Take home the son of earth, and let him steep
His o’erworn senses in your dim repose
For evermore.
V.
CONTINUATION OF ORESTES’ SOLILOQUY.
Hark! in the trembling leaves
Mysterious whispers: hark! a rushing sound
Sweeps through yon twilight depth!—e’en now they come,
They throng to greet their guest! And who are they
Rejoicing each with each in stately joy,