Electra
Well, if in speaking thou hast pleasure, speak.
CHRY. Then I will tell thee all that I beheld.
My father's honour'd tomb as I approach'd,
White on the summit of the mound I saw
Large streams of milk late pour'd; the sepulchre,
Wherein he lies inurn'd, with wreaths of flow'rs,
Glowing in all their various dies, hung round.
I saw, and wonder'd, and on each side turn'd
Mine eyes, if any mortal might be nigh;
But all was still: then nearer I approach'd
The tomb, and on the pyre's remotest verge
Saw crisped locks fresh severed from the head.
Forthwith Orestes rush'd upon my thought,
Such as my mind had imaged him of old;
And these I deem'd the pledges of the Youth
Dear to my heart: I took them in my hands,
Electra. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.