Chrysothemis
And from my eyes gush'd tears; account not these
Omens of ill, for they were tears of joy.
And now, as then, my soul is well assured
That from him only could these honours come :
For to what mortal else, save thee or me,
Could this accord? I did it not, I know,
Nor thou; for from this house thou darest not move
E'en to the gods. Nor doth my mother's soul
Harbour such thoughts; nor could she do the deed
Unnoticed. These sepulchral honours then
Come from Orestes. Let despair no more
Sink thee, my dearest sister: the same god
O'er the same mortals doth not always rule;
Stern was his pow'r; but now perchance this day
On a firm base shall build our happier state.
Electra. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.