Upon our fated house? Or, do they come
To soothe the ancient anger of the dead
With sweet libations for my father’s tomb?
’Tis even so: for lo! Electra comes—
My sister—with them in unblissful grief
Pre-eminent. O Jove, be thou mine aid,[n3]
And nerve my hand to avenge my father’s wrong!
Stand we aside, my Pylades, that we
May learn the purpose of the murky pomp. [They go aside.
Chorus.
(dressed in sable vestments, bearing vessels with libations.)
STROPHE I.