ELECTRA (turning on him).

What?  Is it pity?  Dost thou fear
To see thy mother’s shape?

ORESTES.

’Twas she that bare
My body into life.  She gave me suck. 
How can I strike her?

ELECTRA.

Strike her as she struck
Our father!

ORESTES (to himself, brooding).

Phoebus, God, was all thy mind
Turned unto darkness?

ELECTRA.

If thy God be blind,
Shalt thou have light?

ORESTES (as before).

Thou, thou, didst bid me kill
My mother:  which is sin.

ELECTRA.

How brings it ill
To thee, to raise our father from the dust?

ORESTES.

I was a clean man once.  Shall I be thrust
From men’s sight, blotted with her blood?

ELECTRA.

Thy blot
Is black as death if him thou succour not!

ORESTES.

Who shall do judgment on me, when she dies?

ELECTRA.

Who shall do judgment, if thy father lies. 
Forgotten?

ORESTES (turning suddenly to ELECTRA).

Stay!  How if some fiend of Hell,
Hid in God’s likeness, spake that oracle?

ELECTRA.

In God’s own house?  I trow not.

ORESTES.

And I trow
It was an evil charge! [He moves away from her.

ELECTRA (almost despairing).

To fail me now! 
To fail me now!  A coward!—­O brother, no!

ORESTES.

What shall it be, then?  The same stealthy blow ...

ELECTRA.

That slew our father!  Courage! thou hast slain
Aegisthus.

ORESTES.

Aye.  So be it.—­I have ta’en
A path of many terrors:  and shall do
Deeds horrible.  ’Tis God will have it so.... 
Is this the joy of battle, or wild woe? [He goes into the house.

LEADER.

O Queen o’er Argos throned high,
  O Woman, sister of the twain,
  God’s Horsemen, stars without a stain,
Whose home is in the deathless sky,
  Whose glory in the sea’s wild pain,
Toiling to succour men that die: 
Long years above us hast thou been,
  God-like for gold and marvelled power: 
  Ah, well may mortal eyes this hour
Observe thy state:  All hail, O Queen!

Enter from the right CLYTEMNESTRA on a chariot, accompanied by richly dressed Handmaidens.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Down from the wain, ye dames of Troy, and hold
Mine arm as I dismount.... [Answering ELECTRA’S thought. 
                            The spoils and gold
Of Ilion I have sent out of my hall
To many shrines.  These bondwomen are all
I keep in mine own house....  Deemst thou the cost
Too rich to pay me for the child I lost—­
Fair though they be?

ELECTRA.

Nay, Mother, here am I
Bond likewise, yea, and homeless, to hold high
Thy royal arm!