CHORUS. 
          Wise are the birds of air I 1
          That with true filial care
    For those provide convenient food
    Who gave them birth, who wrought their good. 
    Why will not men the like perfection prove? 
          Else, by the fires above,
          And heavenly Rectitude,
    Fierce recompense they shall not long elude. 
    O darkling rumour, world-o’er-wandering voice
    That piercest to the shades beneath the ground,
    To dead Atrides waft a sound
    Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.

          Stained is the ancestral hall, I 2
          Broken the battle-call,
    That heretofore his children twain
    In loving concord did sustain. 
    Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails,
          Storm-tossed with rugged gales,
          Lamenting evermore
    Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore
    For her lost father;—­might she but bring down
    That two-fold Fury, caring not for death,
    But ready to resign her breath,
    What maid so worthy of a sire’s renown?

    None who inherit from a noble race, II 1
          Complying with things base
    Will let their ancient glory be defiled. 
          So ’twas thy choice, dear child,
    Through homeless misery[9] to win a two-fold prize,
          Purging the sin and shame[10]
          That cloud the Argive name,
    So to be called most noble and most wise.

    May’st thou surpass thy foes in wealth and power II 2
          As o’er thee now they tower! 
    Since I have found thee, not in bright estate,
          Nor blessed by wayward fate,
    But through thy loyalty to Heaven’s eternal cause
          Wearing the stainless crown
          Of perfectest renown,
    And richly dowered by the mightiest laws.

Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, with the urn.

OR.  Say, dames and damsels, have we heard aright,
And speed we to the goal of our desire?

CH.  And what desire or quest hath brought thee hither?

OR.  I seek Aegisthus’ dwelling all this while.

CH.  Welcome.  The tongue that told thee hath no blame.

OR.  Which of you all will signify within
Our joint arrival,—­not unwelcome here.

CH.  This maiden, if the nearest should report.

OR.  Mistress, wilt thou go yonder and make known,
That certain Phocians on Aegisthus wait?

EL.  Oh! can it be that you are come to bring
Clear proofs of the sad rumour we have heard?

OR.  I know not what ye have heard.  Old Strophius
Charged me with tidings of Orestes’ fate.

EL.  What, stranger?  How this terror steals on me!

OR.  Bearing scant remnants of his body dead
In this small vase thou seest, we bring them home.