But how should he have dared to tread this ground?
Electra.
Belike, he sent it by another’s hand,
A votive lock to grace his father’s tomb.
Chorus.
Small solace to my grief, if that he lives,
Yet never more may touch his native soil.
Electra.
I, too, as with a bitter wave was lashed,
And pierced, as with an arrow, at the sight