ELECTRA
21
Orestes.
God! . . . I would that now
Orestes heard thee here.
Electra.
Yet, wottest thou,
Though here I saw him, I should know him not.
Orestes.
Surely. Ye both were children, when they wrought
Your parting.
Electra.
One alone in all this land
Would know his face.
Orestes.
The thrall, methinks, whose hand
Stole him from death—or so the story ran?
Electra.
He taught my father, too, an old old man
Of other days than these.
Orestes.
Thy father's grave . . .
He had due rites and tendance?
Electra.
What chance gave,
My father had, cast out to rot in the sun.
