Chorus.
Lo, where thy brother hitherward comes faring,
Doomed by the vote of Argos' folk to die;
Yea, also Pylades, above all other
Truest of friends, close-cleaving as a brother,
Cometh, Orestes' fainting steps upbearing,
Ever with heedful feet a yokemate nigh.
Enter Orestes and Pylades.
Electra.
Woe's me! I mourn to see thee, brother, stand
Before the tomb, before the pyre of death.
Woe's me again! As gaze mine eyes on thee1020
With this last look, my spirit faileth me.
Orestes.
Nay, hush; from waitings womanlike forbear.
Bow to thy fate: 'tis piteous; none the less
Needs must we bear the doom that stands hard by.
Electra.
Nay, how be hushed? To see yon Sun-god's light1025
No more is given to us unhappy ones.
Orestes.
Ah, slay me not! Enough that Argive hands
Have slain a wretch: let be the imminent ills.
Electra.
Woe for thy youth, for thine untimely death,
Orestes! Life, not death, had been thy due.1030
