to Tantalus, my forefather, who begot the ancestors of my house. They saw infatuate ruin, the chase of winged steeds, when Pelops in four-horse chariot drove over the sea, hurling the body of murdered Myrtilus into the ocean swell, after his race near Geraestus’ strand, foam-flecked from the tossing sea. From this came a woeful curse upon my house, brought to birth among the sheep by the son of Maia , when there appeared a baleful, baleful portent of a lamb with golden fleece, for Atreus, breeder of horses; from which Strife changed the course of the sun’s winged chariot, fitting the westward path of the sky towards the single horse of Dawn; and Zeus diverted the career of the seven Pleiads into a new track and exchanged . . . death for death: both the banquet to which Thyestes gave his name, and the treacherous love of Cretan Aerope, in her treacherous marriage; but the crowning woe has come on me and on my father by the bitter constraints of our house. Chorus Leader Look, here comes your brother, condemned to die, and with him Pylades, most loyal of friends, true as a brother, guiding his feeble steps, his yoke-fellow, pacing carefully. Electra Alas! I weep to see you stand before the tomb, my brother, face to face with the funeral pyre. Alas, again! as I take my last look at you, my senses leave me. Orestes Be silent! an end to womanish lamenting! resign yourself to your fate. It is piteous, but nevertheless you must bear the present fate. Electra How can I be silent, when we poor sufferers are no longer to gaze upon the sun-god’s light? Orestes Oh! spare me that death! Enough that this unhappy wretch is already slain by Argives; let our present sufferings be. Electra Alas for your unhappy youth, Orestes, and for your fated untimely death! When you should have lived, you are going to die. Orestes By the gods, do not unman me, bringing me to tears by the recollection of my sorrows. Electra We are about to die; it is not possible for me not to grieve over our troubles; it is a piteous thing for all men to lose life, that is so sweet. Orestes This is the day appointed for us; we must fit the dangling noose about our necks or whet the sword for use.