Page:Electra of Euripides (Murray 1913).djvu/85

Rh To bear her mother's part. I blame thee not

Yet think not I am happy, child; nor flown

With pride now, in the deeds my hand hath done

But thou art all untended, comfortless

Of body and wild of raiment; and thy stress

Of travail scarce yet ended! Woe is me!

'Tis all as I have willed it. Bitterly

I wrought against him, to the last blind deep

Of bitterness. Woe's me!

Fair days to weep,

When help is not! Or stay: though he lie cold

Long since, there lives another of thy fold

Far off; there might be pity for thy son?

I dare not! Yes, I fear him. 'Tis mine own

Life, and not his, comes first. And rumour saith

His heart yet burneth for his father's death.

Why dost thou keep thine husband ever hot

Against me?

'Tis his mood. And thou art not

So gentle, child!

My spirit is too sore!

Howbeit, from this day I will no more

Hate him.