University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Scene the royal sepulchre, in which is a range of monumental shrines, those of Agamemnon and Orestes standing most conspicuous, adorned with military trophies, and hung with fresh garlands; the pavement before them being strewed with herbs and flowers.
ELECTRA is discovered, with locks of human hair in one hand, and a golden vessel for sacrificing in the other.
ELECTRA.

SCENE THE SECOND.

ELECTRA and ORESTES.
ELECTRA.
Phocian—begone. This mansion, and these rites
Forbid intrusion.

ORESTES.

ELECTRA.
Forbear—

ORESTES.
Electra was his constant theme of talk.
For her his wishes took unbounded scope,
His pray'rs were ever ardent. For her wrongs,
With speechless agonies his heart would heave,
His sighs would issue, and his tears descend.

ELECTRA.
Stop, stranger, stop—or your relation kills me.

ORESTES.
To her, transported! he would often cry,
I owe my life!—when sacrilegious hands
Struck to the earth the author of my being,
And I, a helpless innocent, was doom'd
The next to suffer—she was my preserver.
Inspir'd by tenderness, she instant seiz'd
The only means and minute fate would grant
To save me from the meditated blow.

ELECTRA.
That active zeal since fortune renders fruitless,
Would he and I had with our father fell.
What hardships then, what hapless, heavy hours
Of grief and misery had both escap'd!
He had not rov'd a wretched, royal beggar,
Nor I, 'mid'st daily wrongs, been curst to see
My father's fame insulted, and his crown
The prey, the prize, of those who shed his blood.
Yet 'gainst such ills did fortitude bear up,
Sustain'd by treach'rous hope; whose flatt'ries told,
That I should live to triumph in my turn:
Should see my brother with his brandish'd sword
At once asserting vengeance and his throne.
But now those hopes desert me; and I'm left
The lonely relique of a ruin'd house,
To suffer wrongs, sustain distressful lise,
And weep misfortunes that admit no cure.

ORESTES.
Infectious anguish—how I catch the weakness!

ELECTRA.
Hah! tears of pity! they are gen'rous, kind,
And soothing to distress so great as mine—
Who find, alas, no fellowship in sorrow.

ORESTES.
Unfeeling world!

ELECTRA.
But to the winds and skies
I give, howe'er, my gath'ring anguish vent.
The clouds, more merciful than monster man,
Oft melt in mournful drops at my complainings.
Ah fruitless, vain recourse!—my father, hear—
Hear me, Orestes—hear these suppliant cries—
Assist to soften the relentless fates,
And gain my soul her rescue from despair.

ORESTES.
Yet, pious mourner, for your precious peace—

ELECTRA.
Peace is no more—then wherefore should I live?
Order is lost—and why exists the world?
O put a period to it awful Gods!
Since ev'ry bond of social life is broke.
Awake confusion! Let full rapine rage,
Fierce outrage howl, and desolation triumph!
There's now no crime too horrid to commit—
Too foul for human practice. Sons may seize
Decrepit fathers by their hoary locks,
And crush the last remains of creeping age!
Relentless mothers from their milky breasts,
With savage hands their smiling infants tear,
And on the flinty pavements dash their brains.
When thrones are violated—when the torch
Of Hymen streams a suffocating flame,
Iniquity hath wing'd it's utmost flight.
What can it farther? Whither must it soar?
Gods! do ye ponder till presumptuous mortals
Assault your mansions, ev'n invade your skies,
Ere from your hands the vengeful bolts are hurl'd
That shall to atoms shake this solid earth,
And make laps'd nature, thro' her myriad forms,
Burst with one pang, and in one groan expire?

ORESTES.
In pity cease—

ELECTRA.
Away, away, away—
Phrenzy's a friend, although a wretched one:
And reason, when distress is past relief,
Our worst of enemies.—A draught of Lethe!—
O for forgetfulness—

ORESTES.
Her mind's disorder'd!
Good heav'n relieve her.

ELECTRA.
'Tis a fruitless pray'r.
I am not frantic—I were blest to be so.
What could I suffer by the loss of reason,
But loss of griefs that reason cannot cure?

ORESTES.
Distressful anguish!

ELECTRA.
Twelve unhappy years
To bear the load of miserable life,
With but one hope to chear me! and, at last,
My very goal in view—to loose ev'n that—
And yet survive it!—If thou art a friend,
Push me from off this pinacle of woe,
And aid my plunge to everlasting peace.

ORESTES.
In ev'ry pang that wrings thy throbbing heart—
In all thy wrongs, thy suff'rings, I partake,
With agonies unspeakable—

ELECTRA.
No more.
Hope not with fruitless pity to retard
A soul that's bent on parting—

ORESTES.
Hear me—

ELECTRA.
No—
I'll be no more deluded. Life's a curse
That only foes can wish me to endure.

ORESTES.
Mine is the voice of tenderness—of love—

ELECTRA.
Provoke not desperation!—On the den
Of dragon-wrath thou tread'st!—Retreat in time,
Nor hazard rashness.

ORESTES.
Little do'st thou think,
Electra, what an int'rest thou hast here.

ELECTRA.
Presumptuous youth!—would arrogance—ah! no—
He but compassionates—yet for thy life—

ORESTES.
I live but in the hope to cherish thine.

ELECTRA.
Say'st thou?—The fates are hov'ring on the wing—
The clouds thick congregate—the whirlwind wakes—
The furies gather round!

ORESTES.
My sister—

ELECTRA.
Hah!—

ORESTES.
What consternation—

ELECTRA.
Said'st thou—said'st thou—

ORESTES.
I'm indeed thy brother—

ELECTRA.
Ever-living Gods!
It cannot be—it is delusion all—

[fainting.
ORESTES
, catching her in his arms.
My sister!—my Electra?—Heav'ns! she dies!
O ideot rashness!—my unguarded transports
Have kill'd the innocent I wish'd to succour!
Hah!—breathes she not?—she lifts the lids of light!
And beams warm comfort on my frozen heart!
O'erpow'ring raptures—extacy of bliss!

ELECTRA.
Thou—thou Orestes?—let me view thee well!
Oh! no, I am not—cannot be deceiv'd.
Thro' all thy form—each feature—ev'ry limb—
I trace my father, god-like Agamemnon!
O'erwhelming happiness—how wild thy flow!

ORESTES.
Exalted eloquence of eyes and souls!
O looks that touch beyond the pow'r of words!
Tears are true utt'rers of our genuine joy!

ELECTRA.

ORESTES.
'Twas to deceive the ever-watchful tyrant,
And lull within his mind suspicion's guard
While I obtain'd an interview with thee,
And with the friends of Agamemnon's house,
That we might forge such thunders as will blast
This ruthless ravager who stains my throne.

SCENE THE THIRD.

ORESTES, ELECTRA, PYLADES and MELISANDER.
MELISANDER.
Princess of Argos, from your pious hand
This sacred charge your faithful slave receiv'd,
Which now, with joy that words but ill would paint,
He renders back to you and to his country.

ELECTRA.
What, Melisander, are the grateful thanks
That I can pay, to those thou shalt receive!
The tongues of millions will unite to bless thee!
A rescu'd people, with o'erflowing hearts,
Shall on their festivals, in choral strains,
Thy praises blend with those they give the Gods!
Yes, good old man, thy zeal and stedfast truth,
If the world's poor in bounties to reward,
Heav'n, that approves and can, will amply pay.

ORESTES.
My dear Electra, to this more than brother,
My Pylades, and to his gracious father,
My life's protector, and my crown's ally,
How vast our debt of kindness!

PYLADES.
Friendship claims,
Illust'rous princess, 'mongst more dear regards,
Some humble portion in the noble heart
Of Agamemnon's heir.

ELECTRA.
'Tis sure, Orestes,
The cause must prosper that we see sustain'd
By such associate virtues!—Gen'rous prince!
To own the call of royalty distrest,
And risk thy safety to redress the wrong'd.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

ORESTES, ELECTRA, PYLADES, MELISANDER, ARCAS, ÆTHON and a train of Argian Nobles.
ARCAS
, kneeling with Æthon and the argian nobles.
See, sov'reign lord, your kingdom's richest store,
The vow'd asserters of your sacred rights!
A band of loyal and intrepid nobles,
Who have resolv'd to hazard in your cause,
All that they love, they honour, and they hope.

ORESTES.
Rise my good people [They all rise.
—rather let me say,
Friends, brothers, fathers—children!—O my soul!
How strong are thy sensations! Language fails
T' express the transports that I feel within me—
These silent oracles will best reveal them.

PYLADES.
Most happy meeting of a prince and people!

ORESTES.
Let Melisander, he who form'd my mind,
Witness how oft my heart hath yearn'd to serve ye.
Nor fear, my subjects, ye shall e'er lament
My mad misuse of pow'r. The thrones of kings,
I want not yet to learn, are only firm
While fix'd on public use and approbation.
Let tyrants strive with rods and racks to bow
To forc'd obedience the reluctant will:
Be it my glory, my delight, to merit
That best of duty which affection prompts.

ÆTHON.
Such sentiments inspire our raptur'd souls
With glowing gratitude and ardent zeal!
Another monarch, like our Agamemnon,
Comes, as a God, to scatter blessings round him!

ARCAS.
By the great name of him, whose sceptre sway'd
The realms of Argos with renown and glory!
Kneeling [They kneel.
before his awful dust, we vow
A firm allegiance to his lineal heir.
Lead us to face your foes—to danger—death!
No soul shall shrink, no sword shall shame your cause.

ORESTES.
Rise not, my people, ere my willing knee
Bend with the rest [Kneeling.
, and in the face of heav'n,
By all its blest inhabitants, I swear
Firmly to combat till I break your bonds,
And fix, beyond the will of pow'r to shake,
The full possession of your natal rights;
Those rights which none but tyrants e'er invade.

[They all rise.
ELECTRA.
The sacred ashes that are there enshrin'd,
Must be a party in this solemn league.
The injur'd have a right, the right of vengeance,
Which heav'n admits whenever urg'd by justice.
O then remember, my belov'd Orestes,
Your murder'd sire. And you, who always found him
The kind and common parent of ye all,
Forget not, when your weapons shall assail
The hearts whose flinty qualities could bear
To act an outrage of so black a dye,
To say ye strike for Agamemnon's wrongs.
That sound shall make impiety recoil—
Thro' ev'ry nerve strike terror and dismay—
Add double venom to the shaft of death,
And send them shudd'ring to the doom they merit.

ORESTES
, kneeling.
Hear, slaughter'd parent, royal Agamemnon—
And ev'ry God recognize what I vow!—
Ne'er shall this arm have respite, till my sword
Has paid the debt of duty which it owes;
And so reveng'd thee—that thy awful ghost,
Which now methinks, with languid looks, I see
Point at its gorey wounds to fire my rage,
Shall with a sigh of transport say—'tis done!
And sink compos'd to everlasting rest.

[He rises.
ARCAS.
Here break we off, lest interruption come,
The harbinger of danger. What remains,
Is to determine on the hour and place
To manifest your person and design.
The phocian bands, which royal Strophius sends
For your support, draw near: ere they arrive
It much imports our enterprize should open.

MELISANDER.
Goes not Ægysthus with his num'rous guards
To the wide plain without the city-gate
This very hour, to solemnize the sports
With which he entertains the populace,
On the suppos'd disaster of their king?

ÆTHON.
He does.

MELISANDER.
The queen—goes she not with him?

ÆTHON.
No.
The tyrant, tho' reluctantly, consents,
At her strong suit, to spare her soul the anguish
A sight like that must give.

MELISANDER.
Th' occasion's good
And we'll embrace it. Those who guard the palace
Will be but few, and easily subdu'd.
Possess'd thereof, we'll instantly proclaim
Our just and loyal purpose. The whole people,
Who venerate the house of Agamemnon,
Will join to seize the city-gates, and bar
The entrance of Ægysthus, whose strong guard
The hasten'd phocians sudden will surprize,
Attack, and bravely vanquish.

ORESTES.
Well advis'd.
May heav'n insure a happy execution.

ARCAS.
Princess, 'tis meet that you retire forthwith—
You need no caution for discreet demeanour.
Expect us soon. Till when, by all safe means,
Promote our good design.

ELECTRA.
Of that be sure.
O my Orestes! that we now must part,
Is to secure a long and happy meeting.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

ORESTES, PYLADES, MELISANDER, ARCAS, ÆTHON and Argian Nobles.
MELISANDER.
Princes, that all suspicion be prevented,
Back to the palace speedily repair,
And there let prudence regulate your conduct.
Mean time, myself and all this band of nobles,
Dispers'd throughout the city, will contrive
With numbers to augment our loyal host.
A moment stop—nor want one due precaution.
Remember that the place in which we meet
Is Io's grove, which, on the western side,
The Lycian forum skirts: from thence we'll issue,
Full of our cause, to try the great event—
Nor fear but we accomplish all we wish.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

ORESTES and PYLADES.
ORESTES.
Then does the hour, my Pylades, approach
On which the fortunes of my life depend:
That circles with a diadem this brow,
Or, with my being, ends my ev'ry hope.

PYLADES.
Doubt not, my friend, the goodness of thy cause
Of ev'ry God will make a champion for thee.
While I—but whither would my frantic tongue?
Down—down inglorious passion, lest Orestes
Disdain to hold me longer in his heart.

ORESTES.
What means my Pylades!—am I thy friend,
And hast thou secrets thou would'st wish to smother?
O give not rude suspicion room to whisper
A want of confidence in him who loves thee.

PYLADES.
Then hear, and wonder! from the very moment
In which I saw thy sister first, I felt
Orestes had a rival in my heart.
Caught by her tears for thy suppos'd disaster,
I gaz'd 'till sympathy so baffled reason,
I almost thought myself the tale was true.
But when I heard her pious plea, to join
Her father's vengeance with the gen'ral justice,
Affection's glow of ardors forceful seiz'd
And sunk my soul insensibly to bondage!
All the big images of war and glory
Shrunk from my mind, and a soft, stealing languor,
A sick'ning apathy subdu'd my spirit.
I fondly wish'd to wear my hours away,
My head reclin'd upon her panting bosom;
And, lost to all ambition, only live
The happy object of Electra's love.

ORESTES.