Electra
1126
Thou sad memorial, now the sole remains
Of what was once Orestes, to my heart
Most dear, with other hopes I sent thee hence,
Not to receive thee thus; for in my hands
I bear thee, nothing now; a splendid Youth,
To glory born, I sent thee from this house.
1130
Oh hadst thou died, ere by these hands preserved,
And, snatch'd from slaughter, to a foreign land
I sent thee! Hadst thou died in that sad day,
Some little portion of thy father's tomb
Thou wou'dst have shared: but thou hast perish'd now
1135
Far from thy house, and from thy country far,
A wandering exile, from thy sister far.
Nor in the cleansing lavers did I bathe
With these fond hands thy corse, nor, as became
A sister, bear from the consuming flames
1140
The mournful burden. By a stranger's hands
Electra. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.