Castor.Alas, what would ye? For that cry
Ourselves and all the sons of heaven
Have pity. Yea, our peace is riven
By the strange pain of these that die.
Orestes.No more to see thee! Electra. Nor thy breath
Be near my face! Orestes. Ah, so it ends.
Electra.Farewell, dear Argos. All ye friends,
Farewell! Orestes. O faithful unto death,
Thou goest? Electra. Aye, I pass from you,
Soft-eyed at last. Orestes. Go, Pylades,
And God go with you! Wed in peace
My tall Electra, and be true.
Castor.
Their troth shall fill their hearts.—But on:
Dread feet are near thee, hounds of prey,
Snake-handed, midnight-visaged, yea,
And bitter pains their fruit! Begone!
[Orestes departs to the right.
But hark, the far Sicilian sea
Calls, and a noise of men and ships
That labour sunken to the lips
In bitter billows; forth go we,
Through the long leagues of fiery blue,
With saving; not to souls unshriven;
But whoso in his life hath striven
To love things holy and be true,
