"But now all joy has vanished in a day
In this thy death, for, like a whirlwind, thou
Hast passed and swept off all. My father falls;
I perish; thou thyself hast gone from sight;
Our foes exult. My mother—wrongly named,
For mother she is none—is mad with joy.
*******
How hast thou brought me low, thou dearest one!
Therefore receive thou me to this thy home,
Ashes to ashes, that "with thee below
I may from henceforth dwell."—(P.)
Then the disguised stranger knows that this maiden—noble even in her mean dress—must be his sister; and his heart yearns towards her, and he can contain himself no longer. He burns with indignation as he looks on one whom he had left a light-hearted and innocent girl, now worn and wasted, as she says herself,
"By blows, by hardships, and all forms of ill."
"Funeral urns," he cries, "are not for the living, and Orestes is alive." Then he shows his father's signet-ring, and Electra knows that he must be indeed her brother. The haughty spirit which had defied Ægisthus, and repaid the queen with scorn for scorn, is at once softened. She bursts into tears, and with wild exclamations of joy throws herself into the arms of "her own, her dear Orestes."
Even when told through the cold medium of a dead language—without a stage direction, without the aid of dress or scenery—no "recognition" in any drama
uncontrollable emotion, burst into genuine tears, and uttered a cry of sorrow which deeply moved the sympathies of the audience.
