 | Agamemnon |  |
SCENE III.
Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Electra, Orestes.Agamemnon.
My Daughter! my Electra!
Electra.
O my Father!
Agamemnon.
Come to my Arms, my Boy! my dear Orestes!
In whom I live anew, my younger Self!
And thou, Electra, in thy opening Cheek
I mark thy Mother's Bloom: even so she look'd,
Such the mild Light with which her Beauty dawn'd.
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My other Iphigenia!
Electra.
Oh my Father!
My Joy! my Pride! my Glory! whom, in Dreams,
I oft have seen, as if return'd from Troy;
But still unwelcome Morning, with a Tear,
Wip'd out the dear Illusion of the Night.
And is it then no more a faithless Vision?
Oh 'tis my Father! whose Departure hence,
And Iphigenia's Death I just remember.
How glorious, Iphigenia, was thy Death!
A Death I envy rather than lament.
Who would not die to gain immortal Fame,
Deliver Greece and crown a Father's Glory?
Agamemnon.
Come to my Arms again, my generous Daughter!
And Thou my Son! O that thy tender Years
Had suffer'd thee to share our Toils at Troy!
'Tis War that forms the Prince: 'tis Hardship, Toil;
'Tis sleepless Nights, and never-resting Days;
'Tis Pain, 'tis Danger, 'tis affronted Death;
'Tis equal Fate for all, and changing Fortune;
That rear the Mind to Glory, that inspire
The noblest Virtues and the gentlest Manners.
Where shall I find, to teach Thee these, Orestes,
Another Troy?
Orestes.
How happy had I been!
To have beheld what I must only hear.
But I will hear it often, every Day;
Will learn your Story, study your Example;
Will try to mix your Virtues with your Blood,
And not disgrace the Laurels I inherit.
My Bosom flutters with I know not what—
—Forgive me, Sir, I am too young to say it—
But something here I feel, which bids me hope
That I shall not betray my Father's Honour.
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Son of my Soul!—Look here, my Clytemnestra!
Look here and weep with Tenderness and Transport!
What is all tasteless Luxury to this?
To these best Joys, which holy Love bestows?
O Nature! Parent Nature! Thou, alone,
Art the best Judge of what can make us happy!
Enter an Officer belonging to the Court.
Officer.
Egisthus, Sir, attends.
Agamemnon.
Go, bid him enter.
Retire, my Clytemnestra, my dear Children:
We soon shall meet again, till then farewel.
| Agamemnon | |