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Pray what? I know not. Oh, make dear my road!

Pray that there come to them or man or god.

A judge? Or an avenger? Speak thy prayer.

Plain be thy word: one who shall slay the slayer.

But dare I? Is it no sin thus to pray?

How else? With hate thine hater to repay.

Herald most high of living and of dead,

Thou midnight Hermês, hear; and call the dread

Spirits who dwell below the Earth, my vows

To hearken and to watch my father's house;

And Earth our Mother, who doth all things breed

And nurse, and takes again to her their seed.

And I too with thee, as I pour these streams

To wash dead hands, will call him in his dreams:

O Father, pity me; pity thine own

Orestes, and restore us to thy throne;

We are lost, we are sold like slaves: and in our stead

Lo, she hath brought thy murderer to her bed,