OR. O soothing sleep, dear friend, best nurse of sickness! How sweetly came you in my hour of need. Best Lethe of all woes, how wise you are, How worthy of the prayers of wretched men! Whence came I to this place? How journeyed I? I cannot think: my former mind is vanished. EL. O dearest, how hath your sleep gladdened me! Say, can I help to soothe or raise your body? OR. Yes, take me, take me: with your kind hands wipe The foam of fever from my lips and eyes. EL. Sweet is this service to me; I am glad To soothe my brother with a sister's hand. OR. Support me with your breast; the matted hair Brush from my forehead. I can hardly see. EL. Now listen to me, dearest brother mine, While the Avengers leave you space to think. OR. What have you new to say? Good news will cheer me; But of what's bad I have enough already. EL. Menelaus is here, your father's brother: His ships are safely moored in Nauplia. OR. What! Has he come to end your woes and mine? He is our kinsman and our father's debtor. EL. He has: and this is surety for my words -- Helen hath come with him from Troy, is here. OR. If heaven had saved but him, he'd now be happier: But with his wife he brings a huge curse home. EL. Yea: Tyndareus begat a brood of daughters Marked out for obloquy, a shame through Hellas. OR. Be you then other than the bad; you can: Make not fine speeches, but be rightly minded! EL. Ah me, my brother! your eyes roll and tremble -- One moment sane, and now swift frenzy fires you! (@3Orestes speaks to phantoms in the air.@1) OR. Mother, I sue to thee: nay, mother, hound not Those blood-faced, snake-encircled women on me! There! There! See there -- close by they bound upon me! EL. Stay, wretched brother; start not from the bed! Things evident to your sick brain are nothings. OR. O Phoebus, they will slay me, those dog-faced Fierce-eyed, infernal ministers, dread goddesses! EL. I will not leave you -- see, I twine my arms To stay your madness as you hurl and plunge. (@3Orestes throws Electra from him.@1) OR. Let go! Of my damned Furies you are one, That with your grip would hale me down to hell. EL. Ah, woe is me! What succour shall I find, Seeing the very gods conspire against us? OR. Give me my bow and arrows, Loxias' gift, Wherewith Apollo bade me fight the fiends, If they should scare me with wild-eyed delirium. Some god shall feel the fury of man's hand, Unless ye vanish forth from out my sight! (@3He threatens the phantoms.@1) Hear ye not! See ye not the feathery wings Of swift, sure-striking shafts, ready to flutter? Ha! Ha! Why linger here? Go, sweep with outspread pinions The windy sky! Hence, and complain of Phoebus! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTEMPLATIONS by ANNE BRADSTREET BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY by ROBERT BROWNING KEENAN'S CHARGE by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP MODERN LOVE: 50 by GEORGE MEREDITH ANDRE'S LAST REQUEST [OR, REQUEST TO WASHINGTON] [OCTOBER 1, 1780] by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS THRENODY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |