Page:Electra of Euripides (Murray 1913).djvu/42

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He is called my husband. 'Tis for him I toil.

How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil

In all things human: sons of mighty men

Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again

Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man's scroll

Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul.

As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not

With pride of house uplifted, in a lot

Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace.

All that is here of Agamemnon's race,

And all that lacketh yet, for whom we come,

Do thank thee, and the welcome of thy home

Accept with gladness.—Ho, men; hasten ye

Within!—This open-hearted poverty

Is blither to my sense than feasts of gold.

Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold;

Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all

Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall!

Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake

The word; and surely, though small store I make

Of man's divining, God will fail us not.

[ and go in, following the.

O never was the heart of hope so hot

Within me. How? So moveless in time past,

Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last?