Orestes,—still, hope fawns upon my heart.
Alas!—
Oh had it, herald-like, a friendly voice,
So I by doubt no more should be distraught.
Then had it clearly counselled me this lock
To loathe, if severed from a foeman's head, 190
Or else, akin to me, had shared my grief,
Gracing this tomb, an honour to my sire.
Chorus.
But let us call upon the gods, who know
In what dire storms, like sailors, we are whirled;
Since if by them our safety is ordained,
From tiny seed may spring a mighty stock.
[Electra, descending the steps of the tomb.]
Electra.
And lo, these traces—yet another sign;
Footprints that tally with my own;—and see,
Two diverse outlines are impressed, his own,
And also of some fellow-wayfarer. 200
The impress of this foot, from heel to toe,
Thus measured, hath the symmetry of mine.
Travails my heart—disordered is my wit.
[Orestes approaching her.]
Orestes.
Acknowledging to Heaven thy prayers fulfilled,
Pray that the further issue may be blest.
