Hot-eyed to tear that steed of fame
That found Pirênê's water.

The red red sword with steeds four-yoked [_Epode_.
Black-maned, was graven,
That laboured, and the hot dust smoked
Cloudwise to heaven.
Thou Tyndarid woman! Fair and tall
Those warriors were, and o'er them all
One king great-hearted,
Whom thou and thy false love did slay:
Therefore the tribes of Heaven one day
For these thy dead shall send on thee
An iron death: yea, men shall see
The white throat drawn, and blood's red spray,
And lips in terror parted.

[_As they cease, there enters from the left a very old man, bearing a
lamb, a wineskin, and a wallet_.

OLD MAN.

Where is my little Princess? Ah, not now;
But still my queen, who tended long ago
The lad that was her father.... How steep-set
These last steps to her porch! But faint not yet:
Onward, ye failing knees and back with pain
Bowed, till we look on that dear face again.
[_Enter_ ELECTRA.
Ah, daughter, is it thou?--Lo, here I am,