And should I wait thy word, to endure
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength out in thy toiling fellowship?
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength out in thy toiling fellowship?
Euripides - Electra
--from my house hath outcast me;
She hath borne children to our enemy;
She hath made me naught, she hath made Orestes naught. . . .
[_As the bitterness of her tone increases, the_ PEASANT _comes forward. _
PEASANT.
What wouldst thou now, my sad one, ever fraught
With toil to lighten my toil? And so soft
Thy nurture was! Have I not chid thee oft,
And thou wilt cease not, serving without end?
ELECTRA (_turning to him with impulsive affection_).
O friend, my friend, as God might be my friend,
Thou only hast not trampled on my tears.
Life scarce can be so hard, 'mid many fears
And many shames, when mortal heart can find
Somewhere one healing touch, as my sick mind
Finds thee. . . .
And should I wait thy word, to endure
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength out in thy toiling fellowship?
Thou hast enough with fields and kine to keep;
'Tis mine to make all bright within the door.
'Tis joy to him that toils, when toil is o'er,
To find home waiting, full of happy things.
PEASANT.
If so it please thee, go thy way. The springs
Are not far off. And I before the morn
Must drive my team afield, and sow the corn
In the hollows. --Not a thousand prayers can gain
A man's bare bread, save an he work amain.
[ELECTRA _and the_ PEASANT _depart on their several ways. After a few
moments there enter stealthily two armed men,_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.
ORESTES.
Thou art the first that I have known in deed
True and my friend, and shelterer of my need.
Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew,
Hast held Orestes of some worth, all through
These years of helplessness, wherein I lie
Downtrodden by the murderer--yea, and by
The murderess, my mother! . . .
She hath borne children to our enemy;
She hath made me naught, she hath made Orestes naught. . . .
[_As the bitterness of her tone increases, the_ PEASANT _comes forward. _
PEASANT.
What wouldst thou now, my sad one, ever fraught
With toil to lighten my toil? And so soft
Thy nurture was! Have I not chid thee oft,
And thou wilt cease not, serving without end?
ELECTRA (_turning to him with impulsive affection_).
O friend, my friend, as God might be my friend,
Thou only hast not trampled on my tears.
Life scarce can be so hard, 'mid many fears
And many shames, when mortal heart can find
Somewhere one healing touch, as my sick mind
Finds thee. . . .
And should I wait thy word, to endure
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength out in thy toiling fellowship?
Thou hast enough with fields and kine to keep;
'Tis mine to make all bright within the door.
'Tis joy to him that toils, when toil is o'er,
To find home waiting, full of happy things.
PEASANT.
If so it please thee, go thy way. The springs
Are not far off. And I before the morn
Must drive my team afield, and sow the corn
In the hollows. --Not a thousand prayers can gain
A man's bare bread, save an he work amain.
[ELECTRA _and the_ PEASANT _depart on their several ways. After a few
moments there enter stealthily two armed men,_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.
ORESTES.
Thou art the first that I have known in deed
True and my friend, and shelterer of my need.
Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew,
Hast held Orestes of some worth, all through
These years of helplessness, wherein I lie
Downtrodden by the murderer--yea, and by
The murderess, my mother! . . .
