raiment_.

ELECTRA.

On her that I loved of yore,
Robe upon robe I cast:
On her that I hated sore.

CHORUS.

O House that hath hated sore,
Behold thy peace at the last!

* * * * *

LEADER.

Ha, see: above the roof-tree high
There shineth ... Is some spirit there
Of earth or heaven? That thin air
Was never trod by things that die!
What bodes it now that forth they fare,
To men revealèd visibly?

[_There appears in the air a vision of_ CASTOR _and_ POLYDEUCES. _The
mortals kneel or veil their faces._

CASTOR.

Thou Agamemnon's Son, give ear! 'Tis we.