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When the fierce business must be done,

When in thine ear she whimpers forth, "My Son;"

Steeling thy heart, invoke thy slaughtered sire,

And consummate unblamed the vengeance dire.

With heart of Perseus steadfast in thy breast,

For the dear love

Of friends below the earth, and friends above,

Complete the sacrifice;—

Within the house plant thou grim Death,—dire guest,—

And let the murderer forfeit murder's price.

Not uninvoked I come, but hither called;—

For strangers, as I learn, are here arrived,

Bearers of news, unwelcome to our ears,—

Orestes' death,—which, charged upon this house,

From former wound still ulcerate and sore,

To me a burden were, dripping with fear.

But say,—these tidings must I hold for true,

Or rumours deem them, coined by women's fears,

That aimless cleave the air, and aimless die?

Knowest thou aught that may my mind assure?

We have but heard: going thyself within,

Question these strangers;—second-hand reports

Avail not as to hour the tale oneself.