Though thou desire it vehemently. None
Would be so fond to hunt on a cold trail.
Chr. If this seem wisdom to thee, then be wise
Thy way: but in the hour of misery,
When it hath caught thee, thou wilt praise my words.
[Exit Chrysothemis
Chorus.
Wise are the birds of air I 1
That with true filial care
For those provide convenient food
Who gave them birth, who wrought their good.
Why will not men the like perfection prove?
Else, by the fires above,
And heavenly Rectitude,
Fierce recompense they shall not long elude.
O darkling rumour, world-o’er-wandering voice
That piercest to the shades beneath the ground,
To dead Atrides waft a sound
Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.
Stained is the ancestral hall, I 2
Broken the battle-call,
That heretofore his children twain
In loving concord did sustain.
Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails,
Storm-tossed with rugged gales,
Lamenting evermore
Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore
For her lost father;—might she but bring down
That two-fold Fury, caring not for death,
But ready to resign her breath.
What maid so worthy of a sire’s renown?
None who inherit from a noble race, II 1
Complying with things base
Will let their ancient glory be defiled.
So ’twas thy choice, dear child,
Through homeless misery to win a two-fold prize,
Purging the sin and shame
That cloud the Argive name,
So to be called most noble and most wise.
