ELECTRA.

O me, I am undone!

Now I am nothing!

CLYTÆMNESTRA.

Yea, see thou to that.

How came he by his death, sir? Tell me truly.

GUARDIAN.

I will tell all; for to that end I came.

The man had gone to the great festival —

The glory of Hellas — for the Delphian games;

And when he heard the shouting of the crier

Calling the foot-race, which is first adjudged,

He entered for it, comely to behold,

The worship of the eyes of all men there;

And having reached the limit of the course

Whence they were started, he came out of it

With the all-honoured prize of victory.

To say but little out of much I might,

I never saw before the acts and prowess

Of such a man as he; but take one statement;

In every heat for which the judges set

The customary courses, out and home,

He brought off all the honours of the day,

And was congratulated, and proclaimed

“An Argive, named Orestes” — and “the son

Of Agamemnon,” him who mustered once

The illustrious host of Hellas. So far well.

But if some Deity is bent on harm,

It is not even a strong man can escape.

For he, another day at sunrise, when

Owners of horses met to try their speed,

With many other charioteers, went in.

One was Achaian, one from Sparta, two

Libyans, skilled masters of the yoke and car;

He among these, with mares of Thessaly,

Came fifth; the sixth was from Ætolia,

With bright bay colts; the seventh Magnesian;

The eighth of Ænian birth, his horses white;

The ninth from Athens the divinely builded;

Last, a Boeotian’s car made up the ten.

These, stationed where the judges of the course

Cast each his lot, and ranked his driving-board,

Forth started at the brazen bugle’s note,

And cheering to their horses all at once

Shook the grasped reins; then the whole course was filled

With rattle of the chariot metal-work;

The dust rose high; crowded together, all

Spared not the goad — so might some one of them

Fore-reach on snorting steed and axle-tree;

While evermore alike on back and wheel,

Foaming and quick, the coursers’ panting came.

But he kept close under the endmost mark,

Sweeping his axle round continuously,

And, giving rein to the right-handmost steed,

Pulled back the inner goer. And at first

The driving-boards all held themselves upright;

But afterwards the Ænian’s hard-mouthed colts

Bolt violently; and coming from the turn,

After the sixth, just in the seventh round,

Dash all their fronts against the Barca car;

Then, in an instant, from one accident,

Car upon car began to crash and fall,

And the whole plain of Crisa became filled

With wreck of steeds and tackling. At the sight

That crafty driver, he from Athens, draws

Out of the way, and slackens, passing by

The surge of chariots eddying in the midst.

Last came Orestes, trusting to the close,

Keeping his fillies back; but seeing him