Orestes: Send back, O Earth, my sire to comfort me.
Electra: In power, in beauty, Great Persephone!
Orestes: Remember, Father, how they laved thee there!
Electra: Remember the strange weaving thou didst wear!
Orestes: A snarèd beast in chains no anvil wrought!
Electra: In coilèd webs of shame and evil thought!
Orestes: Scorn upon scorn! Oh, art thou wakenèd?
Electra: Dost rear to sunlight that belovèd head?
Orestes: Or send thine helping Vengeance to the light To aid the faithful: or let even fight Be joined in the same grapple as of yore, If, conquered, thou wouldst quell thy conqueror.
Electra: Yet one last cry: O Father, hear and save! Pity thy children cast upon thy grave: The woman pity, and the weeping man.
Orestes: And blot not out the old race that began With Pelops: and though slain thou art not dead!
Electra: Children are living voices for a head Long silent, floats which hold the net and keep The twisted line unfoundered in the deep.
Orestes: Listen: ’tis thou we weep for, none but thou: Thyself art savèd if thou save us now.
Leader: Behold, ye have made a long and yearning praise, This sepulchre for unlamented days Requiting to the full. And for the rest, Seeing now thine heart is lifted on the crest Of courage, get thee to the deed, and see What power the Daemon hath which guardeth thee.
Orestes: So be it. Yet methinks to know one thing Were well. Why sent she this drink-offering? Hoped she by late atonement to undo That wrong eternal? A vain comfort, too, Sent to one dead, and feeling not! My mind Stumbles to understand what lies behind These gifts, so puny for the deed she hath done. Yea, though man offer all he hath to atone For one life’s blood, ’tis written, he hath lost That labour.—But enough. Say all thou know’st.
Leader: Son, I was near her, and could mark aright. A dream, a terror wandering in the night, Shook her dark spirit till she spoke that word.
Orestes: What was the dream she dreamed? Speak, if ye heard.
Leader: She bore to life, she said, a Serpent Thing.
Orestes: And after? To its head thy story bring.
Leader: In swathing clothes she lapt it like a child.
Orestes: It craved for meat, that dragon of the wild?
Leader: Yes; in the dream she gave it her own breast.
Orestes: And took no scathing from the evil beast?
Leader: The milk ran into blood. So deep it bit.
Orestes: The dream is come. The man shall follow it.