Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold; Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall! Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake The word; and surely, though small store I make Of man's divining, God will fail us not. [ORESTES _and_ PYLADES _go in, following the_ SERVANTS. LEADER. O never was the heart of hope so hot Within me. How? So moveless in time past, Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last? ELECTRA. Now know'st thou not thine own ill furniture, To bid these strangers in, to whom for sure Our best were hardship, men of gentle breed? PEASANT. Nay, if the men be gentle, as indeed I deem them, they will take good cheer or ill With even kindness. ELECTRA. 'Twas ill done; but still-- Go, since so poor thou art, to that old friend Who reared my father. At the realm's last end He dwells, where Tanaos river foams between Argos and Sparta. Long time hath he been An exile 'mid his flocks. Tell him what thing Hath chanced on me, and bid him haste and bring Meat for the strangers' tending.--Glad, I trow, That old man's heart will be, and many a vow Will lift to God, to learn the child he stole From death, yet breathes.--I will not ask a dole From home; how should my mother help me? Nay, I pity him that seeks that door, to say Orestes liveth! PEASANT. Wilt thou have it so? I will take word to the old man. But go Quickly within, and whatso there thou find Set out for them. A woman, if her mind So turn, can light on many a pleasant thing To fill her board. And surely plenishing We have for this one day.--'Tis in such shifts As these, I care for riches, to make gifts To friends, or lead a sick man back to health With ease and plenty. Else small aid is wealth For daily gladness; once a man be done With hunger, rich and poor are all as one. [_The_ PEASANT _goes off to the left_; ELECTRA _goes into the house._ * * * * * CHORUS. O for the ships of Troy, the beat [_Strophe_ 1. Of oars that shimmered Innumerable, and dancing feet Of Nereids glimmered; And dolphins, drunken with the lyre, Across the dark blue prows, like fire, Did bound and quiver, To cleave the way for Thetis' son, Fleet-in-the-wind Achilles, on To war, to war, till Troy be won Beside the reedy river. Up from Euboea's caverns came [_Antistrophe_ 1. The Nereids, bearing Gold armour from the Lords of Flame, Wrought for his wearing: Long sought those daughters of the deep, Up Pelion's glen, up Ossa's steep Forest enchanted, Where Peleus reared alone, afar, His lost sea-maiden's child, the star Of Hellas, and swift help of war When weary armies panted.