DIOSCURI Ye may, since ye are not polluted by this murder.
ORESTES May I too share your converse, of Tyndareus?
DIOSCURI Thou too! for to Phoebus will I ascribe this deed of blood.
CHORUS How was it that ye, the brothers of the murdered woman, gods
too, did not ward the doom-goddesses from her roof?
DIOSCURI 'Twas fate that brought resistless doom to her, and that
thoughtless oracle that Phoebus gave.
ELECTRA But why did the god, and wherefore did his oracles make me
my mother's murderer?
DIOSCURI A share in the deed, a share in its doom; one ancestral
curse hath ruined both of you.
ORESTES Ah, sister mine! at last I see thee again only to be robbed
in moment of thy dear love; I must leave thee, and by thee be left.
DIOSCURI Hers are a husband and a home; her only suffering this,
that she is quitting Argos.
ORESTES Yet what could call forth deeper grief than exile from one's
fatherland? I must leave my father's house, and at a stranger's bar
he sentenced for my mother's blood.
DIOSCURI Be of good cheer; go to the holy town of Pallas; keep a
stout heart only.
ELECTRA O my brother, best and dearest! clasp me to thy breast; for
now is the curse of our mother's blood cutting us off from the home
of our fathers.
ORESTES Throw thy arms in close embrace about me. Oh! weep as o'er
my grave when I am dead.
DIOSCURI Ah me, that bitter cry makes even gods shudder to hear.
Yea, for in my breast and in every heavenly being's dwells pity for
the sorrows of mankind.
ORESTES Never to see thee more!
ELECTRA Never again to stand within thy sight!
ORESTES This is my last good-bye to thee.
ELECTRA Farewell, farewell, my city! and ye my fellow-countrywomen,
long farewell to you!
ORESTES Art thou going already, truest of thy sex?
ELECTRA I go, the tear-drop dimming my tender eyes.
ORESTES Go, Pylades, and be happy; take and wed Electra.
DIOSCURI Their only thoughts will be their marriage; but haste thee
to Athens, seeking to escape these hounds of hell, for they are on
thy track in fearful wise, swart monsters, with snakes for hands,
who reap a harvest of man's agony. But we twain must haste away o'er
the Sicilian main to save the seaman's ship. Yet as we fly through
heaven's expanse we help not the wicked; but whoso in his life loves
piety and justice, all such we free from troublous toils and save.
Wherefore let no man be minded to act unjustly, or with men foresworn
set sail; such the warning I, a god, to mortals give. (THE DIOSCURI
CHORUS Farewell! truly that mortal's is a happy lot, who can thus
fare, unafflicted by any woe.