Orestes.
How shall I scape my father's, sparing thee?
Clytemnestra.
Living, I cry as to a tomb, unheard.
Orestes.
My father's fate ordains this doom for thee.
Clytemnestra.
Ah me—this snake it was I bore and nursed.
Orestes.
Ay, right prophetic was thy visioned fear.
Shameful thy deed was—die the death of shame.
Chorus.
Lo, even for these I mourn, a double death:
Yet since Orestes, driven on by doom,
Thus crowns the height of murders manifold,
I say, 'tis well—that not in night and death
Should sink the eye and light of this our home.
There came on Priam's race and name
A vengeance; though it tarried long,
With heavy doom it came.
Came, too, on Agamemnon's hall
A lion-pair, twin swordsmen strong.
And last, the heritage doth fall
To him, to whom from Pythian cave
