Part 15 (2/2)

Let the teardrop fall, plas.h.i.+ng on the ground Where our lord lies low: Fall and cleanse away the cursed libation's stain, Shed on this grave-mound, Fenced wherein together, gifts of good or bane From the dead are found.

Lord of Argos, hearken!

Though around thee darken Mist of death and h.e.l.l, arise and hear!

Hearken and awaken to our cry of woe!

Who with might of spear Shall our home deliver?

Who like Ares bend until it quiver, Bend the northern bow?

Who with hand upon the hilt himself will thrust with glaive, Thrust and slay and save?

ELECTRA

Lo! the earth drinks them, to my sire they pa.s.s-- Learn ye with me of this thing new and strange.

CHORUS

Speak thou; my breast doth palpitate with fear.

ELECTRA

I see upon the tomb a curl new shorn.

CHORUS

Shorn from what man or what deep-girded maid?

ELECTRA

That may he guess who will; the sign is plain.

CHORUS

Let me learn this of thee; let youth prompt age.

ELECTRA

None is there here but I, to clip such gift.

CHORUS

For they who thus should mourn him hate him sore.

ELECTRA

And lo! in truth the hair exceeding like--

CHORUS

Like to what locks and whose? instruct me that.

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