Electra:
Raise thou thine head at love's last, dearest call!
Orestes:
Yea, speed forth Right to aid thy kinsmen's
cause;
Grip for grip, let them grasp the foe, if thou
Willest in triumph to forget thy fall.
Electra:
Hear me, O father, once again hear me.
Lo! at thy tomb, two fledglings of thy brood-
A man-child and a maid; hold them in ruth,
Nor wipe them out, the last of Pelops' line.
For while they live, thou livest from the dead;
Children are memory's voices, and preserve
The dead from wholly dying: as a net
Is ever by the buoyant corks upheld,
Which save the flax-mesh, in the depth submerged.
Listen, this wail of ours doth rise for thee,
And as thou heedest it thyself art saved.
Leader of the Chorus:
In sooth, a blameless prayer ye spake at
length-
The tomb's requital for its dirge denied:
Now, for the rest, as thou art fixed to do,
Take fortune by the hand and work thy will.
Studies
