has returned to Mycena as the guide and companion Or. Say, dames and damsels, have we heard aright, And speed we to the goal of our desire? Ch. And what desire or quest hath brought thee hither? Or. I seek Ægisthus' dwelling all this while. Ch. Welcome. The tongue that told thee hath no blame. Or. Which of you all will signify within Our joint arrival,-not unwelcome here? Ch. This maiden, if the nearest should report. Or. Mistress, wilt thou go yonder and make known, That certain Phocians on Ægisthus wait? El. Oh! can it be that you are come to bring Clear proofs of the sad rumor we have heard? Or. I know not what ye have heard. Charged me with tidings of Orestes' fate. Old Strophius El. What, stranger? How this terror steals on me! In this small vase thou seest, we bring him home. That burden of my heart in present view. Or. If thou have tears for aught Orestes suffered, Know that he lies within this vessel's room. El. Ah, sir! by all in Heaven, if yonder urn Hide him, ah! give it once into my hand, That o'er that dust I may lament and mourn [The urn is given into Electra's hands. El. O monument of him whom o'er all else How cold in this thy welcome is the hope But thou, when foreign hands have tended thee, I am dead, who lived in thee. Our enemies Hath reft away, and gives thee thus to me,- Or. O me! What shall I speak, or which way turn El. What pain o'ercomes thee? Or. so? Wherefore speak'st thou Can this be famed Electra I behold? El. No other. In sad case, as you may see. El. 'Tis me you mean, stranger, I feel it now. Or. Woe's me! Untrimmed for bridal, hapless maid! El. Why this fixed gaze, O stranger! that deep groan? Or. How all unknowing was I of mine ill! El. What thing hath passed to make it known to thee? Or. The sight of thee attired with boundless woe. El. And yet thine eye sees little of my pain. El. Or. What evil would thy words disclose? Of him who gave me birth. I am their slave. El. Or. El. Or. El. Or. El. El. How mine eye pities thee this while, poor maid! None ever came whose heart like sorrow wrung. Or. I will tell it, if these women here be friendly. Or. El. Or. El. Obey me and thou shalt not come to harm. Or. You must not hold it. El. O me miserable or thee, Orestes, if I lose thy tomb! Or. El. Or. El. Speak no rash word. Thou hast no right to mourn, Such utterance belongs not to thy tongue. Or. Far from dishonor. But this ne'er was thine. El. Or. Nay, but the idle dressing of a tale. El. And where is his poor body's resting-place? Or. Nowhere. Seek not the living with the dead. Or. Nought but what is true. El. Hearken not otherwhere. Hold me so for aye! O dearest women, Argives of my home! Ye see Orestes, dead in craft, but now By that same craft delivered and preserved. Ch. We see, dear daughter, and the gladsome tear Steals from our eye to greet the bright event. Sophocles 49 MEDEA MEDITATES THE MURDER OF HER CHILDREN' The Cols Jason, a Greek adventurer, to win THE the Golden Fleece, and sails with him to Hellas. 1 From the Medea. The translation is by Gilbert Murray, and is reprinted through special arrangement with Mr. Murray and with the Oxford University Press, American Branch. |