Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/282

226 My father's slayer Aegisthus is laid low!

Come, such things as I have, my dwelling's store,

Let me bring forth to grace his hair, O friends,

To crown my conquering brother's head withal.

Crown him, the conqueror!—garlands upraise,

Thy thanksgiving-oblation!

To the dance that the Muses love forth will we pace.

Now shall rule o'er our nation

Her kings well-beloved whom of old she hath known;

For the right is triumphant, the tyrant o'erthrown:—

Ring, joy's exultation!

Hail, glorious conqueror, Orestes sprung

Of father triumph-crowned in Ilium's war!

Receive this wreath to bind thy clustering hair.

Thou hast come home, who hast run no bootless course

In athlete-race, but who hast slain thy foe

Aegisthus, murderer of thy sire and mine.

And thou, his battle-helper, Pylades,

A good man's nursling, from mine hand accept

A wreath; for in this conflict was thy part

As his: in my sight ever prosper ye!

The Gods account thou first, Electra, authors

Of this day's fortune: praise thereafter me,