CHORUS.
Unhappy woman, could thine eye
Look on the blood, and see her lie,
Thy mother, where she turned to die?
ORESTES.
I lifted over mine eyes
My mantle: blinded I smote,
As one smiteth a sacrifice;
And the sword found her throat.
ELECTRA.
I gave thee the sign and the word;
I touched with mine hand thy sword.
LEADER.
Dire is the grief ye have wrought.
ORESTES.
Sister, touch her again:
Oh, veil the body of her;
Shed on her raiment fair,
And close that death-red stain.
—Mother! And didst thou bear,
Bear in thy bitter pain,
To life, thy murderer?