 | Clytemnestra |  |
227
SCENE V.
Egysthus and Electra.EGYSTHUS.
Why turn you from me, and deny my sight,
The Heav'nly radiance of your gentle eyes?
What, though Orestes be no more?—
ELECTRA.
What he?
EGYSTHUS.
So says the rumour. Flesh is frail and mortal.
Nor tears, nor love itself that conquers all,
Can bribe the stern and greedy miser, Death,
E'er to unlock the coffer of the grave,
And give one jewel from his hoarded treasures.
ELECTRA.
When did he die? How came the tidings here?
EGYSTHUS.
'Tis said, that he, gone errant with Pylades,
Fell in some battle near the spartan border.
ELECTRA.
If he fell nobly, he fell not too soon.
What is there here, in this rude world of time,
But shocks, and turbulence, and pain, and sorrow.
228
You seem content, nor look as one that hears
Such tidings of a brother. How is this?
ELECTRA.
He had but tasted bitterness and grief;
What joy had he to lose? What cause have I
To mourn for one that has escaped from woe?
EGYSTHUS.
Ah, pensive fair; could I but minister
To thy solace, and from this chance of fate,
Draw hope or comfort to a lover's heart!
ELECTRA.
What would you, sir? I pray you, let me pass.
EGYSTHUS.
Console you; and in sympathy unite,
My kindest soothing to allay your sorrow.
ELECTRA.
My mother, sir, needs more your consolation.—
I pray unhand me, that I may retire?
EGYSTHUS.
Sweetest Electra, why so shy and perverse?
Why would'st thou tear from me, thy gentle hand?
Why, with thy scorn, so harshly wring my heart;
My wounded heart, that but thy smiles can cure!
ELECTRA.
Abhorr'd Incestuous! Heav'n! give me strength
To shake the monster from his loathsome hold.
229
This maiden artifice improves thy beauties.
Me-thinks the virgin glow upon thy cheek,
Deepens to ripeness, tempting to be gathered.—
O sure, these nimble sparklings of thine eyes,
Glance more of love than scorn.
ELECTRA.
Hence! dreadful man.
O Gods! by what unnat'ral transmutation
Of nature and of reason, does this wretch,
Foul with my father's blood, and from the couch
Of my ill-fated mother, newly risen,
Breathe this pollution in my tingling ears.
EGYSTHUS.
Less indignation, fair, disdainful maid.
Orestes' death leaves me free king of Argos,
And what I will, I may.—
ELECTRA.
Orestes' death!
Think'st thou, the righteous and tremendous Gods,
Had only him to be thy punisher?
Tyrant! beware and tremble; on thee fast
Rolls the inevitable vengeance down,
Like burning lava, dark, with clouds o'erspread.
| Clytemnestra | |