ORESTES:
I am a stranger,
from Daulis, close to Delphi, I'd just set out,
packing my own burden bound for Argos
(here I'd put my burden down and rest),
when I met a perfect stranger, out of the blue, 660
who asks about my way and tells me his.
Strophios,
a Phocian, so I gathered in conversation.
'Well, my friend,' he says, 'out for Argos
in any case? Remember to tell the parents
he is dead, Orestes...
promise me please 665
(it's only right), it will not slip your mind.
Then whatever his people want, to bring him home
or bury him here, an alien, all outcast here
forever, won't you ferry back their wishes?
As it is, a bronze urn is armour to his embers. 670
The man's been mourned so well...'
I only tell you
what I heard. And am I speaking now
with guardians, kinsmen who will care?
It's hard to say. But a parent ought to know.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
I, I-
your words, you storm us, raze us to the roots, 675
you curse of the house so hard to wrestle down!
How you range-targets at peace, miles away,
and a shaft from your lookout brings them down.
You strip me bare of all I love, destroy me,
now - Orestes. 680
And he was trained so well, we'd been so careful,
kept his footsteps clear of the quicksand of d**h.
Just now, the hope of the halls, the surgeon to cure
our Furies' lovely revel - he seemed so close,
he's written off the rolls.
ORESTES:
If only I were... 685
my friends, with hosts as fortunate as you
if only I could be known for better news
and welcomed like a brother. The tie between
the host and stranger, what is kinder?
But what an impiety, so it seemed to me, 690
not to bring this to a head for loved ones.
I was bound by honour, bound by the rights
of hospitality.
CLYTAEMNESTRA:
Nothing has changed.
For all that you receive what you deserve,
as welcome in these halls as one of us. 695
Wouldn't another bear the message just as well?
But you must be worn from the long day's journey -
time for your rewards.