Epistulae

chief. You also glory in being of the race of Pelops and Tantalus; and, if you reckon farther, are the fifth in a direct line from the Father of the Gods. Nor are you destitute of courage; but you have borne arms in an invidious cause, constrained to engage in the just revenge of a father's death. Oh! how I wish that you had given proof of your valor in a less direful cause! yet was it not choice, but necessity. You yielded to the urgent call, and shed the blood of that villain Ægisthus, who had so cruelly murdered your father. But Pyrrhus censures it, and calls that praise-worthy revenge a crime; and even presumes to do it in my presence.

I am distracted; my cheeks, as well as my heart, glow with rage, and my breast is scorched with flames pent up. Shall any one dare to blame Orestes in Hermione's presence? I have indeed neither strength nor arms: but I may shed tears: tears assuage grief; tears flow from my eyes in floods. These alone I always can command, and these I always shed profusely: my neglected cheeks are watered by a continual stream. By this fate of our race, which reaches down even to the present age, we matrons of the house of Tantalus fall a sure prey to every ravisher. I need not mention the deceit of the swan, or how Jupiter lurked under the disguise of feathers. Hippodamia was conveyed by foreign wheels, to where the isthmus stretching to a great length divides two seas. Helen was restored to the Amyclæan brothers, Castor and Pollux, from an Attic city. Helen, conveyed beyond sea by an Idæan stranger, raised in arms the whole power of Greece to recover her. Scarcely do I remember the time; yet, young as I was, I remember it: all appeared full of grief; all discovered manifest tokens of anxiety and concern. My grandfather wept, as did also her sister and twin brothers: Leda called on the heavenly powers and her own Jove. I myself with tresses torn, which even yet are not long, complained in a mournful voice; Alas, mother, are you gone without me? have you left me behind? for Menelaus was absent. Lo I too, that I might not belie the race of Pelops, am made the prey of hated Neoptolemus. Oh that Achilles had escaped the arrows of Apollo! he would doubtless have condemned the insolence of his son. He neither approved formerly, nor now would have approved, that a forsaken husband should lament the rape of his spouse. What crime of mine has raised

the indignation of the Gods? Unhappy that I am! What ominous star obstructs my felicity? I was deprived of my mother in my earliest youth; my father was engaged in a foreign war; thus, though both were alive, I was destitute of both. I did not, O my mother, in my younger days fondle and flatter you with my prattling tongue; I caught you not round the neck with my infant arms, nor sat, a pleasing load, upon your knee. You had no care of my education, nor was I led by you to the nuptial bed. I came out to meet you at your return, and, to own the truth, I could not distinguish my mother's face. I only fancied you to be Helen, because you were the most beautiful; nor did you know, before a friend informed you, which was your daughter. My only good fortune was the having Orestes for my husband; and he too will be lost, unless he should maintain his right by arms. Pyrrhus hath obtained me from my victorious father; it is all I have gained