Aeschylus, Libation Bearers 423–478: Kommos (2): Agamemnon's burial and Electra's confinement

On my breast I beat an Arian dirge in just the same fashion as a Cissian wailing woman. With clenched fists, raining blows thick and fast, my outstretched hands could be seen descending from above, from far above, now on this side, now on that, till my battered and wretched head resounded with the strokes.

Away with you, cruel and utterly brazen mother! You dared to give your husband a most cruel burial: unmourned, without lamentation, a king unattended by his people.

Ah me, your words spell utter dishonor. Yet with the help of the gods, and with the help of my own hands, will she not atone for the dishonor she did my father? Let me only take her life, then let me die!

Yes, and I would have you know he was brutally mangled. And even as she buried him in this way, she acted with intent to make the manner of his death a burden on your life past all power to bear. You hear the story of the ignominious outrage done to your father.

My father was murdered just as you say. But all the while I was kept sequestered, despised, accounted a worthless thing. Kennelled in my room as if I were a vicious cur, I gave free vent to my streaming tears, which came more readily than laughter, as in my concealment I poured out my lament in plentiful weeping. Hear my tale and inscribe it on your heart.

Yes, let it sink deep into your ears, but keep inside a quiet steadfastness of soul. So far things are so. But you yourself be eager to resolve what is to follow. You must enter the contest with inflexible wrath.

Orestes Father, I call on you; side with your loved ones!

Electra And I in tears join my voice to his.

Chorus And let all our company blend our voices to echo the prayer. Hear! Come to the light! Side with us against the foe!

Orestes Ares will encounter Ares; Right will encounter Right.

Electra O you gods, judge rightly the plea of right!

Chorus A shudder steals over me as I hear these prayers. Doom has long been waiting, but it will come in answer to those who pray.

Ah, inbred trouble and bloody stroke of ruin striking a discord! Ah, lamentable and grievous sorrows! Ah, the unstaunched pain!

Our house has a cure to heal these woes, a cure not from outside, from the hands of others, but from itself, by fierce, bloody strife. This hymn is for the gods beneath the earth.

O you blessed powers below, hear this supplication of ours, and with a favorable will send forth to these children your aid for victory!