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ELECTRA TENDING THE SICK-COUCH OF ORESTES.
17
ELECTRA.
So approach; move lightl———So,
So approach; move lightly round him:———
Tell me why ye've hither crept?———
Now, indeed, repose hath bound him,
But 'tis long since last he slept.

CHORUS.
What, Beloved one, is his state?

ELECTRA.
What, alas! shall I relate?———
This to tell is alone in
My power;———yet he doth live,
By that low and broken moaning.

CHORUS.
What baleful tidings dost thou give!

ELECTRA.
Break not, unless ye wish him dead,
The calm upon his eyelids spread,
Now enjoying sweet and deep
The gracious blessedness of sleep.

CHORUS.
He wakes—Behold the robes are stirred.

ELECTRA.
Curses on thee for the word!—
Ye with voices loud and fast
Slumber from his eyes have cast.

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