ELECTRA
Chorus
Aye, slain.
Electra
I know, I know. A champion was raised up
To avenge the mourning ghost.
No champion for me,
The one yet left is taken, reft away.
Chorus
A weary, weary lot is thine. (Str. 2)
Electra
I know it well, too well,
When life, month in month out,
Like a dark torrent flows,
Horror on horror, pain on pain.
Chorus
We have watched its tearful course.
Electra
Cease then to turn it where—
Chorus
What wouldst thou say?
Electra
No comfort’s left of hope
From him of royal blood,
Sprung from one stock with me.
Chorus
Death is the common lot. (Ant. 2)
Electra
To die as he died, hapless youth,
Entangled in the reins
Beneath the tramp of coursers’ hoofs!
Chorus
Torture ineffable!
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