Whom most I love. How joyous will he stand
To know, past hope, that here on the world's rim
His dead are living, and cry out for him!

[She goes into the Temple.]

CHORUS.
Alas, we pity thee; surely we pity thee: [Strophe.]
Who art given over to the holy water,
The drops that fall deadly as drops of blood.

ORESTES.
I weep not, ye Greek maidens: but farewell.

CHORUS.

[ANTISTROPHE.]

Aye, and rejoice with thee; surely rejoice with thee,
Thou happy rover from the place of slaughter;
Thy foot shall stand again where thy father's
stood.

PYLADES.
While he I love must die? 'Tis miserable.

DIVERS WOMEN OF THE CHORUS.
A. Alas, the deathward faring of the lost!
B. Woe, woe; thou too shalt move to misery.
C Which one shall suffer most?