(_Iphigenia retires_.)

SCENE II.

ORESTES, _Recovering from his swoon and standing up_.

Give yet another! reach from Lethe's stream The last reviving draught of cool refreshment!

Soon shall its waters in my bosom still Life's fitful fever; and my spirit then Adown oblivion's stream shall glide to you, Ye spirits, shrouded in eternal mist.

With tranquil pleasure in your deep repose A weary son of earth may lave his soul!-- What whisp'ring sounds pervade the dreary grove?

What hollow murmurs haunt its twilight gloom?-- They gather round to view the stranger guest!

Who are yon troop in high communion met, Like an a.s.sembl'd family of princes?

They mingle peacefully, of every age, And either s.e.x, yet are their G.o.dlike forms Cast in a kindred mould. 'Tis they, 'tis they, The fathers of my race! With Atreus, In friendly converse glides Thyestes' shade, And children playfully around them sport.

Is there no enmity among you now?

And is revenge extinguish'd with the sun?

I then am welcome, and may hope to join Your solemn company. My fathers, hail!

Orestes, last descendant of your race, Salutes you. What ye sow'd, that hath he reap'd Laden with curses he descends to you.

But burdens here are lighter far to bear.

Receive him, oh, receive him in your circle!

Thee, Atreus, I revere, and thee, Thyestes: Here all are free from enmity and hate.-- Show me my father, whom I only once In life beheld.--Art thou my father, thou, My mother leading thus familiarly?

Dares Clytemnestra reach her hand to thee; Then may Orestes also draw near her, And say, behold thy son!--My ancestors, Behold your son, and bid him welcome here, Among the sons of ancient Tantalus, A kind salute on earth was murder's watchword, And all their joys commence beyond the grave.

Ye welcome me! Ye bid me join your circle!

Oh, lead me to my honour'd ancestor!

Where is the aged hero? that I may Behold the dear, the venerable head, Of him, who with the G.o.ds in council sat.

You seem to shudder and to turn away?

What may this mean? Suffers the G.o.dlike man?

Alas! the mighty G.o.ds, with ruthless hate, To his heroic breast, with brazen chains, Have cruel pangs indissolubly bound.

SCENE III.

ORESTES. IPHIGENIA. PYLADES.

ORESTES.

How! are ye come already? Sister, welcome.

Electra still is missing: some kind G.o.d With gentle arrow send her quickly hither.

Thee, my poor friend, I must compa.s.sionate!

Come with me, come to Pluto's gloomy throne.

There to salute our hosts like stranger guests.

IPHIGENIA.

Celestial pair, who from the realms above By night and day shed down the beauteous light To cheer mankind, but who may not illume Departed spirits, save a mortal pair!

A brother's and a sister's anguish pity!

For thou, Diana, lov'st thy gentle brother Beyond what earth and heaven can offer thee And dost, with quiet yearning, ever turn Thy virgin face to his eternal light.

Let not my only brother, found so late, Rave in the darkness of insanity!

And is thy will, when thou didst here conceal me, At length fulfill'd,--would'st thou to me through him, To him through me, thy gracious aid extend,-- Oh, free him from the fetters of this curse, Lest vainly pa.s.s the precious hours of safety.

PYLADES.

Dost thou not know us, and this sacred grove, And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?

Dost thou not feel thy sister and thy friend, Who hold thee living in their firm embrace?

Grasp us! we are not shadows. Mark my words!

Collect thyself,--each moment now is precious, And our return hangs on a slender thread, Which, as it seems, some gracious fate doth spin.

ORESTES _to_ IPHIGENIA.

My sister, let me for the first time taste, With open heart, pure joy within thine arms!

Ye G.o.ds, who charge the heavy clouds with dread, And sternly gracious send the long-sought rain With thunder and the rush of mighty winds, A horrid deluge on the trembling earth; Yet dissipate at length man's dread suspense, Exchanging timid wonder's anxious gaze For grateful looks and joyous songs of praise, When in each sparkling drop which gems the leaves, Apollo, thousand-fold, reflects his beam, And Iris colours with a magic hand The dusky texture of the parting clouds; Oh, let me also in my sister's arms, And on the bosom of my friend, enjoy With grateful thanks the bliss ye now bestow My heart a.s.sures me that your curses cease.

The dread Eumenides at length retire, The brazen gates of Tartarus I hear Behind them closing with a thund'ring clang.

A quick'ning odour from the earth ascends, Inviting me to chase, upon its plains, The joys of life and deeds of high emprise.

PYLADES.

Lose not the moments which are limited!

The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail, Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.

Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

IPHIGENIA.

When the Powers on high decree For a feeble child of earth Dire perplexity and woe, And his spirit doom to pa.s.s With tumult wild from joy to grief, And back again from grief to joy, In fearful alternation; They in mercy then provide, In the precincts of his home, Or upon the distant sh.o.r.e, That to him may never fail Ready help in hours of need, A tranquil, faithful friend.

Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades, And every project that his mind may form!

In combat his the vigorous arm of youth, And in the counsel his the eye of age.

His soul is tranquil; in his inner mind He guards a sacred, undisturb'd repose, And from its silent depths a rich supply Of aid and counsel draws for the distress'd.

He tore me from my brother, upon whom, With fond amaze, I gaz'd and gaz'd again; I could not realize my happiness, Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not The danger's near approach that threatens us.

To execute their project of escape, They hasten to the sea, where in a bay Their comrades in the vessel lie conceal'd And wait a signal. Me they have supplied With artful answers, should the monarch send To urge the sacrifice. Alas! I see I must consent to follow like a child.

I have not learn'd deception, nor the art To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.

Detested falsehood! it doth not relieve The breast like words of truth: it comforts not, But is a torment in the forger's heart, And, like an arrow which a G.o.d directs, Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart One fear doth chase another; perhaps with rage, Again on the unconsecrated sh.o.r.e, The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.

Perchance they are surpris'd? Methinks I hear The tread of armed men. A messenger Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.

How throbs my heart, how troubl'd is my soul Now that I see the countenance of one, Whom with a word untrue I must encounter!

SCENE II.

IPHIGENIA. ARKAS.

ARKAS.

Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice, Impatiently the king and people wait.

IPHIGENIA.

I had perform'd my duty and thy will, Had not an unforeseen impediment The execution of my purpose thwarted.

ARKAS.

What is it that obstructs the king's commands?