My father's slayer Aegisthus is laid low!
Come, such things as I have, my dwelling's store, 870
Let me bring forth to grace his hair, O friends,
To crown my conquering brother's head withal.
Chorus.
(Ant.)
Crown him, the conqueror!—garlands upraise,
Thy thanksgiving-oblation!
To the dance that the Muses love forth will we pace. 875
Now shall rule o'er our nation
Her kings well-beloved whom of old she hath known;
For the right is triumphant, the tyrant o'erthrown:—
Ring, joy's exultation!
Enter Orestes and Pylades, with attendants bearing Aegisthus' body.
Electra.
Hail, glorious conqueror, Orestes sprung 880
Of father triumph-crowned in Ilium's war!
Receive this wreath to bind thy clustering hair.
Thou hast come home, who hast run no bootless course
In athlete-race, but who hast slain thy foe
Aegisthus, murderer of thy sire and mine. 885
And thou, his battle-helper, Pylades,
A good man's nursling, from mine hand accept
A wreath; for in this conflict was thy part
As his: in my sight ever prosper ye!
Orestes.
The Gods account thou first, Electra, authors 890
Of this day's fortune: praise thereafter me,
