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Though thou desire it vehemently. None

Would be so fond to hunt on a cold trail.

. If this seem wisdom to thee, then be wise

Thy way: but in the hour of misery,

When it hath caught thee, thou wilt praise my words.

[Exit

Wise are the birds of air

That with true filial care

For those provide convenient food

Who gave them birth, who wrought their good.

Why will not men the like perfection prove?

Else, by the fires above,

And heavenly Rectitude,

Fierce recompense they shall not long elude.

O darkling rumour, world-o’er-wandering voice

That piercest to the shades beneath the ground,

To dead Atrides waft a sound

Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.

Stained is the ancestral hall,

Broken the battle-call,

That heretofore his children twain

In loving concord did sustain.

Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails,

Storm-tossed with rugged gales,

Lamenting evermore

Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore

For her lost father;—might she but bring down

That two-fold Fury, caring not for death,

But ready to resign her breath.

What maid so worthy of a sire’s renown?

None who inherit from a noble race,

Complying with things base

Will let their ancient glory be defiled.

So ’twas thy choice, dear child,

Through homeless misery to win a two-fold prize,

Purging the sin and shame

That cloud the Argive name,

So to be called most noble and most wise.