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And on their foes who walked in pride of strength,

Regardless of their lives, wrought doom of death!

These all must love, these all must reverence;

These in our feasts, and when the city meets

Tn full assemblage, all should honour well

For this their manly prowess.' Thus will all

Speak of us, so that fame we shall not miss,

Living or dying."—(P.)

But Chrysothemis recoils from the suggestion. Her spirit is too weak to venture on such a hazardous enterprise. Besides, she says, our foes are stronger than we are;—

Then the pretended Phocians enter, carrying, as they say,

The sight only increases Electra's sorrow, for it confirms what she had at first hoped might have been only an evil rumour. She takes the urn from the stranger—(we must remember that the brother and sister had not met for years)—and she muses over her shattered hopes, and over the untimely death of the Orestes whom she had loved with such devoted affection: —