Iphigenia in Tauris
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ACT THE FIRST
SCENE I
A Grove before the Temple of DianaIPHIGENIABeneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughsOf this old, shady, consecrated grove,As in the goddess' silent sanctuary,With the same shudd'ring feeling forth I step,As when I trod it first, nor ever hereDoth my unquiet spirit feel at home.Long as the mighty will, to which I bow,Hath kept me here conceal'd, still, as at first,I feel myself a stranger. For the seaDoth sever me, alas! from those I love,And day by day upon the shore I stand,My soul still seeking for the land of Greece.But to my sighs, the hollow-sounding wavesBring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply.Alas for him! who friendless and alone,Remote from parents and from brethren dwells;From him grief snatches every coming joyEre it doth reach his lip. His restless thoughtsRevert for ever to his father's halls,Where first to him the radiant sun unclos'dThe gates of heav'n; where closer, day by day,Brothers and sisters, leagu'd in pastime sweet,Around each other twin'd the bonds of love.I will not judge the counsel of the gods;Yet, truly, woman's lot doth merit pity.Man rules alike at home and in the field,Nor is in foreign climes without resource;Possession gladdens him, him conquest crowns,And him an honourable death awaits.How circumscrib'd is woman's destiny!Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord,Her duty, and her comfort; sad her fate,Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote:Thus I, by noble Thoas, am detain'd,Bound with a heavy, though a sacred chain.Oh! with what shame, Diana, I confessThat with repugnance I perform these ritesFor thee, divine protectress! unto whomI would in freedom dedicate my life.In thee, Diana, I have always hop'd,And still I hope in thee, who didst infoldWithin the holy shelter of thine armThe outcast daughter of the mighty king.Daughter of Jove! hast thou from ruin'd TroyLed back in triumph to his native landThe mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict,His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding, —Hast thou for him, the godlike Agamemnon,Who to thine altar led his darling child,Preserv'd his wife, Electra, and his son.His dearest treasures? – then at length restoreThy suppliant also to her friends and home,And save her, as thou once from death didst save,So now, from living here, a second death.SCENE II
IPHIGENIA. ARKASARKASThe king hath sent me hither, and commandsTo hail Diana's priestess. This the day,On which for new and wonderful success,Tauris her goddess thanks. The king and hostDraw near, – I come to herald their approach.IPHIGENIAWe are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting;Our goddess doth behold with gracious eyeThe welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.ARKASOh, priestess, that thine eye more mildly beam'd, —Thou much-rever'd one, – that I found thy glance,O consecrated maid, more calm, more bright,To all a happy omen! Still doth grief,With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind;Still, still, through many a year we wait in vainFor one confiding utt'rance from thy breast.Long as I've known thee in this holy place,That look of thine hath ever made me shudder;And, as with iron bands, thy soul remainsLock'd in the deep recesses of thy breast.IPHIGENIAAs doth become the exile and the orphan.ARKASDost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?IPHIGENIACan foreign scenes our fatherland replace?ARKASThy fatherland is foreign now to thee.IPHIGENIAHence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals.In early youth, when first my soul, in love,Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd,A group of tender germs, in union sweet,We sprang in beauty from the parent stem,And heavenward grew. An unrelenting curseThen seiz'd and sever'd me from those I lov'd,And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands.It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth,The simple gladness of life's early dawn;Though sav'd, I was a shadow of myself,And life's fresh joyance bloom'd in me no more.ARKASIf thus thou ever dost lament thy fate,I must accuse thee of ingratitude.IPHIGENIAThanks have you ever.ARKASNot the honest thanksWhich prompt the heart to offices of love;The joyous glance, revealing to the hostA grateful spirit, with its lot content.When thee a deep mysterious destinyBrought to this sacred fane, long years ago.To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven,With reverence and affection, Thoas came.Benign and friendly was this shore to thee,Which had before each stranger's heart appall'd,For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realmBut fell, according to an ancient rite,A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.IPHIGENIAFreely to breathe alone is not to live.Say, is it life, within this holy fane,Like a poor ghost around its sepulchreTo linger out my days? Or call you thatA life of conscious happiness and joy,When every hour, dream'd listlessly away,Leads to those dark and melancholy days,Which the sad troop of the departed spendIn self-forgetfulness on Lethe's shore?A useless life is but an early death;This, woman's lot, is eminently mine.ARKASI can forgive, though I must needs deplore,The noble pride which underrates itselfIt robs thee of the happiness of life.And hast thou, since thy coming here, done nought?Who cheer'd the gloomy temper of the king?Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd,From year to year, the usage of our sires,By which, a victim at Diana's shrine,Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain deathSending so oft the rescued captive home?Hath not Diana, harbouring no revengeFor this suspension of her bloody rites,In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host,Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?And feels not every one a happier lot,Since Thoas, who so long hath guided usWith wisdom and with valour, sway'd by thee,The joy of mild benignity approves,Which leads him to relax the rigid claimsOf mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou,Thou, from whose being o'er a thousand hearts,A healing balsam flows? when to a race.To whom a god consign'd thee, thou dost proveA fountain of perpetual happiness,And from this dire inhospitable shoreDost to the stranger grant a safe return?IPHIGENIAThe little done doth vanish to the mind,Which forward sees how much remains to do.ARKASHim dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?IPHIGENIAWho estimates his deeds is justly blam'd.ARKASWe blame alike, who proudly disregardTheir genuine merit, and who vainly prizeTheir spurious worth too highly. Trust me, priestess,And hearken to the counsel of a manWith honest zeal devoted to thy service:When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee,Lend to his purpos'd words a gracious ear.IPHIGENIAThe well-intention'd counsel troubles me:His offer studiously I've sought to shun.ARKASThy duty and thy interest calmly weigh.Since the king lost his son, he trusts but few,Nor those as formerly. Each noble's sonHe views with jealous eye as his successor;He dreads a solitary, helpless age,Or rash rebellion, or untimely death.A Scythian studies not the rules of speech,And least of all the king. He who is usedTo act and to command, knows not the art,From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourseThrough many windings to its destin'd goal.Do not embarrass him with shy reserveAnd studied misconception: graciously,And with submission, meet the royal wish.IPHIGENIAShall I then speed the doom that threatens me?ARKASHis gracious offer canst thou call a threat?IPHIGENIA'Tis the most terrible of all to me.ARKASFor his affection grant him confidence.IPHIGENIAIf he will first redeem my soul from fear.ARKASWhy dost thou hide from him thy origin?IPHIGENIAA priestess secrecy doth well become.ARKASNought to our monarch should a secret be;And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine,His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels,That studiously thou hid'st thyself from him.IPHIGENIADispleasure doth he harbour 'gainst me, then?ARKASAlmost it seems so. True, he speaks not of thee.But casual words have taught me that the wishTo call thee his hath firmly seiz'd his soul;Oh, do not leave the monarch to himself!Lest his displeasure, rip'ning in his breast,Should work thee woe, so with repentance thouToo late my faithful counsel shalt recall.IPHIGENIAHow! doth the monarch purpose what no manOf noble mind, who loves his honest name,Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains,Would ever think of? Will he force employTo tear me from this consecrated fane?Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee,Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me;Thyself a virgin, thou'lt a virgin shield,And succour to thy priestess gladly yield.ARKASBe tranquil! Passion, and youth's fiery bloodImpel not Thoas rashly to commitA deed so lawless. In his present mood,I fear from him another harsh resolve,Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmov'd,)He then will execute without delay.Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more,At least be grateful – give thy confidence.IPHIGENIAOh tell me what is further known to thee.ARKASLearn it from him. I see the king approach;Thou honour'st him, and thy own heart will prompt theeTo meet him kindly and with confidence.A noble man by woman's gentle wordMay oft be led.IPHIGENIA, aloneI see not how I canFollow the counsel of my faithful friend.But willingly the duty I performOf giving thanks for benefits receiv'd,And much I wish that to the king my lipsWith truth could utter what would please his ear.SCENE III
IPHIGENIA. THOASIPHIGENIAHer royal gifts the goddess shower on thee!Imparting conquest, wealth, and high renown,Dominion, and the welfare of thy house,With the fulfilment of each pious wish,That thou, who over numbers rul'st supreme,Thyself may'st be supreme in happiness!THOASContented were I with my people's praise;My conquests others more than I enjoy.Oh! be he king or subject, he's most blest,Who in his home finds happiness and peace.Thou shar'dst my sorrow, when a hostile swordTore from my side my last, my dearest son;Long as fierce vengeance occupied my heart,I did not feel my dwelling's dreary void;But now, returning home, my rage appeas'd,My foes defeated, and my son aveng'd,I find there nothing left to comfort me.The glad obedience, which I used to seeKindling in every eye, is smother'd nowIn discontent and gloom; each, pond'ring, weighsThe changes which a future day may bring,And serves the childless king, because compell'd.To-day I come within this sacred fane,Which I have often enter'd to imploreAnd thank the gods for conquest. In my breastI bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish.To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger;Thee, maid, a blessing to myself and realm,I hope, as bride, to carry to my home.IPHIGENIAToo great thine offer, king, to one unknown;Abash'd the fugitive before thee stands,Who on this shore sought only what thou gav'st,Safety and peace.THOASThus still to shroud thyselfFrom me, as from the lowest, in the veilOf mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here,Would in no country be deem'd just or right.Strangers this shore appall'd; 'twas so ordain'dAlike by law and stern necessity.From thee alone – a kindly welcom'd guest,Who hast enjoy'd each hallow'd privilege,And spent thy days in freedom unrestrain'd —From thee I hop'd that confidence to gainWhich every faithful host may justly claim.IPHIGENIAIf I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race,'Twas fear that prompted me, and not mistrust.For didst thou know who stands before thee now,And what accursed head thy arm protects,A shudd'ring horror would possess thy heart;And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,Thou, ere the time appointed, from thy realmWouldst banish me perchance, and thrust me forth,Before a glad reunion with my friendsAnd period to my wand'rings is ordain'd,To meet that sorrow, which in every clime,With cold, inhospitable, fearful hand,Awaits the outcast, exil'd from his home.THOASWhate'er respecting thee the gods decree,Whate'er their doom for thee and for thy house,Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'dThe privilege the pious stranger claims,To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from Heaven;And to persuade me, that protecting theeI shield a guilty head, were hard indeed.IPHIGENIAThy bounty, not the guest, draws blessings down.THOASThe kindness shown the wicked is not blest.End then thy silence, priestess; not unjustIs he who doth demand it. In my handsThe goddess plac'd thee; thou hast been to meAs sacred as to her, and her behestShall for the future also be my law.If thou canst hope in safety to returnBack to thy kindred, I renounce my claims:But is thy homeward path for ever clos'd —Or doth thy race in hopeless exile rove,Or lie extinguish'd by some mighty woe —Then may I claim thee by more laws than one.Speak openly, thou know'st I keep my word.IPHIGENIAIts ancient bands reluctantly my tongueDoth loose, a long-hid secret to divulge;For once imparted, it resumes no moreThe safe asylum of the inmost heart,But thenceforth, as the powers above decree,Doth work its ministry of weal or woe.Attend! I issue from the Titan's race.THOASA word momentous calmly hast thou spoken.Him nam'st thou ancestor whom all the worldKnows as a sometime favourite of the gods?Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himselfDrew to his council and his social board?On whose experienc'd words, with wisdom fraught,As on the language of an oracle,E'en gods delighted hung?IPHIGENIA'Tis even he;But gods should not hold intercourse with menAs with themselves. Too weak the human race,Not to grow dizzy on unwonted heights.Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer;To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great:To be his friend and comrade, – but a man.His crime was human, and their doom severe;For poets sing, that treachery and prideDid from Jove's table hurl him headlong down,To grovel in the depths of Tartarus.Alas, and his whole race their hate pursues.THOASBear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'?IPHIGENIAThe Titan's mighty breast and nervous frameWas his descendant's certain heritage;But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass.Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd;In them each passion grew to savage rage,And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son,The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride,Hippodamia, child of Œnomaus,Through treachery and murder; she ere longBore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes;With envy they beheld the growing loveTheir father cherish'd for a first-born sonSprung from another union. Bound by hate,In secret they contrive their brother's death.The sire, the crime imputing to his wife,With savage fury claim'd from her his child,And she in terror did destroy herself —THOASThou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative!Do not repent thy confidence – say on!IPHIGENIAHow blest is he who his progenitorsWith pride remembers, to the list'ner tellsThe story of their greatness, of their deeds,And, silently rejoicing, sees himselfLink'd to this goodly chain! For the same stockBears not the monster and the demigod:A line, or good or evil, ushers inThe glory or the terror of the world. —After the death of Pelops, his two sonsRul'd o'er the city with divided sway.But such an union could not long endure.His brother's honour first Thyestes wounds.In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.Thyestes, planning horrors, long beforeHad stealthily procur'd his brother's son,Whom he in secret nurtur'd as his own.Revenge and fury in his breast he pour'd,Then to the royal city sent him forth,That in his uncle he might slay his sire,The meditated murder was disclos'd,And by the king most cruelly aveng'd,Who slaughter'd, as he thought, his brother's son.Too late he learn'd whose dying tortures metHis drunken gaze; and seeking to assuageThe insatiate vengeance that possess'd his soul,He plann'd a deed unheard of. He assum'dA friendly tone, seem'd reconcil'd, appeas'd.And lur'd his brother, with his children twain,Back to his kingdom; these he seiz'd and slew;Then plac'd the loathsome and abhorrent foodAt his first meal before the unconscious sire.And when Thyestes had his hunger still'dWith his own flesh, a sadness seiz'd his soul;He for his children ask'd, – their steps, their voice,Fancied he heard already at the door;And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,Threw in the members of the slaughter'd boys. —Shudd'ring, O king, thou dost avert thy face:So did the sun his radiant visage hide,And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors,And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,Or shroud in gloomy twilight.THOASHidden thereLet them abide. A truce to horror now,And tell me by what miracle thou sprang'stFrom race so savage.IPHIGENIAAtreus' eldest sonWas Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire:But I may say with truth, that, from a child,In him the model of a perfect manI witness'd ever. Clytemnestra boreTo him, myself, the firstling of their love,Electra then. Peaceful the monarch rul'd,And to the house of Tantalus was givenA long-withheld repose. A son aloneWas wanting to complete my parent's bliss;Scarce was this wish fulfill'd, and young Orestes,The household's darling, with his sisters grew,When new misfortunes vex'd our ancient house.To you hath come the rumour of the war,Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,The force united of the Grecian kingsRound Ilion's walls encamp'd. Whether the townWas humbl'd, and achiev'd their great revengeI have not heard. My father led the hostIn Aulis vainly for a favouring galeThey waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,Through Calchas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.They lur'd me with my mother to the camp,And at Diana's altar doom'd this head. —She was appeas'd, she did not wish my blood,And wrapt me in a soft protecting cloud;Within this temple from the dream of deathI waken'd first. Yes, I myself am she;Iphigenia, – I who speak to theeAm Atreus' grandchild, Agamemnon's child,And great Diana's consecrated priestess.THOASI yield no higher honour or regardTo the king's daughter than the maid unknown;Once more my first proposal I repeat;Come, follow me, and share what I possess.IPHIGENIAHow dare I venture such a step, O king?Hath not the goddess who protected meAlone a right to my devoted head?'Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary,Where she perchance reserves me for my sire,By my apparent death enough chastis'd,To be the joy and solace of his age.Perchance my glad return is near; and howIf I, unmindful of her purposes,Had here attach'd myself against her will?I ask'd a signal, did she wish my stay.THOASThe signal is that still thou tarriest here.Seek not evasively such vain pretexts.Not many words are needed to refuse,By the refus'd the no alone is heard.IPHIGENIAMine are not words meant only to deceive;I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd.And doth no inward voice suggest to thee,How I with yearning soul must pine to seeMy father, mother, and my long-lost home?Oh let thy vessels bear me thither, king!That in the ancient halls, where sorrow stillIn accents low doth fondly breathe my name,Joy, as in welcome of a new-born child,May round the columns twine the fairest wreath.Thou wouldst to me and mine new life impart.THOASThen go! the promptings of thy heart obey;Despise the voice of reason and good counsel.Be quite the woman, sway'd by each desire,That bridleless impels her to and fro.When passion rages fiercely in her breast,No sacred tie withholds her from the wretchWho would allure her to forsake for himA husband's or a father's guardian arms;Extinct within her heart its fiery glow,The golden tongue of eloquence in vainWith words of truth and power assails her ear.IPHIGENIARemember now, O king, thy noble words!My trust and candour wilt thou thus repay?Thou seem'dst, methought, prepar'd to hear the truth.THOASFor this unlook'd-for answer not prepar'd.Yet 'twas to be expected; knew I notThat 'twas with woman I had now to deal?IPHIGENIAUpbraid not thus, O king, our feeble sex!Though not in dignity to match with yours,The weapons woman wields are not ignoble.And trust me, Thoas, in thy happinessI have a deeper insight than thyself.Thou thinkest, ignorant alike of both,A closer union would augment our bliss;Inspir'd with confidence and honest zealThou strongly urgest me to yield consent;And here I thank the gods, who give me strengthTo shun a doom unratified by them.THOAS'Tis not a god, 'tis thine own heart that speaks.IPHIGENIA'Tis through the heart alone they speak to us.THOASTo hear them have I not an equal right?IPHIGENIAThe raging tempest drowns the still, small voice.THOASThis voice no doubt the priestess hears alone.IPHIGENIABefore all others should the prince attend it.THOASThy sacred office, and ancestral rightTo Jove's own table, place thee with the godsIn closer union than an earth-born savage.IPHIGENIAThus must I now the confidence atoneThyself extorted from me!THOASI'm a man,And better 'tis we end this conference.Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess stillOf the great goddess who selected thee;And may she pardon me, that I from her,Unjustly and with secret self-reproach,Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld.From olden times no stranger near'd our shoreBut fell a victim at her sacred shrine.But thou, with kind affection (which at timesSeem'd like a gentle daughter's tender love,At times assum'd to my enraptur'd heartThe modest inclination of a bride),Didst so inthral me, as with magic bonds,That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rockMy senses in a dream: I did not hearMy people's murmurs: now they cry aloud,Ascribing my poor son's untimely deathTo this my guilt. No longer for thy sakeWill I oppose the wishes of the crowd,Who urgently demand the sacrifice.IPHIGENIAFor mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee.Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for bloodDo misconceive their nature, and imputeTo them their own inhuman dark desires.Did not Diana snatch me from the priest,Preferring my poor service to my death?THOAS'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds,Lightly to guide and construe rites divine.Perform thy duty; I'll accomplish mine.Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shoreWe found conceal'd, and whose arrival hereBodes to my realm no good, are in my power.With them thy goddess may once more resumeHer ancient, pious, long-suspended rites!I send them here, – thy duty not unknown. [Exit.IPHIGENIA, aloneGracious protectress! thou hast cloudsTo shelter innocence distress'd,And genial gales from Fate's rude grasp,Safely to waft her o'er the sea,O'er the wide earth's remotest realms,Where'er it seemeth good to thee.Wise art thou, – thine all-seeing eyeThe future and the past surveys,And doth on all thy children rest,E'en as thy pure and guardian lightKeeps o'er the earth its silent watch,The beauty and the life of night.O Goddess! keep my hands from blood!Blessing it never brings, nor peace;And still in evil hours the formOf the chance-murder'd man appearsTo fill the unwilling murderer's soulWith horrible and gloomy fears.For fondly the Immortals viewMan's widely-scatter'd, simple race;And the poor mortal's transient lifeGladly prolong, that he may raiseAwhile to their eternal heavensHis sympathetic joyous gaze.ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I
ORESTES. PYLADESORESTESIt is the path of death that now we tread:At every step my soul grows more serene.When I implor'd Apollo to removeThe grisly band of Furies from my side,He seem'd, with hope-inspiring, godlike words,To promise aid and safety in the faneOf his lov'd sister, who o'er Tauris rules.Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,That with my life shall terminate my woe.How easy 'tis for me, whose heart is crush'd,Whose sense is deaden'd by a hand divine,Thus to renounce the beauteous light of day!And must the son of Atreus not entwineThe wreath of conquest round his dying brow —Must I, as my forefathers, as my sire,Bleed like a victim, – an ignoble death —So be it! Better at the altar here,Than in a nook obscure, where kindred handsHave spread assassination's wily net.Yield me this brief repose, infernal Powers!Ye, who, like loosen'd hounds, still scent the blood,Which, trickling from my feet, betrays my path.Leave me! ere long I come to you below.Nor you, nor I, should view the light of day.The soft green carpet of the beauteous earthIs no arena for unhallow'd fiends.Below I seek you, where an equal fateBinds all in murky, never-ending night.Thee only, thee, my Pylades, my friend,The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,Thee am I loath, before thy time, to takeTo yonder cheerless shore! Thy life or deathAlone awakens in me hope or fear.PYLADESLike thee, Orestes, I am not prepar'dDownwards to wander to yon realm of shade.I purpose still, through the entangl'd paths,Which seem as they would lead to blackest night,Again to guide our upward way to life.Of death I think not; I observe and markWhether the gods may not perchance presentMeans and fit moment for a joyful flight.Dreaded or not, the stroke of death must come;And though the priestess stood with hand uprais'd,Prepar'd to cut our consecrated locks,Our safety still should be my only thought:Uplift thy soul above this weak despair;Desponding doubts but hasten on our peril.Apollo pledg'd to us his sacred word,That in his sister's holy fane for theeWere comfort, aid, and glad return prepar'd.The words of Heaven are not equivocal,As in despair the poor oppress'd one thinks.ORESTESThe mystic web of life my mother spreadAround my infant head, and so I grew,An image of my sire; and my mute lookWas aye a bitter and a keen reproofTo her and base Ægisthus. Oh, how oft,When silently within our gloomy hallElectra sat, and mus'd beside the fire,Have I with anguish'd spirit climb'd her knee,And watch'd her bitter tears with sad amaze!Then would she tell me of our noble sire:How much I long'd to see him – be with him!Myself at Troy one moment fondly wish'd,My sire's return, the next. The day arrived —PYLADESOh, of that awful hour let fiends of hellHold nightly converse! Of a time more fairMay the remembrance animate our heartsTo fresh heroic deeds. The gods requireOn this wide earth the service of the good,To work their pleasure. Still they count on thee;For in thy father's train they sent thee not,When he to Orcus went unwilling down.ORESTESWould I had seiz'd the border of his robe.And follow'd him!PYLADESThey kindly car'd for meWho here detain'd thee; for if thou hadst diedI know not what had then become of me;Since I with thee, and for thy sake alone,Have from my childhood liv'd, and wish to live.ORESTESDo not remind me of those tranquil days,When me thy home a safe asylum gave;With fond solicitude thy noble sireThe half-nipp'd, tender flow'ret gently rear'd;While thou a friend and playmate always gay,Like to a light and brilliant butterflyAround a dusky flower, didst around meStill with new life thy merry gambols play,And breathe thy joyous spirit in my soul,Until, my cares forgetting, I with theeWas lur'd to snatch the eager joys of youth.PYLADESMy very life began when thee I lov'd.ORESTESSay, then thy woes began, and thou speak'st truly.This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot,That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bearDeath and destruction hid within my breast;That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot,Ere long the blooming faces round betrayThe writhing features of a ling'ring death.PYLADESWere thy breath venom, I had been the firstTo die that death, Orestes. Am I not,As ever, full of courage and of joy?And love and courage are the spirit's wingsWafting to noble actions.ORESTESNoble actions?Time was, when fancy painted such before us!When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam'dO'er hill and valley; hoping that ere longWith club and weapon arm'd, we so might trackThe robber to his den, or monster huge.And then at twilight, by the glassy sea,We peaceful sat, reclin'd against each otherThe waves came dancing to our very feet.And all before us lay the wide, wide world.Then on a sudden one would seize his sword,And future deeds shone round us like the stars,Which gemm'd in countless throngs the vault of night.PYLADESEndless, my friend, the projects which the soulBurns to accomplish. We would every deedAt once perform as grandly as it showsAfter long ages, when from land to landThe poet's swelling song hath roll'd it on.It sounds so lovely what our fathers did,When, in the silent evening shade reclin'd,We drink it in with music's melting tones;And what we do is, as their deeds to them,Toilsome and incomplete!Thus we pursue what always flies before;We disregard the path in which we tread,Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires,Or heed the trace of their career on earth.We ever hasten on to chase their shades,Which godlike, at a distance far remote,On golden clouds reclin'd, the mountains crown.The man I prize not who esteems himselfJust as the people's breath may chance to raise him.But thou, Orestes, to the gods give thanks,That they have done so much through thee already.ORESTESWhen they ordain a man to noble deeds,To shield from dire calamity his friends,Extend his empire, or protect its bounds,Or put to flight its ancient enemies,Let him be grateful! For to him a godImparts the first, the sweetest joy of life.Me have they doom'd to be a slaughterer,To be an honour'd mother's murderer,And shamefully a deed of shame avenging.Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelm'd.Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom'd;Nor may his last descendant leave the earth,Or crown'd with honour or unstain'd by crime.PYLADESThe gods avenge not on the son the deedsDone by the father. Each, or good or bad,Of his own actions reaps the due reward.The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends.ORESTESMethinks their blessing did not lead us here.PYLADESIt was at least the mighty gods' decree.ORESTESThen is it their decree which doth destroy us.PYLADESPerform what they command, and wait the event.Do thou Apollo's sister bear from hence,That they at Delphi may united dwell,Rever'd and honour'd by a noble race:Thee, for this deed, the heav'nly pair will viewWith gracious eye, and from the hateful graspOf the infernal Powers will rescue thee.E'en now none dares intrude within this grove.ORESTESSo shall I die at least a peaceful death.PYLADESFar other are my thoughts, and not unskill'dHave I the future and the past combin'dIn quiet meditation. Long, perchance,Hath ripen'd in the counsel of the godsThe great event. Diana wish'd to leaveThis savage region foul with human blood.We were selected for the high emprize;To us it is assign'd, and strangely thusWe are conducted to the threshold here.ORESTESMy friend, with wondrous skill thou link'st thy wishWith the predestin'd purpose of the gods.PYLADESOf what avail is prudence, if it failHeedful to mark the purposes of Heaven?A noble man, who much hath sinn'd, some godDoth summon to a dangerous enterprize,Which to achieve appears impossible.The hero conquers, and atoning servesMortals and gods, who thenceforth honour him.ORESTESAm I foredoom'd to action and to life,Would that a god from my distemper'd brainMight chase this dizzy fever, which impelsMy restless steps along a slipp'ry path,Stain'd with a mother's blood, to direful death;And pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood,For ever spouting from a mother's wounds,Eternally defiles me!PYLADESWait in peace!Thou dost increase the evil, and dost takeThe office of the Furies on thyself.Let me contrive, – be still! And when at lengthThe time for action claims our powers combin'd,Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride,With cautious boldness to achieve the event.ORESTESI hear Ulysses speak!PYLADESNay, mock me not.Each must select the hero after whomTo climb the steep and difficult ascentOf high Olympus. And to me it seemsThat him nor stratagem nor art defileWho consecrates himself to noble deeds.ORESTESI most esteem the brave and upright man.PYLADESAnd therefore have I not desir'd thy counsel.One step is ta'en already: from our guardsI have extorted this intelligence.A strange and godlike woman now restrainsThe execution of that bloody law:Incense, and prayer, and an unsullied heart,These are the gifts she offers to the gods.Her fame is widely spread, and it is thoughtThat from the race of Amazon she springs,And hither fled some great calamity.ORESTESHer gentle sway, it seems, lost all its powerAt the approach of one so criminal,Whom the dire curse enshrouds in gloomy night.Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for bloodAgain unchains the ancient cruel rite:The monarch's savage will decrees our death;A woman cannot save when he condemns.PYLADESThat 'tis a woman is a ground for hope!A man, the very best, with crueltyAt length may so familiarize his mind,His character through custom so transform,That he shall come to make himself a lawOf what at first his very soul abhorr'd.But woman doth retain the stamp of mindShe first assum'd. On her we may dependIn good or evil with more certainty.She comes; leave us alone. I dare not tellAt once our names, nor unreserv'd confideOur fortunes to her. Now retire awhile,And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again.