OLD MAN.

And if I tell her, where shall be
The death in this?

ELECTRA.

That word let her but hear,
Straight she will seek me out!

OLD MAN.

The queen!  What care
Hath she for thee, or pain of thine?

ELECTRA.

She will;
And weep my babe’s low station!

OLD MAN.

Thou hast skill
To know her, child; say on.

ELECTRA.

But bring her here,
Here to my hand; the rest will come.

OLD MAN.

I swear,
Here at the gate she shall stand palpable!

ELECTRA.

The gate:  the gate that leads to me and Hell.

OLD MAN.

Let me but see it, and I die content.

ELECTRA.

First, then, my brother:  see his steps be bent...

OLD MAN.

Straight yonder, where Aegisthus makes his prayer!

ELECTRA.

Then seek my mother’s presence, and declare
My news.

OLD MAN.

Thy very words, child, as tho’ spoke
From thine own lips!

ELECTRA.

Brother, thine hour is struck. 
Thou standest in the van of war this day.

ORESTES (rousing himself).

Aye, I am ready....  I will go my way,
If but some man will guide me.

OLD MAN.

Here am I,
To speed thee to the end, right thankfully.

ORESTES (turning as he goes and raising his hands to heaven).

Zeus of my sires, Zeus of the lost battle,

ELECTRA.

Have pity; have pity; we have earned it well!

OLD MAN.

  Pity these twain, of thine own body sprung!

ELECTRA.

O Queen o’er Argive altars, Hera high,

ORESTES.

Grant us thy strength, if for the right we cry.

OLD MAN.

  Strength to these twain, to right their father’s wrong!

ELECTRA.

O Earth, deep Earth, to whom I yearn in vain,

ORESTES.

And deeper thou, O father darkly slain,

OLD MAN.

  Thy children call, who love thee:  hearken thou!

ORESTES.

Girt with thine own dead armies, wake, O wake!

ELECTRA.

With all that died at Ilion for thy sake ...

OLD MAN.

And hate earth’s dark defilers; help us now!

ELECTRA.

Dost hear us yet, O thou in deadly wrong,
Wronged by my mother?

OLD MAN.

Child, we stay too long. 
He hears; be sure he hears!

ELECTRA.

And while he hears,
I speak this word for omen in his ears: 
“Aegisthus dies, Aegisthus dies."...  Ah me,
My brother, should it strike not him, but thee,
This wrestling with dark death, behold, I too
Am dead that hour.  Think of me as one true,
Not one that lives.  I have a sword made keen
For this, and shall strike deep. 
I will go in
And make all ready.  If there come from thee
Good tidings, all my house for ecstasy
Shall cry; and if we hear that thou art dead,
Then comes the other end!—­Lo, I have said.