To heaven I tell—if aught of cure be there.[1]
In sleep methought I had escaped this land,
And dwelt in Argos. Midst my maiden train45
I slept: then with an earthquake shook the ground.
I fled, I stood without, the cornice saw
Of the roof falling,—then, all crashing down,
Turret and basement, hurled was the house to earth.
One only column, as meseemed, was left45
Of my sires' halls; this from its capital
Streamed golden hair, and spake with human voice.
Then I, my wonted stranger-slaughtering rite
Observing, sprinkled it, as doomed to death,
Weeping. Now thus I read this dream of mine:45
Dead is Orestes—him I sacrificed;
Seeing the pillars of a house be sons,
And they die upon whom my sprinklings fall.
None other friend can I match with my dream;
For on my death-day Strophius had no son.60
Now then will I, here, pour drink-offerings
Unto my brother there,—'tis all I can,—
I with mine handmaids, given me of the king,
Greek damsels. But for some cause are they here
Not yet: within the portals will I pass65
Of this, the Goddess' shrine, wherein I dwell.
Enter Orestes and Pylades.
Orestes.
Look thou—take heed that none be in the path.
- ↑ Referring to the custom of averting the evil of bad dreams by telling them to the morning sun, which was regarded as dispelling the dark influences of night.
