings Victory and not Dismay.
From earth and dewy sea⁠—be this thy prayer⁠—
From moving winds and the still dome of air
Let breaths of gladness and sweet sunlight come;
The fruit of flocks and fields round every home
Abundant flow and, year by year, be true.
The seeds of human life make fruitful, too,
Save in the ungodly:47 them thy Rule of Right
Shall uproot, as of old. For I delight,
Like one that tends his garden, to uprear
These plants of righteousness, untouched by fear
Of evil. Cast not on this soil of mine
Thy whet-stones of the blood, like poisonous wine
In young men’s hearts, till rage and death be stirred.
Oh, take not from the fierce mate-murdering bird
The heart to give my people, the blind war
Within, that burneth most where brethren are.
War with the stranger, yes; no stint thereof;
Terror is there, and glory, and great love;
But not the mad bird-rage that slays at home.48
Such let thine office be. And if there come
True-hearted war, I will not fail to uphold
This land victorious where great deeds are told. At a sign from the Leader, the Furies take formation for a Song of Blessing.

A home with Pallas shall be mine.
I will not give this City nay,
The Fort of Heaven, which Zeus divine
And faithful Ares hold in sway,
A shining loveliness to enfold
The altars of the gods of old.

For whom⁠—so do I weave my prayer
And move with words of presage good⁠—
All fortunes whereby life is fair,
Like springing fountains, up shall flood,
From Earth’s deep-bosomed caverns won
By wooing of the enthronèd Sun.

I love my City; and with plan
Aforethought here have welcomed these,
The Awarders great and hard to appease,
Whose realm is all the estate of man.

Justice is theirs: though many an one
May meet their wrath in innocence,
Not knowing why the wound nor whence,
That striketh. Some great evil done

Aforetime, with no payment just,
Casts him to These. Strange wrath and hate
Are round him, and he cries: but Fate,
Unanswering, grindeth him to dust.

No storm-wind⁠—so I speak my prize⁠—
Shall breathe the blight that poisoneth trees;
No burning things that blind the eyes
Of plants, shall pass her boundaries:
The groaning pest shall come not nigh,
Nor fruit upon the branches die.

The flocks shall browse in happy cheer,
And Pan, the Shepherd, guard them true,
With twofold increase, as the year
Repays her seeds in season due;
And deep-hid treasures of the ground
Shall be in God’s due order found.

Ye Guardians, hear the word she hath said,
And shall fulfill! Most potent hands
Hath great Erinys, in the lands
Where dwell the deathless and the dead.

And all this world of men declares
Her visible act on right and wrong;
How one man’s life she makes a song,
Another’s a long mist of tears.

Let manhood’s glory by no doom
Of death untimely be defiled;
Let life to maidens in their bloom
Bring each a lover and a child.
O whatsoever Gods have power,
And Fates eternal, grant this dower!

Ye Fates, our Mother’s Sisterhood,
Assigners true to all that be,
To every house its ill and good,
To every hour its potency;
Righteous participants through all,
Of Gods the most majestical.

With joy I hear their prescient song
Touching my land; and much in pride
I praise Persuasion gentle-eyed,
Who guarded well my lips and tongue,

When these were wrathful and denied;
But Zeus, whose Word is in the Mart,
Prevailed; and of our strife no part,
Save strife in blessing, shall abide.

Let her who hungereth still for wrong,
Faction, in Athens ne’er again
Lift on the air her ravening song;
Let not the dust of Pallas’ Plain
Drink the dark blood of any son
By fury of revenge fordone.

Rage not to smite the smiter, lest
By rage the City’s heart be torn:
Bless him that blesseth: in each breast
So shall a single love be born,
And ’gainst Her foes a single hate.
This also maketh firm a state.

Wise are they and have found the way
Of peace. And in each awful face
I see for you, my People, grace:
If ye are gentle, even as they,

And do them worship, this shall be
Your work: to guide through ill, through good,
Both land and town in that pure mood
Of truth that shuns iniquity. The Judges and the concourse of Athenians have now formed into procession, to escort the Furies to their Cavern.

Rejoice, rejoice! And as ye go your ways
In rich apportionment of blissful days,
Farewell, farewell!

Ye folk within the wall, approved
To neighbour Jove’s eternal eyes,49
Ye lovers of the Well-beloved,
The Virgin Spirit, timely wise,
The wings of Pallas fold above you,
Therefore shall Zeus the Father love you.

Fare ye well also. I must go
Before you, guiding, to make bright
Your secret chambers50 with the light,
The holy light, they dared not know.

Come, and when deep beneath the veil
Of earth ye pass, ’mid offering high,
Hold down the evil that shall die,
Send up the good that shall prevail.

Ye sons of Cranaos, guide them, till
These Wanderers rest within your doors:
With them one City now is yours;
Be one in working and in will!

Rejoice, rejoice! I raise my voice again,
To speak that bliss that overtowereth pain.
Farewell, farewell!

All things within the Wall that dwell,
All gods and men, that are or were;
All life from Pallas’ citadel
Which draws its being, I am here:
These Dwellers in your gates adore,
And fear the tides of Life no more!

The prayers they have uttered o’er my land I praise;
And speed them on, ’mid many a torch’s blaze,
To that most deep and subterranean end Of wandering.
Let these ministers, who tend
Mine image, follow; righteous warders they.
Let all the fullness of the land this day,
Children, and wives and women bent with years,
Come forth: do worship to these Wanderers
Accepted in their robes of crimson dye.51
Let leap the flash of fire. This great
Ally Shall be revealed and proven in the fate
Of Athens, if her men be true and great.

Gather ye home; are ye great, do ye crave adoration,
O childless Children of Night in the pride of your going?
(Give good words, O Folk of the Fold!)
Aeonian caverns of glory are yours, and oblation
Of worship, and sacrifice high, and praise overflowing.
(Give good words, O young men and old!)
Come with the Law that can pardon, the Judgement that knoweth,
O Semnai, Semnai, watchers o’er people and land;
And joy be a-stream in your ways, as the fire that bloweth
A-stream from beacon and brand. A cry of joy rises above the singing.

Outpour ye the Chalice of Peace where the torches are blending:
In Pallas the place it is found and the task it is done.
The Law that is Fate and the Father the All-Comprehending
Are here met together as one. Again a cry of joy as the Procession passes out of sight.