ORESTES. The mystic web of life my mother spread Around my infant head, and so I grew, An image of my sire; and my mute look Was aye a bitter and a keen reproof To her and base Ægisthus[1]. Oh, how oft, When silently within our gloomy hall Electra sat, and mus'd beside the fire, Have I with anguish'd spirit climb'd her knee, And watch'd her bitter tears with sad amaze! Then would she tell me of our noble sire: How much I long'd to see him--be with him! Myself at Troy one moment fondly wish'd, My sire's return, the next. The day arrived-- (Transcriber's Note 1: Original text read "Egisthus".) PYLADES. Oh, of that awful hour let fiends of hell Hold nightly converse! Of a time more fair May the remembrance animate our hearts To fresh heroic deeds. The gods require On this wide earth the service of the good, To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee; For in thy father's train they sent thee not, When he to Orcus went unwilling down. ORESTES. Would I had seiz'd the border of his robe. And follow'd him! PYLADES. They kindly car'd for me Who here detain'd thee; for if thou hadst died I know not what had then become of me; Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone, Have from my childhood liv'd, and wish to live. ORESTES. Do not remind me of those tranquil days, When me thy home a safe asylum gave; With fond solicitude thy noble sire The half-nipp'd, tender flow'ret gently rear'd; While thou, a friend and playmate always gay, Like to a light and brilliant butterfly Around a dusky flower, didst around me Still with new life thy merry gambols play, And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul, Until, my cares forgetting, I with thee Was lur'd to snatch the eager joys of youth. PYLADES. My very life began when thee I lov'd. ORESTES. Say, then thy woes began, and thou speak'st truly. This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot, That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear Death and destruction hid within my breast; That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot, Ere long the blooming faces round betray The writhing features of a ling'ring death. PYLADES. Were thy breath venom, I had been the first To die that death, Orestes. Am I not, As ever, full of courage and of joy? And love and courage are the spirit's wings Wafting to noble actions.