What proofs thou giv'st me of tlie noblest
nature
And true benevolence, thou good old man !
Of servants sure the faithfullest and best
That ever bore the name : the generous steed,
Though worn with years, thus keeps his wonted courage.
And warns his master of approaching danger;
fjike him thou stir'st me up to noble deeds.
And follow'st me undaunted : but attend
25
To what I have resolved, and if I err,
25
^Let thy superior judgment set mfiriglit.
25
When to the Delphic oracle I flew,
25
Eager to know how on my father's foes
J best might satiate my revenge, the god
Enjoined me not by force or open arms
To rush upon them, but with guileful arts
And silent well-conducted fraud betraythem.
Such was his wdll. Thou, therefore, soon as time
Shall lend thee opportunity, unknown
And unsuspected (as thy absence hence
For so long space and hoary age shall make thee)
Must steal upon them, learn their secret counsels,
As soon thou mayst, and quick inform us of them ;
Say thou'rt of Phocis, from Phanoteus sent
By one who is their friend and firm ally ;
Sav, and confirm it with a solemn oath.
Orestes is no more — by a rude shock
Thrown from his chariot at the Pythian games.
Be this thy tale : meantime (for thus the god
His will divine expressed) my father's tomb
With due libations and devoted hair
Ourselves will crown ; and thence returning bring,
From the dark covert where thou knowst 'twas hid,
The brazen urn. Thei-e, we shall tell the tyrant —
Thrice welcome news ! — Orestes' ashes lie.
What should deter me from the pious fraud?
Since my feigned death but gains me real fame,
And I shall wake to better life : the deed
Which brings success and honour, must be good.
Oft times the wisest and the best of men
From death like this have rose with added greatness ;
E'en so thy friend to his deluded foes
Shall soon return unlooked-for, and before them
Shine like a star with more distinguished lustre.
O my loved country ! and its guardian gods,
35
Receive Ore.^tes, and with happy omen
35
Propitious smile ! And thou, paternal seat —
35
For lo ! by Heaven's command I come to purge thee
35
Electra. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.