Pylades.
I look, I watch, all ways I turn mine eyes.
Orestes.
Pylades, deem'st thou this the Goddess' fane
Whither from Argos we steered oversea?70
Pylades.
I deem it is, Orestes, as must thou.
Orestes.
And the altar, overdripped with Hellene blood?
Pylades.
Blood-russet are its rims in any wise.
Orestes.
And 'neath them seest thou hung the spoils arow?
Pylades.
Yea, trophies of the strangers who have died.75
But needs must we glance round with heedful eyes.
Orestes.
Phœbus, why is thy word again my snare,
When I have slain my mother, and avenged
My sire? From tired Fiends Fiends take up the chase,
And exiled drive me, outcast from my land,80
In many a wild race doubling to and fro.
To thee I came and asked how might I win
My whirling madness' goal, my troubles' end,
