ORESTES. Noble actions? Time was, when fancy painted such before us! When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam'd O'er hill and valley; hoping that ere long With club and weapon arm'd, we so might track The robber to his den, or monster huge. And then at twilight, by the glassy sea, We peaceful sat, reclin'd against each other The waves came dancing to our very feet. And all before us lay the wide, wide world. Then on a sudden one would seize his sword, And future deeds shone round us like the stars, Which gemm'd in countless throngs the vault of night. PYLADES. Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul Burns to accomplish. We would every deed At once perform as grandly as it shows After long ages, when from land to land The poet's swelling song hath roll'd it on. It sounds so lovely what our fathers did, When, in the silent evening shade reclin'd, We drink it in with music's melting tones; And what we do is, as their deeds to them, Toilsome and incomplete! Thus we pursue what always flies before; We disregard the path in which we tread, Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires, Or heed the trace of their career on earth. We ever hasten on to chase their shades, Which godlike, at a distance far remote, On golden clouds reclin'd, the mountains crown. The man I prize not who esteems himself Just as the people's breath may chance to raise him. But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks, That they have done so much through thee already. ORESTES. When they ordain a man to noble deeds, To shield from dire calamity his friends, Extend his empire, or protect its bounds, Or put to flight its ancient enemies, Let him be grateful! For to him a god Imparts the first, the sweetest joy of life. Me have they doom'd to be a slaughterer, To be an honour'd mother's murderer, And shamefully a deed of shame avenging. Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelm'd. Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom'd; Nor may his last descendant leave the earth, Or crown'd with honour or unstain'd by crime. PYLADES. The gods avenge not on the son the deeds Done by the father. Each, or good or bad, Of his own actions reaps the due reward. The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends. ORESTES. Methinks their blessing did not lead us here. PYLADES. It was at least the mighty gods' decree. ORESTES. Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.