{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/eurip/iph_taur.htm","path":"cla/eurip/iph_taur.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/iph_taur.htm","text":"Iphigenia in Tauris\nBy Euripides\nTranslated by Robert Potter\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDramatis Personae\nIPHIGENIA, daughter of Agamemnon\nORESTES, brother of IPHIGENIA\nPYLADES, friend Of ORESTES\nTHOAS, King of the Taurians\nHERDSMAN\nMESSENGER\nMINERVA\nCHORUS OF GREEK WOMEN, captives, attendants on IPHIGENIA in\nthe\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nBefore the great temple of Diana of the Taurians. A blood- stained\naltar is prominently in view. IPHIGENIA, clad as a priestess, enters\nfrom the temple.\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nIPHIGENIA To Pisa, by the fleetest coursers borne,\nComes Pelops, son of Tantalus, and weds\nThe virgin daughter of Oenomaus:\nFrom her sprung Atreus; Menelaus from him,\nAnd Agamemnon; I from him derive\nMy birth, his Iphigenia, by his queen,\nDaughter of Tyndarus. Where frequent winds\nSwell the vex'd Euripus with eddying blasts,\nAnd roll the darkening waves, my father slew me,\nA victim to Diana, so he thought,\nFor Helen's sake, its bay where Aulis winds,\nTo fame well known; for there his thousand ships,\nThe armament of Greece, the imperial chief\nConvened, desirous that his Greeks should snatch\nThe glorious crown of victory from Troy,\nAnd punish the base insult to the bed\nOf Helen, vengeance grateful to the soul\nOf Menelaus. But 'gainst his ships the sea\nLong barr'd, and not one favouring breeze to swell\nHis flagging sails, the hallow'd flames the chief\nConsults, and Calchas thus disclosed the fates:-\n\"Imperial leader of the Grecian host,\nHence shalt thou not unmoor thy vessels, ere\nDiana as a victim shall receive\nThy daughter Iphigenia: what the year\nMost beauteous should produce, thou to the queen\nDispensing light didst vow to sacrifice:\nA daughter Clytemnestra in thy house\nThen bore (the peerless grace of beauty thus\nTo me assigning); her must thou devote\nThe victim.\" Then Ulysses by his arts,\nMe, to Achilles as design'd a bride,\nWon from my mother. My unhappy fate\nTo Aulis brought me; on the altar there\nHigh was I placed, and o'er me gleam'd the sword,\nAiming the fatal wound: but from the stroke\nDiana snatch'd me, in exchange a hind\nGiving the Grecians; through the lucid air\nMe she conveyed to Tauris, here to dwell,\nWhere o'er barbarians a barbaric king\nHolds his rude sway, named Thoas, whose swift foot\nEquals the rapid wing: me he appoints\nThe priestess of this temple, where such rites\nAre pleasing to Diana, that the name\nAlone claims honour; for I sacrifice\n(Such, ere I came, the custom of the state)\nWhatever Grecian to this savage shore\nIs driven: the previous rites are mine; the deed\nOf blood, too horrid to be told, devolves\nOn others in the temple: but the rest,\nIn reverence to the goddess, I forbear.\nBut the strange visions which the night now past\nBrought with it, to the air, if that may soothe\nMy troubled thought, I will relate. I seem'd,\nAs I lay sleeping, from this land removed,\nTo dwell at Argos, resting on my couch\nMid the apartments of the virgin train.\nSudden the firm earth shook: I fled, and stood\nWithout; the battlements I saw, and all\nThe rocking roof fall from its lofty height\nIn ruins to the ground: of all the house,\nMy father's house, one pillar, as I thought,\nAlone was left, which from its cornice waved\nA length of auburn locks, and human voice\nAssumed: the bloody office, which is mine\nTo strangers here, respecting, I to death,\nSprinkling the lustral drops, devoted it\nWith many tears. My dream I thus expound:-\nOrestes, whom I hallow'd by my rites,\nIs dead: for sons are pillars of the house;\nThey, whom my lustral lavers sprinkle, die.\nI cannot to my friends apply my dream,\nFor Strophius, when I perish'd, had no son.\nNow, to my brother, absent though he be,\nLibations will I offer: this, at least,\nWith the attendants given me by the king,\nVirgins of Greece, I can: but what the cause\nThey yet attend me not within the house,\nThe temple of the goddess, where I dwell? (She goes into the temple.\nORESTES and PYLADES enter cautiously.)\nORESTES Keep careful watch, lest some one come this way.\nPYLADES I watch, and turn mine eye to every part.\nORESTES And dost thou, Pylades, imagine this\nThe temple of the goddess, which we seek,\nOur sails from Argos sweeping o'er the main?\nPYLADES Orestes, such my thought, and must be thine.\nORESTES And this the altar wet with Grecian blood?\nPYLADES Crimson'd with gore behold its sculptured wreaths.\nORESTES See, from the battlements what trophies hang!\nPYLADES The spoils of strangers that have here been slain.\nORESTES Behooves us then to watch with careful eye.\nO Phoebus, by thy oracles again\nWhy hast thou led me to these toils? E'er since,\nIn vengeance for my father's blood, I slew\nMy mother, ceaseless by the Furies driven,\nVagrant, an outcast, many a bending course\nMy feet have trod: to thee I came, of the\nInquired this whirling frenzy by what means,\nAnd by what means my labours I might end.\nThy voice commanded me to speed my course\nTo this wild coast of Tauris, where a shrine\nThy sister hath, Diana; thence to take\nThe statue of the goddess, which from heaven\n(So say the natives) to this temple fell:\nThis image, or by fraud or fortune won,\nThe dangerous toil achieved, to place the prize\nIn the Athenian land: no more was said;\nBut that, performing this, I should obtain\nRest from my toils. Obedient to thy words,\nOn this unknown, inhospitable coast\nAm I arrived. Now, Pylades (for thou\nArt my associate in this dangerous task,)\nOf thee I ask, What shall we do? for high\nThe walls, thou seest, which fence the temple round.\nShall we ascend their height? But how escape\nObserving eyes? Or burst the brazen bars?\nOf these we nothing know: in the attempt\nTo force the gates, or meditating means\nTo enter, if detected, we shall die.\nShall we then, ere we die, by flight regain\nThe ship in which we hither plough'd the sea?\nPYLADES Of flight we brook no thought, nor such hath been\nOur wont; nor may the god's commanding voice\nBe disobey'd; but from the temple now\nRetiring, in some cave, which the black sea\nBeats with its billows, we may lie conceal'd\nAt distance from our bark, lest some, whose eyes\nMay note it, bear the tidings to the king,\nAnd we be seized by force. But when the eye\nOf night comes darkling on, then must we dare,\nAnd take the polish'd image from the shrine,\nAttempting all things: and the vacant space\nBetween the triglyphs (mark it well) enough\nIs open to admit us; by that way\nAttempt we to descend: in toils the brave\nAre daring; of no worth the abject soul.\nORESTES This length of sea we plough'd not, from this coast,\nNothing effected, to return: but well\nHast thou advised; the god must be obey'd.\nRetire we then where we may lie conceal'd;\nFor never from the god will come the cause,\nThat what his sacred voice commands should fall\nEffectless. We must dare. No toil to youth\nExcuse, which justifies inaction, brings. (They go out. IPHIGENIA\nand the CHORUS enter from the temple.)\nIPHIGENIA (singing) You, who your savage dwellings hold\nNigh this inhospitable main,\n'Gainst clashing rocks with fury roll'd,\nFrom all but hallow'd words abstain.\nVirgin queen, Latona's grace, joying in the mountain chase,\nTo thy court, thy rich domain,\nTo thy beauteous-pillar'd fane\nWhere our wondering eyes behold\nBattlements that blaze with gold,\nThus my virgin steps I bend,\nHoly, the holy to attend;\nServant, virgin queen, to thee;\nPower, who bear'st life's golden key,\nFar from Greece for steeds renown'd,\nFrom her walls with towers crown'd,\nFrom the beauteous-planted meads\nWhere his train Eurotas leads,\nVisiting the loved retreats,\nOnce my father's royal seats.\nCHORUS (singing) I come. What cares disturb thy rest?\nWhy hast thou brought me to the shrine?\nDoth some fresh grief afflict thy breast?\nWhy bring me to this seat divine?\nThou daughter of that chief, whose powers\nPlough'd with a thousand keels the strand\nAnd ranged in arms shook Troy's proud towers\nBeneath the Atreidae's great command!\nIPHIGENIA (singing) O ye attendant train,\nHow is my heart oppress'd with wo!\nWhat notes, save notes of grief, can flow,\nA harsh and unmelodious strain?\nMy soul domestic ills oppress with dread,\nAnd bid me mourn a brother dead.\nWhat visions did my sleeping sense appall\nIn the past dark and midnight hour!\n'Tis ruin, ruin all.\nMy father's houses-it is no more:\nNo more is his illustrious line.\nWhat dreadful deeds hath Argos known!\nOne only brother, Fate, was mine;\nAnd dost thou rend him from me? Is he gone\nTo Pluto's dreary realms below?\nFor him, as dead, with pious care\nThis goblet I prepare;\nAnd on the bosom of the earth shall flow\nStreams from the heifer mountain-bred,\nThe grape's rich juice, and, mix'd with these,\nThe labour of the yellow bees,\nLibations soothing to the dead.\nGive me the oblation: let me hold\nThe foaming goblet's hallow'd gold.\nO thou, the earth beneath,\nWho didst from Agamemnon spring;\nTo thee, deprived of vital breath,\nI these libations bring.\nAccept them: to thy honour'd tomb,\nNever, ah! never shall I come;\nNever these golden tresses bear,\nTo place them there, there shed the tear;\nFor from my country far, a hind\nThere deem'd as slain, my wild abode I find.\nCHORUS (singing) To thee thy faithful train\nThe Asiatic hymn will raise,\nA doleful, a barbaric strain,\nResponsive to thy lays,\nAnd steep in tears the mournful song,-\nNotes, which to the dead belong;\nDismal notes, attuned to woe\nBy Pluto in the realms below:\nNo sprightly air shall we employ\nTo cheer the soul, and wake the sense of joy.\nIPHIGENIA (singing) The Atreidae are no more;\nExtinct their sceptre's golden light;\nMy father's house from its proud height\nIs fallen: its ruins I deplore.\nWho of her kings at Argos holds his reign,\nHer kings once bless'd? But Sorrow's train\nRolls on impetuous for the rapid steeds\nWhich o'er the strand with Pelops fly.\nFrom what atrocious deeds\nStarts the sun back, his sacred eye\nOf brightness, loathing, turn'd aside?\nAnd fatal to their house arose,\nFrom the rich ram, Thessalia's golden pride,\nSlaughter on slaughter, woes on woes:\nThence, from the dead ages past,\nVengeance came rushing on its prey,\nAnd swept the race of Tantalus away.\nFatal to thee its ruthless haste;\nTo me too fatal, from the hour\nMy mother wedded, from the night\nShe gave me to life's opening light,\nNursed by affliction's cruel power.\nEarly to me, the Fates unkind,\nTo know what sorrow is assign'd:\nMe Leda's daughter, hapless dame,\nFirst blooming offspring of her bed\n(A father's conduct here I blame,)\nA joyless victim bred;\nWhen o'er the strand of Aulis, in the pride\nOf beauty kindling flames of love,\nHigh on my splendid car I move,\nBetrothed to Thetis' son a bride:\nAh, hapless bride, to all the train\nOf Grecian fair preferr'd in vain!\nBut now, a stranger on this strand,\n'Gainst which the wild waves beat,\nI hold my dreary, joyless seat,\nFar distant from my native land,\nNor nuptial bed is mine, nor child, nor friend.\nAt Argos now no more I raise\nThe festal song in Juno's praise;\nNor o'er the loom sweet-sounding bend,\nAs the creative shuttle flies;\nGive forms of Titans fierce to rise;\nAnd, dreadful with her purple spear,\nImage Athenian Pallas there:\nBut on this barbarous shore\nThe unhappy stranger's fate I moan,\nThe ruthless altar stain'd with gore,\nHis deep and dying groan;\nAnd, for each tear that weeps his woes,\nFrom me a tear of pity flows.\nOf these the sad remembrance now must sleep:\nA brother dead, ah me! I weep:\nAt Argos him, by fate oppress'd,\nI left an infant at the breast,\nA beauteous bud, whose opening charms\nThen blossom'd in his mother's arms;\nOrestes, born to high command,\nThe imperial sceptre of the Argive land.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Leaving the sea-wash'd shore a herdsman comes\nSpeeding, with some fresh tidings to thee fraught. (A HERDSMAN enters.)\nHERDSMAN Daughter of Agamemnon, and bright gem\nOf Clytemnestra, hear strange things from me.\nIPHIGENIA And what of terror doth thy tale import?\nHERDSMAN Two youths, swift-rowing 'twixt the clashing rocks\nOf our wild sea, are landed on the beach,\nA grateful offering at Diana's shrine,\nAnd victims to the goddess. Haste, prepare\nThe sacred lavers, and the previous rites.\nIPHIGENIA Whence are the strangers? from what country named?\nHERDSMAN From Greece: this only, nothing more, I know.\nIPHIGENIA Didst thou not hear what names the strangers bear?\nHERDSMAN One by the other was call'd Pylades.\nIPHIGENIA How is the stranger, his companion, named?\nHERDSMAN This none of us can tell: we heard it not.\nIPHIGENIA How saw you them? how seized them? by what chance?\nHERDSMAN Mid the rude cliffs that o'er the Euxine hang-\nIPHIGENIA And what concern have herdsmen with the sea?\nHERDSMAN To wash our herds in the salt wave we came.\nIPHIGENIA To what I ask'd return: how seized you them?\nTell me the manner; this I wish to know:\nFor slow the victims come, nor hath some while\nThe altar of the goddess, as was wont,\nBeen crimson'd with the streams of Grecian blood.\nHERDSMAN Our herds, which in the forest feed, we drove\nAmid the tide that rushes to the shore,\n'Twixt the Symplegades: it was the place,\nWhere in the rifted rock the chafing surge\nHath hallow'd a rude cave, the haunt of those\nWhose quest is purple. Of our number there\nA herdsman saw two youths, and back return'd\nWith soft and silent step; then pointing, said,\n\"Do you not see them? These are deities\nThat sit there.\" One, who with religious awe\nRevered the gods, with hands uplifted pray'd,\nHis eyes fix'd on them,-\"Son of the sea-nymph\nLeucothoe, guardian of the labouring bark,\nOur lord Palaemon, be propitious to us!\nOr sit you on our shores, bright sons of Jove,\nCastor and Pollux? Or the glorious boast\nOf Nereus, father of the noble choir\nOf fifty Nereids?\" One, whose untaught mind\nAudacious folly harden'd 'gainst the sense\nOf holy awe, scoff'd at his prayers, and said,-\n\"These are wreck'd mariners, that take their seat\nIn the cleft rock through fear, as they have heard\nOur prescribed rite, that here we sacrifice\nThe stranger.\" To the greater part he seem'd\nWell to have spoken, and we judged it meet\nTo seize the victims, by our country's law\nDue to the goddess. Of the stranger youths,\nOne at this instant started from the rock:\nAwhile he stood, and wildly toss'd his head,\nAnd groan'd, his loose arms trembling all their length,\nConvulsed with madness; and a hunter loud\nThen cried,-\"Dost thou behold her, Pylades?\nDost thou not see this dragon fierce from hell\nRushing to kill me, and against me rousing\nHer horrid vipers? See this other here,\nEmitting fire and slaughter from her vests,\nSails on her wings, my mother in her arms\nBearing, to hurl this mass of rock upon me!\nAh, she will kill me! Whither shall I fly?\"\nHis visage might we see no more the same,\nAnd his voice varied; now the roar of bulls,\nThe howl of dogs now uttering, mimic sounds\nSent by the maddening Furies, as they say.\nTogether thronging, as of death assured,\nWe sit in silence; but he drew his sword,\nAnd, like a lion rushing mid our herds,\nPlunged in their sides the weapon, weening thus\nTo drive the Furies, till the briny wave\nFoam'd with their blood. But when among our herds\nWe saw this havoc made, we all 'gan rouse\nTo arms, and blew our sounding shells to alarm\nThe neighbouring peasants; for we thought in fight\nRude herdsmen to these youthful strangers, train'd\nTo arms, ill match'd; and forthwith to our aid\nFlock'd numbers. But, his frenzy of its force\nAbating, on the earth the stranger falls,\nFoam bursting from his mouth: but when he saw\nThe advantage, each adventured on and hurl'd\nWhat might annoy him fallen: the other youth\nWiped off the foam, took of his person care,\nHis fine-wrought robe spread over him; with heed\nThe flying stones observing, warded of\nThe wounds, and each kind office to his friend\nAttentively perform'd. His sense return'd;\nThe stranger started up, and soon perceived\nThe tide of foes that roll'd impetuous on,\nThe danger and distress that closed them round.\nHe heaved a sigh; an unremitting storm\nOf stones we pour'd, and each incited each:\nThen we his dreadful exhortation heard:-\n\"Pylades, we shall die; but let us die\nWith glory: draw thy sword, and follow me.\"\nBut when we saw the enemies advance\nWith brandish'd swords, the steep heights crown'd with wood\nWe fell in flight: but others, if one flies,\nPress on them; if again they drive these back,\nWhat before fled turns, with a storm of stones\nAssaulting them; but, what exceeds belief,\nHurl'd by a thousand hands, not one could hit\nThe victims of the goddess: scarce at length,\nNot by brave daring seized we them, but round\nWe closed upon them, and their swords with stones\nBeat, wily, from their hands; for on their knees\nThey through fatigue had sunk upon the ground:\nWe bare them to the monarch of this land:\nHe view'd them, and without delay to the\nSent them devoted to the cleansing vase,\nAnd to the altar. Victims such as these,\nO virgin, wish to find; for if such youths\nThou offer, for thy slaughter Greece will pay,\nHer wrongs to thee at Aulis well avenged.\nLEADER These things are wonderful, which thou hast told\nOf him, whoe'er he be, the youth from Greece\nArrived on this inhospitable shore.\nIPHIGENIA 'Tis well: go thou, and bring the strangers hither:\nWhat here is to be done shall be our care. (The HERDSMAN departs.)\nO my unhappy heart! before this hour\nTo strangers thou wast gentle, always touch'd\nWith pity, and with tears their tears repaid,\nWhen Grecians, natives of my country, came\nInto my hands: but from the dreams, which prompt\nTo deeds ungentle, showing that no more\nOrestes views the sun's fair light, whoe'er\nYe are that hither come, me will you find\nRelentless now. This is the truth, my friends:\nMy heart is rent; and never will the wretch,\nWho feels affliction's cruel tortures, bear\nGood-will to those that are more fortunate.\nNever came gale from Jove, nor flying bark,\nWhich 'twixt the dangerous rocks of the Euxine sea\nBrought Helen hither, who my ruin wrought,\nNor Menelaus; that on them my foul wrongs\nI might repay, and with an Aulis here\nRequite the Aulis there, where I was seized,\nAnd, as a heifer, by the Grecians slain:\nMy father too, who gave me birth, was priest.\nAh me! the sad remembrance of those ills\nYet lives: how often did I stroke thy cheek,\nAnd, hanging on thy knees, address thee thus:-\n\"Alas, my father! I by thee am led\nA bride to bridal rites unbless'd and base:\nThem, while by thee I bleed, my mother hymns,\nAnd the Argive dames, with hymeneal strains,\nAnd with the jocund pipe the house resounds:\nBut at the altar I by thee am slain;\nFor Pluto was the Achilles, not the son\nOf Peleus, whom to me thou didst announce\nThe affianced bridegroom, and by guile didst bring\nTo bloody nuptials in the rolling car.\"\nBut, o'er mine eyes the veil's fine texture spread,\nThis brother in my hands who now is lost,\nI clasp'd not, though his sister; did not press\nMy lips to his, through virgin modesty,\nAs going to the house of Peleus: then\nEach fond embrace I to another time\nDeferr'd, as soon to Argos to return.\nIf, O unhappy brother, thou art dead,\nFrom what a state, thy father's envied height\nOf glory, loved Orestes, art thou torn!-\nThese false rules of the goddess much I blame:\nWhoe'er of mortals is with slaughter stain'd,\nOr hath at childbirth given assisting hands,\nOr chanced to touch aught dead, she as impure\nDrives from her altars; yet herself delights\nIn human victims bleeding at her shrine.\nNe'er did Latona from the embrace of Jove\nBring forth such inconsistence: I then deem\nThe feast of Tantalus, where gods were guests,\nUnworthy of belief, as that they fed\nOn his son's flesh delighted; and I think\nThese people, who themselves have a wild joy\nIn shedding human blood, their savage guilt\nCharge on the goddess: for this truth I hold;\nNone of the gods is evil, or doth wrong. (She enters the temple.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nYe rocks, ye dashing rocks, whose brow\nFrowns o'er the darken'd deeps below;\nWhose wild, inhospitable wave,\nFrom Argos flying and her native spring,\nThe virgin once was known to brave,\nTormented with the brize's maddening sting,\nFrom Europe when the rude sea o'er\nShe pass'd to Asia's adverse shore;\nWho are these hapless youths, that dare to land,\nLeaving those soft, irriguous meads,\nWhere, his green margin fringed with reeds,\nEurotas rolls his ample tide,\nOr Dirce's hallow'd waters glide,\nAnd touch this barbarous, stranger-hating strand,\nThe altars where a virgin dews,\nAnd blood the pillar'd shrine imbrues?\n(antistrophe 1)\nDid they with oars impetuous sweep\n(Rank answering rank) the foamy deep,\nAnd wing their bark with flying sails,\nTo raise their humble fortune their desire;\nEager to catch the rising gales,\nTheir bosoms with the love of gain on fire?\nFor sweet is hope to man's fond breast;\nThe hope of gain, insatiate guest,\nThough on her oft attends Misfortune's train;\nFor daring man she tempts to brave\nThe dangers of the boisterous wave,\nAnd leads him heedless of his fate\nThrough many a distant barbarous state.\nVain his opinions, his pursuits are vain!\nBoundless o'er some her power is shown,\nBut some her temperate influence own.\n(strophe 2)\nHow did they pass the dangerous rocks\nClashing with rude, tremendous shocks?\nHow pass the savage-howling shore,\nWhere once the unhappy Phineus held his reign,\nAnd sleep affrighted flies its roar,\nSteering their rough course o'er this boisterous main,\nForm'd in a ring, beneath whose waves\nThe Nereid train in high arch'd caves\nWeave the light dance, and raise the sprightly song,\nWhile, whispering in their swelling sails,\nSoft Zephyrs breathe, or southern gales\nPiping amid their tackling play,\nAs their bark ploughs its watery way\nThose hoary cliffs, the haunts of birds, along,\nTo that wild strand, the rapid race\nWhere once Achilles deign'd to grace?\n(antistrophe 2)\nO that from Troy some chance would bear\nLeda's loved daughter, fatal fair\n(The royal virgin's vows are mine)\nThat her bright tresses roll'd in crimson dew,\nHer warm blood flowing at this shrine\nThe altar of the goddess might imbrue;\nAnd Vengeance, righteous to repay\nHer former mischiefs, seize her prey!\nBut with what rapture should I hear his voice,\nIf one this shore should reach from Greece,\nAnd bid the toils of slavery cease!\nOr might I in the hour of rest\nWith pleasing dreams of Greece be bless'd;\nSo in my house, my native land rejoice;\nIn sleep enjoy the pleasing strain\nFor happiness restored again (IPHIGENIA enters from the temple.)\nIPHIGENIA But the two youths, their hands fast bound in chains,\nThe late-seized victims to the goddess, come.\nSilence, my friends; for, destined at the shrine\nTo bleed, the Grecian strangers near approach;\nAnd no false tidings did the herdsman bring.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Goddess revered, if grateful to thy soul\nThis state presents such sacrifice, accept\nThe victims, which the custom of this land\nGives thee, but deem'd unholy by the Greeks. (Guards lead in ORESTES\nand PYLADES, bound.)\nIPHIGENIA No more; that to the goddess each due rite\nBe well perform'd shall be my care. Unchain\nThe strangers' hands; that, hallow'd as they are,\nThey may no more be bound. (The guards release ORESTES and PYLADES.)\nGo you, prepare\nWithin the temple what the rites require.\nUnhappy youths, what mother brought you forth,\nYour father who? Your sister, if perchance\nYe have a sister, of what youths deprived?\nFor brother she shall have no more. Who knows\nWhom such misfortunes may attend? For dark\nWhat the gods will creeps on; and none can tell\nThe ills to come: this fortune from the sight\nObscures. But, O unhappy strangers, say,\nWhence came you? Sail'd you long since for this land?\nBut long will be your absence from your homes,\nFor ever, in the dreary realms below.\nORESTES Lady, whoe'er thou art, why for these things\nDost thou lament? why mourn for ills, which soon\nWill fall on us? Him I esteem unwise,\nWho, when he sees death near, tries to o'ercome\nIts terrors with bewailings, without hope\nOf safety: ill he adds to ill, and makes\nHis folly known, yet dies. We must give way\nTo fortune; therefore mourn not thou for us:\nWe know, we are acquainted with your rites.\nIPHIGENIA Which of you by the name of Pylades\nIs call'd? This first it is my wish to know.\nORESTES If aught of pleasure that may give thee, he.\nIPHIGENIA A native of what Grecian state, declare.\nORESTES What profit knowing this wouldst thou obtain?\nIPHIGENIA And are you brothers, of one mother born?\nORESTES Brothers by friendship, lady, not by birth.\nIPHIGENIA To thee what name was by thy father given?\nORESTES With just cause I Unhappy might be call'd.\nIPHIGENIA I ask not that; to fortune that ascribe.\nORESTES Dying unknown, rude scoffs I shall avoid.\nIPHIGENIA Wilt thou refuse? Why are thy thoughts so high?\nORESTES My body thou mayst kill, but not my name.\nIPHIGENIA Wilt thou not say a native of what state?\nORESTES The question naught avails, since I must die.\nIPHIGENIA What hinders thee from granting me this grace?\nORESTES The illustrious Argos I my country boast.\nIPHIGENIA By the gods, stranger, is thy birth from thence?\nORESTES My birth is from Mycenae, once the bless'd.\nIPHIGENIA Dost thou an exile fly, or by what fate?\nORESTES Of my free will, in part not free, I fly.\nIPHIGENIA Wilt thou then tell me what I wish to know?\nORESTES Whate'er is foreign to my private griefs.\nIPHIGENIA To my dear wish from Argos art thou come.\nORESTES Not to my wish; but if to thine, enjoy it.\nIPHIGENIA Troy, whose fame spreads so wide, perchance thou know'st.\nORESTES O that I ne'er had known her, ev'n in dreams!\nIPHIGENIA They say she is no more, by war destroy'd.\nORESTES It is so: you have heard no false reports.\nIPHIGENIA Is Helena with Menelaus return'd?\nORESTES She is; and one I love her coming rues.\nIPHIGENIA Where is she? Me too she of old hath wrong'd.\nORESTES At Sparta with her former lord she dwells.\nIPHIGENIA By Greece, and not by me alone abhorr'd!\nORESTES I from her nuptials have my share of grief.\nIPHIGENIA And are the Greeks, as Fame reports, return'd?\nORESTES How briefly all things dost thou ask at once!\nIPHIGENIA This favour, ere thou die, I wish to obtain.\nORESTES Ask, then: since such thy wish, I will inform thee.\nIPHIGENIA Calchas, a prophet,-came he back from Troy?\nORESTES He perish'd at Mycenae such the fame.\nIPHIGENIA Goddess revered! But doth Ulysses live?\nORESTES He lives, they say, but is not yet return'd.\nIPHIGENIA Perish the wretch, nor see his country more!\nORESTES Wish him not ill, for all with him is ill.\nIPHIGENIA But doth the son of sea-born Thetis live?\nORESTES He lives not: vain his nuptial rites at Aulis.\nIPHIGENIA That all was fraud, as those who felt it say.\nORESTES But who art thou, inquiring thus of Greece?\nIPHIGENIA I am from thence, in early youth undone.\nORESTES Thou hast a right to inquire what there hath pass'd.\nIPHIGENIA What know'st thou of the chief, men call the bless'd?\nORESTES Who? Of the bless'd was not the chief I knew.\nIPHIGENIA The royal Agamemnon, son of Atreus.\nORESTES Of him I know not, lady; cease to ask.\nIPHIGENIA Nay, by the gods, tell me, and cheer my soul.\nORESTES He's dead, the unhappy chief: no single ill.\nIPHIGENIA Dead! By what adverse fate? O wretched me!\nORESTES Why mourn for this? How doth it touch thy breast?\nIPHIGENIA The glories of his former state I mourn.\nORESTES Dreadfully murdered by a woman's hand.\nIPHIGENIA How wretched she that slew him, he thus slain!\nORESTES Now then forbear: of him inquire no more.\nIPHIGENIA This only: lives the unhappy monarch's wife?\nORESTES She, lady, is no more, slain by her son.\nIPHIGENIA Alas, the ruin'd house! What his intent?\nORESTES To avenge on her his noble father slain.\nIPHIGENIA An ill, but righteous deed, how justly done!\nORESTES Though righteous, by the gods be is not bless'd.\nIPHIGENIA Hath Agamemnon other offspring left?\nORESTES He left one virgin daughter, named Electra.\nIPHIGENIA Of her that died a victim is aught said?\nORESTES This only, dead, she sees the light no more.\nIPHIGENIA Unhappy she! the father too who slew her!\nORESTES For a bad woman she unseemly died.\nIPHIGENIA At Argos lives the murdered father's son?\nORESTES Nowhere he lives, poor wretch! and everywhere.\nIPHIGENIA False dreams, farewell; for nothing you import.\nORESTES Nor are those gods, that have the name of wise,\nLess false than fleeting dreams. In things divine,\nAnd in things human, great confusion reigns.\nOne thing is left; that, not unwise of soul,\nObedient to the prophet's voice he perish'd;\nFor that he perish'd, they who know report.\nLEADER What shall we know, what of our parents know?\nIf yet they live or not, who can inform us?\nIPHIGENIA Hear me: this converse prompts a thought, which gives\nPromise of good, ye youths of Greece, to you,\nTo these, and me: thus may it well be done,\nIf, willing to my purpose, all assent.\nWilt thou, if I shall save thee, go for me\nA messenger to Argos, to my friends\nCharged with a letter, which a captive wrote,\nWho pitied me, nor murderous thought my hand,\nBut that he died beneath the law, these rites\nThe goddess deeming just? for from that hour\nI have not found who might to Argos bear\nHimself my message, back with life return'd,\nOr send to any of my friends my letter.\nThou, therefore, since it seems thou dost not bear\nIll-will to me, and dost Mycenae know,\nAnd those I wish to address, be safe, and live,\nNo base reward for a light letter, life\nReceiving; and let him, since thus the state\nRequires, without thee to the goddess bleed.\nORESTES Virgin unknown, well hast thou said in all\nSave this, that to the goddess he should bleed\nA victim; that were heavy grief indeed.\nI steer'd the vessel to these ills; he sail'd\nAttendant on my toils: to gain thy grace\nBy his destruction, and withdraw myself\nFrom sufferings, were unjust: thus let it be:\nGive him the letter; to fulfil thy wish,\nTo Argos he will bear it: me let him\nWho claims that office, slay: base is his soul,\nWho in calamities involves his friends,\nAnd saves himself; this is a friend, whose life,\nDear to me as my own, I would preserve.\nIPHIGENIA Excellent spirit! from some noble root\nIt shows thee sprung, and to thy friends a friend\nSincere; of those that share my blood if one\nRemains, such may he be! for I am not\nWithout a brother, strangers, from my sight\nThough distant now. Since then thy wish is such,\nHim will I send to Argos; he shall bear\nMy letter; thou shalt die; for this desire\nHath strong possession of thy noble soul.\nORESTES Who then shall do the dreadful deed, and slay me?\nIPHIGENIA I: to atone the goddess is my charge.\nORESTES A charge unenvied, virgin, and unbless'd.\nIPHIGENIA Necessity constrains: I must obey.\nORESTES Wilt thou, a woman, plunge the sword in men?\nIPHIGENIA No: but thy locks to sprinkle round is mine.\nORESTES Whose then, if I may ask, the bloody deed?\nIPHIGENIA To some within the temple this belongs.\nORESTES What tomb is destined to receive my corse?\nIPHIGENIA The hallow'd fire within, and a dark cave.\nORESTES O, that a sister's hand might wrap these limbs!\nIPHIGENIA Vain wish, unhappy youth, whoe'er thou art,\nHast thou conceived; for from this barbarous land\nFar is her dwelling. Yet, of what my power\nPermits (since thou from Argos draw'st thy birth,)\nNo grace will I omit: for in the tomb\nI will place much of ornament, and pour\nThe dulcet labour of the yellow bee,\nFrom mountain flowers extracted, on thy pyre.\nBut I will go, and from the temple bring\nThe letter; yet 'gainst me no hostile thought\nConceive. You, that attend here, guard them well,\nBut without chains. To one, whom most I love\nOf all my friends, to Argos I shall send\nTidings perchance unlook'd for; and this letter,\nDeclaring those whom he thought dead alive,\nShall bear him an assured and solid joy. (She enters the temple.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Thee, o'er whose limbs the bloody drops shall\nsoon\nBe from the lavers sprinkled, I lament.\nORESTES This asks no pity, strangers: but farewell.\nCHORUS (chanting) Thee for thy happy fate we reverence, youth\nWho to thy country shall again return.\nPYLADES To friends unwish'd, who leave their friends to die.\nCHORUS (chanting) Painful dismission! Which shall I esteem\nMost lost, alas, alas! which most undone?\nFor doubts my wavering judgment yet divide,\nIf chief for thee my sighs should swell, or thee.\nORESTES By the gods, Pylades, is thy mind touch'd\nIn manner like as mine?\nPYLADES I cannot tell;\nNor to thy question have I to reply.\nORESTES Who is this virgin? With what zeal for Greece\nMade she inquiries of us what the toils\nAt Troy, if yet the Grecians were return'd,\nAnd Calchas, from the flight of birds who form'd\nPresages of the future. And she named\nAchilles: with what tenderness bewail'd\nThe unhappy Agamemnon! Of his wife\nShe ask'd me,-of his children: thence her race\nThis unknown virgin draws, an Argive; else\nNe'er would she send this letter, nor have wish'd\nTo know these things, as if she bore a share\n(If Argos flourish) in its prosperous state.\nPYLADES Such were my thoughts (but thou hast given them words, Preventing\nme) of every circumstance,\nSave one: the fate of kings all know, whose state\nHolds aught of rank. But pass to other thoughts.\nORESTES What? Share them; so thou best mayst be inform'd.\nPYLADES That thou shouldst die, and I behold this light,\nWere base: with thee I sail'd, with thee to die\nBecomes me; else shall I obtain the name\nOf a vile coward through the Argive state,\nAnd the deep vales of Phocis. Most will think\n(For most think ill) that by betraying the\nI saved myself, home to return alone;\nOr haply that I slew thee, and thy death\nContrived, that in the ruin of thy house\nThy empire I might grasp, to me devolved\nAs wedded to thy sister, now sole heir.\nThese things I fear, and hold them infamous.\nBehooves me then with thee to die, with the\nTo bleed a victim, on the pyre with thine\nTo give my body to the flames; for this\nBecomes me as thy friend. who dreads reproach.\nORESTES Speak more auspicious words: 'tis mine to bear\nIlls that are mine; and single when the wo,\nI would not bear it double. What thou say'st\nIs vile and infamous, would light on me,\nShould I cause thee to die, who in my toils\nHast borne a share: to me, who from the gods\nSuffer afflictions which I suffer, death\nIs not unwelcome: thou art happy, thine\nAn unpolluted and a prosperous house;\nMine impious and unbless'd: if thou art saved,\nAnd from my sister (whom I gave to thee,\nBetroth'd thy bride) art bless'd with sons, my name\nMay yet remain, nor all my father's house\nIn total ruin sink. Go then, and live:\nDwell in the mansion of thy ancestors:\nAnd when thou comest to Greece, to Argos famed\nFor warrior-steeds, by this right hand I charge the\nRaise a sepulchral mound, and on it place\nA monument to me; and to my tomb\nHer tears, her tresses let my sister give;\nAnd say, that by an Argive woman's hand\nI perish'd, to the altar's bloody rites\nA hallow'd victim. Never let thy soul\nBetray my sister, for thou seest her state,\nOf friends how destitute, her father's house\nHow desolate. Farewell. Of all my friends,\nThee have I found most friendly, from my youth\nTrain'd up with me, in all my sylvan sports\nThou dear associate, and through many toils\nThou faithful partner of my miseries.\nMe Phoebus, though a prophet, hath deceived,\nAnd, meditating guile, hath driven me far\nFrom Greece, of former oracles ashamed;\nTo him resign'd, obedient to his words,\nI slew my mother, and my meed is death.\nPYLADES Yes, I will raise thy tomb: thy sister's bed\nI never will betray, unhappy youth,\nFor I will hold thee dearer when thou art dead,\nThan while thou livest; nor hath yet the voice\nOf Phoebus quite destroy'd thee, though thou stand\nTo sometimes mighty but sometimes mighty woes\nYield mighty changes, so when Fortune wills.\nORESTES Forbear: the words of Phoebus naught avail me;\nFor, passing from the shrine, the virgin comes. (IPHIGENIA enters\nfrom the temple. She is carrying a letter.)\nIPHIGENIA (to the guards) Go you away, and in the shrine prepare\nWhat those, who o'er the rites preside, require. (The guards go into\nthe temple.) Here, strangers, is the letter folded close:\nWhat I would further, hear. The mind of man\nIn dangers, and again, from fear relieved,\nOf safety when assured, is not the same:\nI therefore fear lest he, who should convey\nTo Argos this epistle, when return'd\nSafe to his native country, will neglect\nMy letter, as a thing of little worth.\nORESTES What wouldst thou then? What is thy anxious thought?\nIPHIGENIA This: let him give an oath that he will bear\nTo Argos this epistle to those friends,\nTo whom it is my ardent wish to send it.\nORESTES And wilt thou in return give him thy oath?\nIPHIGENIA That I will do, or will not do, say what.\nORESTES To send him from this barbarous shore alive.\nIPHIGENIA That's just: how should he bear my letter else?\nORESTES But will the monarch to these things assent?\nIPHIGENIA By me induced. Him I will see embark'd.\nORESTES Swear then; and thou propose the righteous oath.\nIPHIGENIA This, let him say, he to my friends will give.\nPYLADES Well, to thy friends this letter I will give.\nIPHIGENIA Thee will I send safe through the darkening rocks.\nPYLADES What god dost thou invoke to attest thy oath?\nIPHIGENIA Diana, at whose shrine high charge I hold.\nPYLADES And I heaven's potent king, the awful Jove.\nIPHIGENIA But if thou slight thy oath, and do me wrong?\nPYLADES Never may I return. But if thou fail,\nAnd save me not?\nIPHIGENIA Then never, while I live,\nMay I revisit my loved Argos more!\nPYLADES One thing, not mention'd, thy attention claims.\nIPHIGENIA If honour owes it, this will touch us both.\nPYLADES Let me in this be pardon'd, if the bark\nBe lost, and with it in the surging waves\nThy letter perish, and I naked gain\nThe shore; no longer binding be the oath.\nIPHIGENIA Know'st thou what I will do? For various ills\nArise to those that plough the dangerous deep.\nWhat in this letter is contain'd, what here\nIs written, all I will repeat to thee,\nThat thou mayst bear my message to my friends.\n'Gainst danger thus I guard: if thou preserve\nThe letter, that though silent will declare\nMy purport; if it perish in the sea,\nSaving thyself, my words too thou wilt save.\nPYLADES Well hast thou said touching the gods and me.\nSay then to whom at Argos shall I bear\nThis letter? What relate as heard from thee?\nIPHIGENIA (reading) This message to Orestes, to the son\nOf Agamemnon, bear:-She, who was slain\nAt Aulis, Iphigenia, sends thee this:\nShe lives, but not to those who then were there.\nORESTES Where is she? From the dead return'd to life?\nIPHIGENIA She whom thou seest: but interrupt me not.\nTo Argos, O my brother, ere I die,\nBear me from this barbaric land, and far\nRemove me from this altar's bloody rites,\nAt which to slay the stranger is my charge.-\nORESTES What shall I say? Where are we, Pylades?\nIPHIGENIA Or on thy house for vengeance will I call,\nOrestes. Twice repeated, learn the name.\nORESTES Ye gods!\nIPHIGENIA In my cause why invoke the gods?\nORESTES Nothing: proceed: my thoughts were wandering wide:\nStrange things of thee unask'd I soon shall learn.\nIPHIGENIA Tell him the goddess saved me, in exchange\nA hind presenting, which my father slew\nA victim, deeming that he plunged his sword\nDeep in my breast: me in this land she placed.\nThou hast my charge: and this my letter speaks.\nPYLADES O, thou hast bound me with an easy oath:\nWhat I have sworn with honest purpose, long\nDefer I not, but thus discharge mine oath.\nTo thee a letter from thy sister, lo,\nI bear, Orestes; and I give it thee. (PYLADES hands the letter to\nORESTES.)\nORESTES I do receive it, but forbear to unclose its foldings, greater\npleasure first to enjoy\nThan words can give. My sister, O most dear,\nAstonish'd ev'n to disbelief, I throw\nMine arms around thee with a fond embrace,\nIn transport at the wondrous things I hear.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Stranger, thou dost not well with hands profane\nThus to pollute the priestess of the shrine,\nGrasping her garments hallow'd from the touch.\nORESTES My sister, my dear sister, from one sire,\nFrom Agamemnon sprung, turn not away,\nHolding thy brother thus beyond all hope.\nIPHIGENIA My brother! Thou my brother! Wilt thou not\nUnsay these words? At Argos far he dwells.\nORESTES Thy brother, O unhappy! is not there.\nIPHIGENIA Thee did the Spartan Tyndarus bring forth?\nORESTES And from the son of Pelops' son I sprung,\nIPHIGENIA What say'st thou? Canst thou give me proof of this?\nORESTES I can: ask something of my father's house.\nIPHIGENIA Nay, it is thine to speak, mine to attend.\nORESTES First let me mention things which I have heard\nElectra speak: to thee is known the strife\nWhich fierce 'twixt Atreus and Thyestes rose.\nIPHIGENIA Yes, I have heard it; for the golden ram,-\nORESTES In the rich texture didst thou not inweave it?\nIPHIGENIA O thou most dear! Thou windest near my heart.\nORESTES And image in the web the averted sun?\nIPHIGENIA In the fine threads that figure did I work.\nORESTES For Aulis did thy mother bathe thy limbs?\nIPHIGENIA I know it, to unlucky spousals led.\nORESTES Why to thy mother didst thou send thy locks?\nIPHIGENIA Devoted for my body to the tomb.\nORESTES What I myself have seen I now as proofs\nWill mention. In thy father's house, hung high\nWithin thy virgin chambers, the old spear\nOf Pelops, which he brandish'd when he slew\nOenomaus, and won his beauteous bride,\nThe virgin Hippodamia, Pisa's boast.\nIPHIGENIA O thou most dear (for thou art he,) most dear\nAcknowledged, thee, Orestes, do I hold,\nFrom Argos, from thy country distant far?\nORESTES And hold I thee, my sister, long deem'd dead?\nGrief mix'd with joy, and tears, not taught by woe\nTo rise, stand melting in thy eyes and mine.\nIPHIGENIA Thee yet an infant in thy nurse's arms\nI left, a babe I left thee in the house.\nThou art more happy, O my soul, than speech\nKnows to express. What shall I say? 'tis all\nSurpassing wonder and the power of words.\nORESTES May we together from this hour be bless'd!\nIPHIGENIA An unexpected pleasure, O my friends,\nHave I received; yet fear I from my hands\nLest to the air it fly. O sacred hearths\nRaised by the Cyclops! O my country, loved\nMycenae! Now that thou didst give me birth,\nT thank thee; now I thank thee, that my youth\nThou trainedst, since my brother thou has train'd,\nA beam of light, the glory of his house.\nORESTES We in our race are happy; but our life,\nMy sister, by misfortunes is unhappy.\nIPHIGENIA I was, I know, unhappy, when the sword\nMy father, frantic, pointed at my neck.\nORESTES Ah me! methinks ev'n now I see thee there.\nIPHIGENIA When to Achilles, brother, not a bride,\nI to the sacrifice by guile was led,\nAnd tears and groans the altar compass'd round.\nORESTES Alas, the lavers there!\nIPHIGENIA I mourn'd the deed\nMy father dared; unlike a father's love;\nCruel, unlike a father's love, to me.\nORESTES Ill deeds succeed to ill: if thou hadst slain\nThy brother, by some god impell'd, what griefs\nMust have been thine at such a dreadful deed!\nIPHIGENIA (chanting) Dreadful my brother, O how dreadful! scarce\nHast thou escaped a foul, unhallow'd death,\nSlain by my hands. But how will these things end?\nWhat Fortune will assist me? What safe means\nShall I devise to send thee from this state,\nFrom slaughter, to thy native land, to Argos,\nEre with thy blood the cruel sword be stain'd?\nThis to devise, O my unhappy soul!\nThis to devise is thine. Wilt thou by land,\nThy bark deserted, speed thy flight on foot?\nPerils await thee mid these barbarous tribes,\nThrough pathless wilds; and 'twixt the clashing rocks,\nNarrow the passage for the flying bark,\nAnd long. Unhappy, ah, unhappy me!\nWhat god, what mortal, what unlook'd-for chance\nWill expedite our dangerous way, and show\nTwo sprung from Atreus a release from ills?\nLEADER What having seen and heard I shall relate,\nIs marvellous, and passes fabling tales.\nPYLADES When after absence long, Orestes, friend\nMeets friend, embraces will express their joy.\nBehooves us now, bidding farewell to grief,\nAnd heedful to obtain the glorious name\nOf safety, from this barbarous land to fly.\nThe wise, of fortune not regardless, seize\nThe occasion, and to happiness advance.\nORESTES Well hast thou said; and Fortune here, I ween,\nWill aid us; to the firm and strenuous mind\nMore potent works the influence divine.\nIPHIGENIA Nothing shall check, nothing restrain my speech:\nFirst will I question thee what fortune waits\nElectra: this to know would yield me joy.\nORESTES With him (pointing to Pylades) she dwells, and happy is\nher life,\nIPHIGENIA Whence then is he? and from what father sprung?\nORESTES From Phocis: Strophius is his father named.\nIPHIGENIA By Atreus' daughter to my blood allied?\nORESTES Nearly allied: my only faithful friend.\nIPHIGENIA He was not then, me when my father slew.\nORESTES Childless was Strophius for some length of time.\nIPHIGENIA O thou, the husband of my sister, hail\nORESTES More than relation, my preserver too.\nIPHIGENIA But to thy mother why that dreadful deed?\nORESTES Of that no more: to avenge my father's death.\nIPHIGENIA But for what cause did she her husband slay?\nORESTES Of her inquire not: thou wouldst blush to hear.\nIPHIGENIA The eyes of Argos now are raised to thee.\nORESTES There Menelaus is lord; I, outcast, fly.\nIPHIGENIA Hath he then wrong'd his brother's ruin'd house?\nORESTES Not so: the Furies fright me from the land.\nIPHIGENIA The madness this, which seized thee on the shore?\nORESTES I was not first beheld unhappy there.\nIPHIGENIA Stern powers! they haunt thee for thy mother's blood.\nORESTES And ruthless make me champ the bloody bit.\nIPHIGENIA Why to this region has thou steer'd thy course?\nORESTES Commanded by Apollo's voice, I come.\nIPHIGENIA With what intent? if that may be disclosed.\nORESTES I will inform thee, though to length of speech\nThis leads. When vengeance from my hands o'ertook\nMy mother's deeds-foul deeds, which let me pass\nIn silence-by the Furies' fierce assaults\nTo flight I was impell'd: to Athens then\nApollo sent me, that, my cause there heard,\nI might appease the vengeful powers, whose names\nMay not be utter'd: the tribunal there\nIs holy, which for Mars, when stain'd with blood,\nJove in old times establish'd. There arrived,\nNone willingly received me, by the gods\nAs one abhorr'd; and they, who felt the touch\nOf shame, the hospitable board alone\nYielded; and though one common roof beneath,\nTheir silence showing they disdain'd to hold\nConverse with me, I took from them apart\nA lone repast; to each was placed a bowl\nOf the same measure; this they filled with wine,\nAnd bathed their spirits in delight. Unmeet\nI deem'd it to express offence at those\nWho entertain'd me, but in silence grieved,\nShowing a cheer as though I mark'd it not,\nAnd sigh'd for that I shed my mother's blood.\nA feast, I hear, at Athens is ordain'd\nFrom this my evil plight, ev'n yet observed,\nIn which the equal-measured bowl then used\nIs by that people held in honour high.\nBut when to the tribunal on the mount\nOf Mars I came, one stand I took, and one\nThe eldest of the Furies opposite:\nThe cause was heard touching my mother's blood,\nAnd Phoebus saved me by his evidence:\nEqual, by Pallas number'd, were the votes\nAnd I from doom of blood victorious freed\nSuch of the Furies as there sat, appeased\nBy the just sentence, nigh the court resolved\nTo fix their seat; but others, whom the law\nAppeased not, with relentless tortures still\nPursued me, till I reach'd the hallow'd soil\nOf Phoebus: stretch'd before his shrine, I swore\nFoodless to waste my wretched life away,\nUnless the god, by whom I was undone,\nWould save me: from the golden tripod burst\nThe voice divine, and sent me to this shore,\nCommanding me to bear the image hence,\nWhich fell from Jove, and in the Athenian land\nTo fix it. What the oracular voice assign'd\nMy safety, do thou aid: if we obtain\nThe statue of the goddess, I no more\nWith madness shall be tortured, but this arm\nShall place thee in my bark, which ploughs the waves\nWith many an oar, and to Mycenae safe\nBear thee again. Show then a sister's love,\nO thou most dear; preserve thy father's house,\nPreserve me too; for me destruction waits,\nAnd all the race of Pelops, if we bear not\nThis heaven-descended image from the shrine.\nLEADER The anger of the gods hath raged severe,\nAnd plunged the race of Tantalus in woes.\nIPHIGENIA Ere thy arrival here, a fond desire\nTo be again at Argos, and to see\nThee, my loved brother, fill'd my soul. Thy wish\nIs my warm wish, to free thee from thy toils,\nAnd from its ruins raise my father's house;\nNor harbour I 'gainst him, that slew me, thought\nOf harsh resentment: from thy blood my hands\nWould I keep pure, thy house I would preserve.\nBut from the goddess how may this be hid?\nThe tyrant too I fear, when he shall find\nThe statue on its marble base no more.\nWhat then from death will save me? What excuse\nShall I devise? Yet by one daring deed\nMight these things be achieved: couldst thou bear hence\nThe image, me too in thy gallant bark\nPlacing secure, how glorious were the attempt!\nMe if thou join not with thee, I am lost\nIndeed; but thou, with prudent measures form'd,\nReturn. I fly no danger, not ev'n death,\nBe death required, to save thee: no: the man\nDying is mourn'd, as to his house a loss;\nBut woman's weakness is of light esteem.\nORESTES I would not be the murderer of my mother,\nAnd of thee too; sufficient is her blood.\nNo; I will share thy fortune, live with thee,\nOr with thee die: to Argos I will lead thee,\nIf here I perish not; or dying, here\nRemain with thee. But what my mind suggests,\nHear: if Diana were averse to this,\nHow could the voice of Phoebus from his shrine\nDeclare that to the state of Pallas hence\nThe statue of the goddess I should bear,\nAnd see thy face? All this, together weigh'd,\nGives hope of fair success, and our return.\nIPHIGENIA But how effect it, that we neither die,\nAnd what we wish achieve? For our return\nOn this depends: this claims deliberate thought.\nORESTES Have we not means to work the tyrant's death?\nIPHIGENIA For strangers full of peril were the attempt.\nORESTES Thee would it save and me, it must be dared.\nIPHIGENIA I could not: yet thy promptness I approve.\nORESTES What if thou lodge me in the shrine conceal'd?\nIPHIGENIA That in the shades of night we may escape?\nORESTES Night is a friend to frauds, the light to truth.\nIPHIGENIA Within are sacred guards; we 'scape not them.\nORESTES Ruin then waits us: how can we be saved?\nIPHIGENIA I think I have some new and safe device.\nORESTES What is it? Let me know: impart thy thought,\nIPHIGENIA Thy sufferings for my purpose I will use,-\nORESTES To form devices quick is woman's wit.\nIPHIGENIA And say, thy mother slain, thou fledd'st from Argos.\nORESTES If to aught good, avail thee of my ills.\nIPHIGENIA Unmeet then at this shrine to offer thee.\nORESTES What cause alleged? I reach not thine intent.\nIPHIGENIA As now impure: when hallow'd, I will slay thee.\nORESTES How is the image thus more promptly gain'd?\nIPHIGENIA Thee I will hallow in the ocean waves.\nORESTES The statue we would gain is in the temple.\nIPHIGENIA That, by thy touch polluted, I would cleanse.\nORESTES Where? On the watery margin of the main?\nIPHIGENIA Where thy tall bark secured with cables rides.\nORESTES And who shall bear the image in his hands?\nIPHIGENIA Myself; profaned by any touch, but mine.\nORESTES What of this blood shall on my friend be charged?\nIPHIGENIA His hands, it shall be said, like thine are stain'd.\nORESTES In secret this, or to the king disclosed?\nIPHIGENIA With his assent; I cannot hide it from him.\nORESTES My bark with ready oars attends thee near.\nIPHIGENIA That all be well appointed, be thy charge.\nORESTES One thing alone remains; that these conceal\nOur purpose: but address them, teach thy tongue\nPersuasive words: a woman hath the power\nTo melt the heart to pity: thus perchance\nAll things may to our warmest wish succeed.\nIPHIGENIA Ye train of females, to my soul most dear,\nOn you mine eyes are turn'd, on you depends\nMy fate; with prosperous fortune to be bless'd,\nOr to be nothing, to my country lost,\nOf a dear kinsman and a much-loved brother\nDeprived. This plea I first would urge, that we\nAre women, and have hearts by nature form'd\nTo love each other, of our mutual trusts\nMost firm preservers. Touching our design,\nBe silent, and assist our flight: naught claims\nMore honour than the faithful tongue. You see\nHow the same fortune links us three, most dear\nEach to the other, to revisit safe\nOur country, or to die. If I am saved,\nThat thou mayst share my fortune, I to Greece\nWill bring thee safe: but thee by this right hand,\nThee I conjure, and thee; by this loved cheek\nThee, by thy knees, by all that in your house\nIs dearest to you, father, mother, child,\nIf you have children. What do you reply?\nWhich of you speaks assent? Or which dissents?\nBut be you all assenting: for my plea\nIf you approve not, ruin falls on me,\nAnd my unhappy brother too must die.\nLEADER Be confident, loved lady and consult\nOnly thy safety: all thou givest in charge,\nBe witness, mighty Jove, I will conceal.\nIPHIGENIA O, for this generous promise be you bless'd. (To ORESTES\nand PYLADES) To enter now the temple be thy part,\nAnd thine: for soon the monarch of the land\nWill come, inquiring if the strangers yet\nHave bow'd their necks as victims at the shrine.\nGoddess revered, who in the dreadful bay\nOf Aulis from my father's slaughtering hand\nDidst save me; save me now, and these: through thee,\nElse will the voice of Phoebus be no more\nHeld true by mortals. From this barbarous land\nTo Athens go propitious: here to dwell\nBeseems thee not; thine be a polish'd state! (ORESTES, PYLADES, and\nIPHIGENIA enter the temple.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nO bird, that round each craggy height\nProjecting o'er the sea below,\nWheelest thy melancholy flight,\nThy song attuned to notes of woe;\nThe wise thy tender sorrows own,\nWhich thy lost lord unceasing moan;\nLike thine, sad halcyon, be my strain,\nA bird, that have no wings to fly:\nWith fond desire for Greece I sigh,\nAnd for my much-loved social train;\nSigh for Diana, pitying maid,\nWho joys to rove o'er Cynthus' heights.\nOr in the branching laurel's shade,\nOr in the soft-hair'd palm delights,\nOr the hoar olive's sacred boughs,\nLenient of sad Latona's woes;\nOr in the lake, that rolls its wave\nWhere swans their plumage love to lave;\nThen, to the Muses soaring high,\nThe homage pay of melody.\n(antistrophe 1)\nYe tears, what frequent-falling showers\nRoll'd down these cheeks in streams of woe,\nWhen in the dust my country's towers\nLay levell'd by the conquering foe;\nAnd, to their spears a prey, their oars\nBrought me to these barbaric shores!\nFor gold exchanged, a traffic base,\nNo vulgar slave, the task is mine,\nHere at Diana's awful shrine,\nWho loves the woodland hind to chase,\nThe virgin priestess to attend,\nDaughter of rich Mycenae's lord;\nAt other shrines her wish to bend,\nWhere bleeds the victim less abhorr'd:\nNo respite to her griefs she knows;\nNot so the heart inured to woes,\nAs train'd to sorrow's rigid lore:\nNow comes a change; it mourns no more:\nBut lo long bliss when ill succeeds,\nThe anguish'd heart for ever bleeds.\n(strophe 2)\nThee, loved virgin, freed from fear\nHome the Argive bark shall bear:\nMountain Pan, with thrilling strain,\nTo the oars that dash the main\nIn just cadence well agreed,\nShall accord his wax-join'd reed:\nPhoebus, with a prophet's fire\nSweeping o'er his seven-string'd lyre,\nAnd his voice attuning high\nTo the swelling harmony,\nThee shall guide the wild waves o'er\nTo the soft Athenian shore.\nLeaving me, thy oars shall sweep\nEager o'er the foaming deep:\nThou shalt catch the rising gales\nSwelling in thy firm-bound sails;\nAnd thy bark in gallant pride\nLight shall o'er the billows glide.\n(antistrophe 2)\nMight I through the lucid air\nFly where rolls yon flaming car,\nO'er those loved and modest bowers,\nWhere I pass'd my youthful hours,\nI would stay my weary flight,\nWave no more my pennons light,\nBut, amid the virgin band,\nOnce my loved companions, stand:\nOnce mid them my charms could move,\nBlooming then, the flames of love;\nWhen the mazy dance I trod,\nWhile with joy my mother glow'd;\nWhen to vie in grace was mine,\nAnd in splendid robes to shine;\nFor, with radiant tints impress'd,\nGlow'd for me the gorgeous vest;\nAnd these tresses gave new grace,\nAs their ringlets shade my face. (THOAS and his retinue enter.)\nTHOAS Where is the Grecian lady, to whose charge\nThis temple is committed? Have her rites\nHallow'd the strangers? Do their bodies burn\nIn the recesses of the sacred shrine?\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS She comes, and will inform thee, king, of all.\n(IPHIGENIA comes out of the temple. She is carrying the sacred statue\nof Diana.)\nTHOAS Daughter of Agamemnon, what means this?\nThe statue of the goddess in thine arms\nWhy dost thou bear, from its firm base removed?\nIPHIGENIA There in the portal, monarch, stay thy step.\nTHOAS What of strange import in the shrine hath chanced?\nIPHIGENIA Things ominous: that word I, holy, speak.\nTHOAS To what is tuned thy proem? Plainly speak.\nIPHIGENIA Not pure the victims, king, you lately seized.\nTHOAS What showd thee this? Or speak'st thou but thy thought?\nIPHIGENIA Back turn'd the sacred image on its base.\nTHOAS Spontaneous turn'd, or by an earthquake moved?\nIPHIGENIA Spontaneous, and, averted, closed its eyes.\nTHOAS What was the cause? The blood-stain'd stranger's guilt?\nIPHIGENIA That, and naught else; for horrible their deeds.\nTHOAS What, have they slain some Scythian on the shore?\nIPHIGENIA They came polluted with domestic blood.\nTHOAS What blood? I have a strong desire to know.\nIPHIGENIA They slew their mother with confederate swords.\nTHOAS O Phoebus! This hath no barbarian dared.\nIPHIGENIA All Greece indignant chased them from her realms.\nTHOAS Bear'st thou for this the image from the shrine?\nIPHIGENIA To the pure air, from stain of blood removed.\nTHOAS By what means didst thou know the stranger's guilt?\nIPHIGENIA I learn'd it as the statue started back.\nTHOAS Greece train'd thee wise: this well hast thou discern'd.\nIPHIGENIA Now with sweet blandishments they soothe my soul.\nTHOAS Some glozing tale from Argos telling thee?\nIPHIGENIA I have one brother: he, they say, lives happy,-\nTHOAS That thou mayst save them for their pleasing news?\nIPHIGENIA And that my father lives, by fortune bless'd.\nTHOAS But on the goddess well thy thoughts are turn'd.\nIPHIGENIA I hate all Greece; for it hath ruin'd me.\nTHOAS What with the strangers, say then, should be done?\nIPHIGENIA The law ordain'd in reverence we must hold.\nTHOAS Are then thy lavers ready, and the sword?\nIPHIGENIA First I would cleanse them with ablutions pure.\nTHOAS In fountain waters, or the ocean wave?\nIPHIGENIA All man's pollutions doth the salt sea cleanse.\nTHOAS More holy to the goddess will they bleed.\nIPHIGENIA And better what I have in charge advance.\nTHOAS Doth not the wave ev'n 'gainst the temple beat?\nIPHIGENIA This requires solitude: more must I do.\nTHOAS Lead where thou wilt: on secret rite I pry not.\nIPHIGENIA The image of the goddess I must cleanse.\nTHOAS If it be stain'd with touch of mother's blood.\nIPHIGENIA I could not else have borne it from its base.\nTHOAS Just is thy provident and pious thought;\nFor this by all the state thou art revered.\nIPHIGENIA Know'st thou what next I would?\nTHOAS 'Tis thine thy will\nTo signify.\nIPHIGENIA Give for these strangers chains.\nTHOAS To what place can they fly?\nIPHIGENIA A Grecian knows\nNaught faithful.\nTHOAS Of my train go some for chains. (Some attendants go out.)\nIPHIGENIA Let them lead forth the strangers.\nTHOAS Be it so,\nIPHIGENIA And veil their faces.\nTHOAS From the sun's bright beams?\nIPHIGENIA Some of thy train send with me.\nTHOAS These shall go,\nAttending thee.\nIPHIGENIA One to the city send.\nTHOAS With what instructions charged?\nIPHIGENIA That all remain\nWithin their houses.\nTHOAS That the stain of blood\nThey meet not?\nIPHIGENIA These things have pollution in them.\nTHOAS Go thou, and bear the instructions. (An attendant departs.)\nIPHIGENIA That none come\nIn sight,\nTHOAS How wisely careful for the city!\nIPHIGENIA Warn our friends most.\nTHOAS This speaks thy care for me.\nIPHIGENIA Stay thou before the shrine.\nTHOAS To what intent?\nIPHIGENIA Cleanse it with lustral fires.\nTHOAS That thy return\nMay find it pure?\nIPHIGENIA But when the strangers come\nForth from the temple,-\nTHOAS What must I then do?\nIPHIGENIA Spread o'er thine eyes a veil.\nTHOAS That I receive not\nPollution?\nIPHIGENIA Tedious if my stay appear,-\nTHOAS What bounds may be assign'd?\nIPHIGENIA Deem it not strange.\nTHOAS At leisure what the rites require perform.\nIPHIGENIA May this lustration as I wish succeed!\nTHOAS Thy wish is mine. (ORESTES and PYLADES, bound, are led from\nthe temple in solemn procession by the guards. THOAS and his retinue\nveil their heads as it slowly moves past.)\nIPHIGENIA (chanting) But from the temple, see,\nThe strangers come, the sacred ornaments,\nThe hallow'd lambs-for I with blood must wash\nThis execrable blood away,-the light\nOf torches, and what else my rites require\nTo purify these strangers to the goddess.\nBut to the natives of this land my voice\nProclaims, from this pollution far remove,\nArt thou attendant at the shrine, who liftest\nPure to the gods thy hands, or nuptial rites\nDost thou prepare, or pregnant matron; hence,\nBegone, that this defilement none may touch.\nThou, daughter of Latona and high Jove,\nO royal virgin, if I cleanse the stain\nOf these, and where I ought with holy rites\nAddress thee, thou shalt hold thy residence\nIn a pure mansion; we too shall be bless'd.\nMore though I speak not, goddess, unexpress'd,\nAll things to thee and to the gods are known. (IPHIGENIA, carrying\nthe statue, joins the procession as is goes out. THOAS and his retinue\nenter the temple.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nLatona's glorious offspring claims the song,\nBorn the hallow'd shades among,\nWhere fruitful Delos winds her valleys low;\nBright-hair'd Phoebus, skill'd to inspire\nRaptures, as he sweeps the lyre,\nAnd she that glories in the unerring bow.\nFrom the rocky ridges steep,\nAt whose feet the hush'd waves sleep,\nLeft their far-famed native shore,\nThem the exulting mother bore\nTo Parnassus, on whose heights\nBacchus shouting holds his rites;\nGlittering in the burnish'd shade,\nBy the laurel's branches made,\nWhere the enormous dragon lies,\nBrass his scales, and flame his eyes,\nEarth-born monster, that around\nRolling guards the oracular ground;\nHim, while yet a sportive child,\nIn his mother's arms that smiled,\nPhoebus slew, and seized the shrine\nWhence proceeds the voice divine:\nOn the golden tripod placed,\nThrone by falsehood ne'er disgraced,\nWhere Castalia's pure stream flows,\nHe the fates to mortal shows.\n(antistrophe)\nBut when Themis, whom of yore\nEarth, her fruitful mother, bore,\nFrom her hallow'd seat he drove,\nEarth to avenge her daughter strove,\nForming visions of the night,\nWhich, in rapt dreams hovering light,\nAll that Time's dark volumes hold\nMight to mortal sense unfold,\nWhen in midnight's sable shades\nSleep the silent couch invades:\nThus did Earth her vengeance boast.\nHis prophetic honours lost,\nRoyal Phoebus speeds his flight\nTo Olympus, on whose height\nAt the throne of Jove he stands,\nStretching forth his little hands,\nSuppliant that the Pythian shrine\nFeel no more the wrath divine;\nThat the goddess he appease;\nThat her nightly visions cease.\nJove with smiles beheld his son\nEarly thus address his throne,\nSuing with ambitious pride\nO'er the rich shrine to preside;\nHe, assenting, bow'd his head.\nStraight the nightly visions fled;\nAnd prophetic dreams no more\nHover'd slumbering mortals o'er:\nNow to Phoebus given again,\nAll his honours pure remain;\nVotaries distant regions send\nHis frequented throne to attend:\nAnd the firm decrees of fate\nOn his faithful voice await. (A MESSENGER enters.)\nMESSENGER Say you, that keep the temple, and attend\nThe altar, where is Thoas, Scythia's king?\nOpen these strong-compacted gates, and cal\nForth from the shrine the monarch of the land.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Wherefore? at thy command if I must speak.\nMESSENGER The two young men are gone, through the device\nOf Agamemnon's daughter: from this land\nThey fly; and, in their Grecian galley placed,\nThe sacred image of the goddess bear.\nLEADER Incredible thy tale: but whom thou seek'st,\nThe monarch, from the temple went in haste.\nMESSENGER Whither? for what is doing he should know.\nLEADER We know not: but go thou, and seek for him:\nWhere'er thou find him, thou wilt tell him this.\nMESSENGER See, what a faithless race you women are!\nIn all that hath been done you have a part.\nLEADER Sure thou art mad! what with the strangers' flight\nHave we to do? But wilt thou not, with all\nThe speed thou mayst, go to the monarch's house?\nMESSENGER Not till I first am well inform'd, if here\nWithin the temple be the king, or not. (Shouting) Unbar the gates\n(to you within I speak);\nAnd tell your lord that at the portal here\nI stand, and bring him tidings of fresh ills. (THOAS and his attendants\nenter from the temple.)\nTHOAS Who at the temple of the goddess dares\nThis clamour raise, and, thundering at the gates,\nStrikes terror through the ample space within?\nMESSENGER With falsehoods would these women drive me hence,\nWithout to seek thee: thou wast in the shrine.\nTHOAS With what intent? or what advantage sought?\nMESSENGER Of these hereafter; what more urgent now\nImports thee, hear: the virgin, in this place\nPresiding at the altars, from this land\nIs with the strangers fled, and bears with her\nThe sacred image of the goddess; all\nOf her ablutions but a false pretence.\nTHOAS How say'st thou? What is her accursed design?\nMESSENGER To save Orestes: this too will amaze thee.\nTHOAS Whom? What Orestes? Clytemnestra's son?\nMESSENGER Him at the altar hallow'd now to bleed.\nTHOAS Portentous! for what less can it be call'd?\nMESSENGER Think not on that, but hear me; with deep thought\nReflect: weigh well what thou shalt hear; devise\nBy what pursuit to reach and seize the strangers.\nTHOAS Speak: thou advisest well: the sea though nigh,\nThey fly not so as to escape my spear.\nMESSENGER When to the shore we came, where station'd rode\nThe galley of Orestes, by the rocks\nConceal'd to us, whom thou hadst sent with her\nTo hold the strangers' chains, the royal maid\nMade signs that we retire, and stand aloof,\nAs if with secret rites she would perform\nThe purposed expiation: on she went,\nIn her own hands holding the strangers' chains\nBehind them: not without suspicion-this,\nYet by thy servants, king, allow'd. At length,\nThat we might deem her in some purpose high\nEmploy'd, she raised her voice, and chanted loud\nBarbaric strains, as if with mystic rites\nShe cleansed the stain of blood. When we had sat\nA tedious while, it came into our thought,\nThat from their chains unloosed, the stranger youths\nMight kill her, and escape by flight: yet fear\nOf seeing what we ought not, kept us still\nIn silence; but at length we all resolved\nTo go, though not permitted, where they were.\nThere we behold the Grecian bark with oars\nWell furnish'd, wing'd for flight; and at their seats,\nGrasping their oars, were fifty rowers; free\nFrom chains beside the stern the two youths stood\nSome from the prow relieved the keel with poles;\nSome weigh'd the anchors up; the climbing ropes\nSome hasten'd, through their hands the cables drew,\nLaunch'd the light bark, and gave her to the main.\nBut when we saw their treacherous wiles, we rush'd\nHeedless of danger, seized the priestess, seized\nThe halsers, hung upon the helm, and strove\nTo rend the rudder-bands away. Debate\nNow rose:-\"What mean you, sailing o'er the seas,\nThe statue and the priestess from the land\nBy stealth conveying? Whence art thou, and who,\nThat bear'st her, like a purchased slave, away?\"\nHe said, \"I am her brother; be of this\nInform'd; Orestes, son of Agamemnon:\nMy sister, so long lost, I bear away,\nRecover'd here.\" But naught the less for that\nHeld we the priestess, and by force would lead\nAgain to thee: hence dreadful on our cheeks\nThe blows; for in their hands no sword they held,\nNor we; but many a rattling stroke the youths\nDealt witb their fists, against our sides and breasts\nTheir arms fierce darting, till our batter'd limbs\nWere all disabled: now with dreadful marks\nDisfigured, up the precipice we fly,\nSome bearing on their heads, some in their eyes\nThe bloody bruises: standing on the heights,\nOur fight was safer, and we hurl'd at them\nFragments of rocks; but, standing on the stern,\nThe archers with their arrows drove us thence;\nAnd now a swelling wave roll'd in, which drove\nThe galley towards the land. The sailors fear'd\nThe sudden swell: on his left arm sustain'd,\nOrestes bore his sister through the tide,\nMounted the bark's tall side, and on the deck\nSafe placed her, and Diana's holy image,\nWhich fell from heaven; from the midship his voice\nHe sent aloud:-\"Ye youths, that in this bark\nFrom Argos plough'd the deep, now ply your oars,\nAnd dash the billows till they foam: those things\nAre ours, for which we swept the Euxine sea.\nAnd steer'd our course within its clashing rocks.\"\nThey gave a cheerful shout, and with their oars\nDash'd the salt wave. The galley, while it rode\nWithin the harbour, work'd its easy way;\nBut having pass'd its mouth, the swelling flood\nRoll'd on it, and with sudden force the wind\nImpetuous rising drove it back: their oars\nThey slack'd not, stoutly struggling 'gainst the wave;\nBut towards the land the refluent flood impell'd\nThe galley: then the royal virgin stood,\nAnd pray'd:-\"O daughter of Latona, save me,\nThy priestess save; from this barbaric land\nTo Greece restore me, and forgive my thefts:\nFor thou, O goddess, dost thy brother love,\nDeem then that I love those allied to me.\"\nThe mariners responsive to her prayer\nShouted loud paeans, and their naked arms,\nEach cheering each, to their stout oars apply.\nBut nearer and yet nearer to the rock\nThe galley drove: some rush'd into the sea,\nSome strain'd the ropes that bind the loosen'd sails.\nStraight was I hither sent to thee, O king,\nTo inform thee of these accidents. But haste,\nTake chains and gyves with thee: for if the flood side not to a calm,\nthere is no hope\nOf safety to the strangers. Be assured,\nThat Neptune, awful monarch of the main,\nRemembers Troy; and, hostile to the race\nOf Pelops, will deliver to thy hands,\nAnd to thy people, as is meet, the son\nOf Agamemnon; and bring back to the\nHis sister, who the goddess hath betray'd,\nUnmindful of the blood at Aulis shed.\nLEADER Unhappy Iphigenia, thou must die,\nThy brother too must die, if thou again,\nSeized in thy flight, to thy lord's hands shalt come.\nTHOAS Inhabitants of this barbaric land,\nWill you not rein your steeds, will you not fly\nAlong the shore, to seize whate'er this skiff\nOf Greece casts forth; and, for your goddess roused,\nHunt down these impious men? Will you not launch\nInstant your swift-oar'd barks, by sea, by land\nTo catch them, from the rugged rock to hurl\nTheir bodies, or impale them on the stake?\nBut for you, women, in these dark designs\nAccomplices, hereafter, as I find\nConvenient leisure, I will punish you.\nThe occasion urges now, and gives no pause. (MINERVA appears above.)\nMINERVA Whither, O royal Thoas, dost thou lead\nThis vengeful chase? Attend: Minerva speaks.\nCease thy pursuit, and stop this rushing flood\nOf arms; for hither, by the fateful voice\nOf Phoebus, came Orestes, warn'd to fly\nThe anger of the Furies, to convey\nHis sister to her native Argos back,\nAnd to my land the sacred image bear.\nThoas, I speak to thee: him, whom thy rage\nWould kill, Orestes, on the wild waves seized,\nNeptune, to do me grace, already wafts\nOn the smooth sea, the swelling surges calm'd.\nAnd thou, Orestes (for my voice thou hear'st,\nThough distant far), to my commands attend:\nGo, with the sacred image, which thou bear'st,\nAnd with thy sister: but when thou shalt come\nTo Athens built by gods, there is a place\nOn the extreme borders of the Attic land,\nClose neighbouring to Carystia's craggy height,\nSacred; my people call it Alae: there\nA temple raise, and fix the statue there,\nWhich from the Tauric goddess shall receive\nIts name, and from thy toils, which thou, through Greece\nDriven by the Furies' maddening stings, hast borne;\nAnd mortals shall in future times with hymns\nThe Tauric goddess there, Diana, hail.\nAnd be this law establish'd; when the feast\nFor thy deliverance from this shrine is held,\nTo a man's throat that they apply the sword,\nAnd draw the blood, in memory of these rites,\nThat of her honours naught the goddess lose.\nThou, Iphigenia, on the hallow'd heights\nOf Brauron on this goddess shalt attend\nHer priestess, dying shalt be there interr'd,\nGraced with the honours of the gorgeous vests\nOf finest texture, in their houses left\nBy matrons who in childbed pangs expired.\nThese Grecian dames back to their country lead,\nI charge thee; justice this return demands,\nFor I saved thee, when on the mount of Mars\nThe votes were equal; and from that decree\nThe shells in number equal still absolve.\nBut, son of Agamemnon, from this land\nThy sister bear; nor, Thoas, be thou angry.\nTHOAS Royal Minerva, he that hears the gods\nCommanding, and obeys not, is unwise.\nMy anger 'gainst Orestes flames no more,\nGone though he be, and bears with him away\nThe statue of the goddess, and his sister.\nHave mortals glory 'gainst the powerful gods\nContending? Let them go, and to thy land\nThe sacred image bear, and fix it there;\nGood fortune go with them. To favour Greece,\nThese dames, at thy high bidding, I will send.\nMy arms will I restrain, which I had raised\nAgainst the strangers, and my swift-oar'd barks,\nSince, potent goddess, this is pleasing to thee.\nMINERVA I praise thy resolution; for the power\nOf Fate o'er thee and o'er the gods prevails.\nBreathe soft, ye favouring gales, to Athens bear\nThese sprung from Agamemnon; on their course\nAttending, I will go, and heedful save\nMy sister's sacred image. You too go (to the CHORUS) Prosperous,\nand in the fate that guards you bless'd. (MINERVA vanishes.)\nCHORUS (chanting) O thou, among the immortal gods revered\nAnd mortal men, Minerva, we will do\nAs thou commandest; for with transport high,\nExceeding hope, our ears receive thy words.\nO Victory, I revere thy awful power:\nGuard thou my life, nor ever cease to crown me!\nTHE END","title":"Iphigenia in Tauris, By Euripides","type":"page"}