Thus Artemis reconciles father and son. Hippolytus dies slowly in the arms of Theseus, and the play ends. The appearance of the goddess, as a lady of transcendent power more than as a divine being--her vindictive hatred of Aphrodite, and the moral that she draws about the fate by which Hippolytus died and Theseus sinned, are all thoroughly Euripidean. Not so would Æschylus the theologian, or Sophocles the moralist, have dealt with the conclusion of the play. But neither would have drawn a more touching picture. The following scene from the opening of the _Orestes_ may be taken as a complete specimen of the manner of Euripides when working pathos to its highest pitch, and when desirous of introducing into mythic history the realities of common life. Electra appears as the devoted sister; Orestes as the invalid brother; the Chorus are somewhat importunate, but, at the same time, sympathetic visitors. This extract also serves to illustrate the Euripidean habit of mingling lyrical dialogue with the more regular Iambic in passages which do not exactly correspond to the Commos of the elder tragedians, but which require highly wrought expression. Helen has just left Electra. As the wife of Menelaus walks away, the daughter of Agamemnon follows her with her eyes, and speaks thus: _El._ O nature! what a curse art thou 'mid men-- Yea, and a safeguard to the nobly-tempered! [_Points her finger at Helen._ See how she snipped the tips of her long hair, Saving its beauty! She's the same woman still.-- May the gods hate thee for the ruin wrought On me, on him, on Hellas! Woe is me! [_Sees the Chorus advancing._ Here come my friends again with lamentations, To join their wails with mine: they'll drive him far From placid slumber, and will waste mine eyes With weeping when I see my brother mad. [_Speaking to the Chorus._ O dearest maidens, tread with feet of wool; Come softly, make no rustling, raise no cry: For though your kindness be right dear to me, Yet to wake him will work me double mischief. [_The Chorus enters._ _Ch._ Softly, softly! let your tread Fall upon the ground like snow! Every sound be dumb and dead: Breathe and speak in murmurs low! _El._ Further from the couch, I pray you; further yet, and yet away! _Ch._ Even so, dear maid, you see that I obey. _El._ Ah, my friend, speak softly, slowly, Like the sighing of a rush. _Ch._ See I speak and answer lowly With a stealthy smothered hush. _El._ That is right: come hither now; come boldly forward to my side; Come, and say what need hath brought you: for at length with watching tried, Lo, he sleeps, and on the pillow spreads his limbs and tresses wide.