CHOEPHORI.[1]
Orestes.
THEE, shade-escorting Hermes, I invoke,
In Hades guardian of my royal sire,—
To me, thy suppliant, be saviour thou,
My firm ally,—for to this land I come
Exile no more;—on this sepulchral mound
Father I call thee,—hearken to my cry!—
*****
A primal lock, as nurture-gift, I vowed
To Inachos, and now this second lock,
Griefs token. Father, I devote to thee,—
For, absent from thy funeral obsequies,
I could not then as mourner wail thy death,
Nor speed with outstretched hand thy royal bier.
[The Chorus, arrayed in mourning costume, come forth from the palace. Electra closes the procession.]
What sight is this? What company of women 10
Is wending hitherward, in sable weeds
- ↑ The libation-pourers.
