Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/243



Friends, a voice is in my ear,

That I never hoped to hear.

At the glad sound how could I

Be mute nor raise a joyous cry?

But I have thee, and the light

Of thy countenance so bright

Not e’en sorrow can eclipse,

Or still the music of those lips.

Spare me all superfluity of words—

How vile our mother, how Aegisthus drains

By waste and luxury our father’s house;

The time admits not such prolixity.

But tell me rather what will best subserve

Our present need—where we must show ourselves,

Or lie in wait, and either way confound

The mockery and triumph of our foes.

And see that when we twain are gone within

Our mother read not in thy radiant looks

Our secret; weep as overwhelmed with grief

At our feigned story; when the victory’s won

We shall have time and liberty to laugh.

Yea, as it pleaseth thee it pleases me,

Brother, for all my pleasure is thy gift,

Not mine; nor would I purchase for myself

The greatest boon that cost thee the least pang:

So should I cross the providence that guides us.

How it stands with us, doubtless thou hast heard.

Aegisthus, as thou knowest, is away;

Only our mother keeps the house, and fear not 231