No More Learning

Come in joy,
Brother, and take to bind thy rippling hair
My crowns! . . . . O what are crowns, that runners wear
For some vain race? But thou in battle true
Hast felled our foe Aegisthus, him that slew
By craft thy sire and mine. [_She crowns_ ORESTES.
And thou no less,
O friend at need, O reared in righteousness,
Take, Pylades, this chaplet from my hand.
'Twas half thy battle. And may ye two stand
Thus alway, victory-crowned, before my face! [_She crowns_ PYLADES.

ORESTES.

Electra, first as workers of this grace
Praise thou the Gods, and after, if thou will,
Praise also me, as chosen to fulfil
God's work and Fate's. --Aye, 'tis no more a dream;
In very deed I come from slaying him.
Thou hast the knowledge clear, but lo, I bring
More also. See himself, dead!
[_Attendants bring in the body of_ AEGISTHUS _on a bier_.
Wouldst thou fling
This lord on the rotting earth for beasts to tear?
Or up, where all the vultures of the air
May glut them, pierce and nail him for a sign
Far off? Work all thy will. Now he is thine.

ELECTRA.

It shames me; yet, God knows, I hunger sore--

ORESTES.

What wouldst thou? Speak; the old fear nevermore
Need touch thee.

ELECTRA.

To let loose upon the dead
My hate! Perchance to rouse on mine own head
The sleeping hate of the world?

ORESTES.

No man that lives
Shall scathe thee by one word.