16
EURIPIDES
Orestes.
Yea, riven with the fire of woe.
I sigh to look on thee.
Electra.
My face; and, lo,
My temples of their ancient glory shorn.
Orestes.
Methinks thy brother haunts thee, being forlorn;
Aye, and perchance thy father, whom they slew. . .
Electra.
What should be nearer to me than those two?
Orestes.
And what to him, thy brother, half so dear
As thou?
Electra.
His is a distant love, not near
At need.
Orestes.
But why this dwelling place, this life
Of loneliness?
Electra (with sudden bitterness).
Stranger, I am a wife. . . .
O better dead!
