ELECTRA
Stayed in their wild career his steeds and freed
The corpse all blood-bestained, disfigured, marred
Past recognition of his nearest friend.
Straightway the Phoceans burnt him on a pyre,
And envoys now are on their way to bring
That mighty frame shut in a little urn,
And lay his ashes in his fatherland.
Such is my tale, right piteous to tell;
But for all those who saw it with their eyes,
As I, there never was a sadder sight.
Chorus
Alas, alas! our ancient masters’ line,
So it appears, hath perished root and branch.
Clytemnestra
Are these glad tidings? Rather would I say
Sad, but of profit. Ah how hard my lot
When I must look for safety to my losses.
Aged Servant
Why, lady, why downhearted at my news?
Clytemnestra
Strange is the force of motherhood; a mother,
Whate’er her wrongs, can ne’er forget her child.
Aged Servant
So it would seem our coming was in vain.
Clytemnestra
Nay, not in vain. How canst thou say “in vain,”
If of his death thou bringst convincing proof,
Who from my life drew life, and yet, estranged,
Forgat the breasts that suckled him, forgat
A mother’s tender nurture, fled his home,
And since that day has never seen me more,
