I know it, I know it; for a champion arose to avenge the
mourning dead; but to me no champion remains; for he who yet was
left hath been snatched away.
Hapless art thou, and hapless is thy lot!
Well know I that, too well,- I, whose life is a torrent of woes
dread and dark, a torrent that surges through all the months!
We have seen the course of thy sorrow.
Cease, then, to divert me from it, when no more-
How sayest thou?
-when no more can I have the comfort of hope from a brother, the
seed of the same noble sire.
For all men it is appointed to die.
What, to die as that ill-starred one died, amid the tramp of
racing steeds, entangled in the reins that dragged him?
Cruel was his doom, beyond thought!
Yea, surely; when in foreign soil, without ministry of my hands,-
-he is buried, ungraced by me with sepulture or with tears.
(CHRYSOTHEMIS enters in excitement.)
Joy wings my feet, dear sister, not careful of seemliness, if I
come with speed; for I bring joyful news, to relieve thy long
sufferings and sorrows.
And whence couldst thou find help for my woes, whereof no cure can
Orestes is with us,- know this from my lips, in living presence,
as surely as thou seest me here.
What, art thou mad, poor girl? Art thou laughing at my sorrows,
and thine own?
Nay, by our father's hearth, I speak not in mockery; I tell thee
that he is with us indeed.
Ah, woe is me! And from whom hast thou heard this tale, which thou
believest so lightly?
I believe it on mine own knowledge, not on hearsay; I have seen
What hast thou seen, poor girl, to warrant thy belief? Whither,