Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/229

 Dead with thy death, a whirlwind that passed by,

And left all desolate; thy father’s gone,

And I am dead in thee, and thou art lost;

And our foes laugh. That mother, mother none,

Whose crimes, as oft thou gav’st me secret word,

Thou wouldst thyself full speedily avenge,

Is mad for joy. But now malignant fate,

Thy fate and mine, hath blasted all and sent me,

Instead of that dear form I loved so well,

Cold ashes and an unavailing shade.

Ah me! Ah me!

O piteous corse!

Ah woe is me!

O woeful coming! I am all undone,

Undone by thee, beloved brother mine!

Take me, O take me to thy last lone home,

A shadow to a shade, that I may dwell

With thee for ever in the underworld;

For here on earth we shared alike, and now

I fain would die to share with thee thy tomb;

For with the dead there is no mourning, none.

Child of a mortal sire, Electra, think,

Orestes too was mortal; calm thy grief.

Death is a debt that all of us must pay.

Ah me! what shall I say where all words fail?

And yet I can no longer curb my tongue.

What sudden trouble made thee speak like this?

Is this the famed Electra I behold? 217