University of Virginia Library

IPHIGENIA.

IPHIGENIA & ARKAS.
ARKAS.
The king hath sent me hither, bad me hail
with salutation meet Diana's priestess.
This is the day, when Tauris thanks the goddess
for new-cull'd wreaths of conquest. With the king
The glad victorious army is approaching.

IPHIGENIA.
We are prepar'd to give them due reception.
The goddess will with gracious eye behold
great Thoas' sacrifice.

ARKAS.
Would that thine eye,
much honour'd priestess, with like mildness shone
to us auspicious. Still the cloud of sorrow
spreads its mysterious gloom around thee. Still
we vainly seek to lure from off thy lip
the voice of confidence for years withheld.
Long as I've known thee here, this bended brow
has ceas'd not to o'erawe me, and thy soul
seems lockt with bolts of iron in thy breast.

IPHIGENIA.
As best behooves a friendless banisht orphan .

ARKAS.
And dost thou here seem friendless then and banisht?

IPHIGENIA.
Can foreign lands become our country to us?

ARKAS.
To thee thy country sure, ere now, is foreign.

IPHIGENIA.
And therefore will my bleeding heart not heal.
In early youth, when scarce my bosom knew
the charities of father, mother, brethren,
together from the ancient trunk we stretch'd
our pliant branches toward the smiling heaven,
when on my hapless bough the curse of fate
blasting alit, and ruthless tore me off
from those my soul held dear—with iron hand
it rent our tender union—yes! they fell,
the sweetest gifts of youth, affection's blossoms.
Tho' sav'd, alas I am but as a shadow,
my soul will never learn to joy in life.

ARKAS.
Sure, if thy lot among us move complaint,
we have a right to call thy heart ungrateful.

IPHIGENIA.
I ever thank you.

ARKAS.
Not with those pure thanks,
for which a benefit is gladly done:
not with the brow serene, whereon the giver
reads the reflection of a gladden'd heart.
When thy mysterious fate so long ago
within this temple plac'd thee, Thoas came,
receiv'd, rever'd thee, as the gift of gods.
This shore, to every other stranger griesly,
to thee was hospitable. Till thy coming
none stray'd within our frontier but he fell,
according to the usage of our fathers,
a bleeding victim at Diana's altar.

IPHIGENIA.
Merely to breathe in freedom is not life.
Is it to live—around this holy spot,
like ghosts around their graves, to wander wailing?
Is it a life of conscious happiness,
when all our days are dream'd away in vain,
and only bring us nearer those dim days,
which on the dull oblivious shore of Lethe
the band of the departed moan away.
A useless life is but an early death—
and mine indeed has been this woman's lot.

ARKAS.
Altho' it robs thee of thy happiness,
I pardon, yet lament this noble pride.
But hast thou since thy coming been so useless?
Who was it that dispell'd our monarch's gloom?
Whose soft persuasion has from year to year
put off the'accustom'd sacrifice of strangers,
and stept between the prisoner and his doom
to send him bondless home? Has not Diana
heard thy mild prayers, so that she forgoes
without a sign of wrath the ancient offering?
And does not Victory wave her gladsome wing
around our banners, and precede our march?
Do not the people bless thee, that the king,
whose wisdom and whose valor long have sway'd us,
stoops at thy voice to mildness, and forgets
in part the rigorous claim of mute submission?
Livst thou a useless life? when from thy presence
a dew of blessings o'er a nation spreads;
when to this land, to which immortals brought thee,
thou art an ever-welling spring of good;
when this inhospitable fatal coast
grants, at thy wish, life and return to strangers.

IPHIGENIA.
The past is very trifling in his eye
who sees how much there yet remains to do.

ARKAS.
And is it right to undervalue good?

IPHIGENIA.
Who prizes his own deeds is justly blam'd.

ARKAS.
He too who undervalues real worth
no less than he who overrates demerit.
Hear me, and trust the counsel of a man,
who loves thee with sincere and honest zeal:
to-day, when Thoas shall address thee, priestess,
o listen to his prayer!

IPHIGENIA.
Thou grievest me.
I oft have studied to avoid his offers.

ARKAS.
Calmly compare thy conduct with thy duty.
Since worthy Thoas lost his only son,
he trusts but few among us, and these few
far less than heretofore. With jealous eye
he views the son of every mighty noble,
as one who may succeed him; and he fears
a solitary, helpless, friendless age,
perchance rebellion, and untimely death.
The Scythian sets no price on eloquence,
and least of all the king; he'is only us'd
to stern command and speedy execution;
nor knows the art to trail a winding speech
along the mazes leading to persuasion.
Make not his task more hard by cold reserve
or purpos'd misconception. Aid his tongue;
with mild submission meet his wise intention.

IPHIGENIA.
What! shall I hurry on the ill I dread?

ARKAS.
And dost thou call his proffer'd hand a dread?

IPHIGENIA.
To me it is indeed a painful offer.

ARKAS.
With confidence at least repay his love.

IPHIGENIA.
My soul, alas! can not unlearn to fear.

ARKAS.
Why wilt thou not inform him of thy story?

IPHIGENIA.
Strict secrecy becomes a priestess well.

ARKAS.
No secret to a monarch should be such.
And, tho' he claim not thine, his lofty soul
feels, deeply feels thy studied cold concealment.

IPHIGENIA.
Does Thoas harbour then ill will against me?

ARKAS.
It almost seems so. Tho' he talks not of thee,
yet casual words have led me to believe
that he is firmly bent on thy possession.
Then do not thwart him, least displeasure ripen
some dark resolve within his labouring breast,
and thou in sorrow recollect my counsel.

IPHIGENIA.
How! Does the king project what no brave man,
who loves his honour, and whose bosom feels
due reverence for the gods, should dare to think of?
Does he propose with violence from the altar
to bear me to his bed? Then will I call
on all the'immortal choir, and chiefly thee,
Diana, the resolv'd—thy virgin arm
will surely aid a virgin and thy priestess.

ARKAS.
Priestess be calm. No boiling blood of youth
inflames the king to perpetrate a deed
so rash and so unfitting. From his mind
I fear some other harsh resolve, which then,
for he is stern, and of unshaken firmness,
he irresistably fulfills. I pray thee
be grateful to him, and withhold no longer
thy confidence, if thou can grant no more.

IPHIGENIA.
Tell me what further of his thoughts thou knowst.

ARKAS.
Learn that from him. I see the king is coming.
Thou honourst him, and thy own heart will lead thee
to friendly confidence and meet behaviour.
Much can a woman's words on noble minds.

[goes.
IPHIGENIA.
How can I follow faithful Arkas' counsel?
Yet shall I willingly observe the duty,
to meet my benefactor with mild words.
Could I but to the man of power address
true words, without displeasing—I were glad.

IPHIGENIA & THOAS.
IPHIGENIA.
With kingly gifts the goddess strew thy path,
with conquest, wealth and fame environ thee;
thy people's welfare be her constant boon,
and may thy pious wishes ever prosper;
that thou, whose care to multitudes extends,
mayst feel a bliss to multitudes deny'd.

THOAS.
I am contented if the people praise me.
What I have won glads others more than me.
He is the happiest, whether king or subject,
beneath whose roof domestic joy resides.
Thou wast a partner of my bitter grief
when by my side the sword of hostile war
stretch'd with the dead my last my best of sons.
Long as my spirit brooded hot revenge
I did not feel how void my dwelling was;
but now, that I return with satiate soul,
have offer'd up a nation to his manes,
I meet no comfort in my silent home.
Now from the eye, where glad obedience beam'd,
lours discontent and plot. The childless man
acquires not honour with his hoary hair.
To-day this fane I enter, where I oft
have ask'd and thankt the heavens for victory,
my bosom of no novel object full.
Thou art not unacquainted with my wishes.
To bless my people and to bless myself
do thou return a bride to grace my palace.

IPHIGENIA.
Does it beseem thee thus on one unknown
to lavish bounty?—Deep confusion veils
the fugitive, who sought upon thy coast
only the quiet safety thou hast given.

THOAS.
To hide the secret of thy birth so long
from me, as from the lowest, is unfitting.
This shore, which wholesome laws forbid to strangers,
to thee was hospitable; thou injoyst
thy days of life in unrestricted freedom.
From thee we did expect that confidence,
which to his host no pious guest denies.

IPHIGENIA.
If I have not disclos'd the name of those
to whom I owe my being, 'twas my fear,
not my mistrust, o king, that tempted me.
For didst thou know o'er whose accursed head
thy guardian arm extends, thy mighty heart
would shudder at the inauspicious deed.
Thou wouldst not have propos'd to share with me
thy throne, but rather wouldst have driven me hence,
ere the long period of my exile ends,
to pace about in company with woe,
thrust with a cold inhospitable hand
from clime to clime, a wandering helpless outcast.

THOAS.
Whate'er the gods for thee and thine have fixt—
since thou hast dwelt among us and injoy'd
the pious rights of hospitality,
I have not wanted blessings from above:
nor shall I soon believe that o'er thy head
fate lifts the arm of wrath.

IPHIGENIA.
Thy benefits,
but not thy guest have drawn the blessings on thee.

THOAS.
The good we do the wicked is unblest.
Cease then thy silence and thy opposition:
'tis not unjust to ask it. When the goddess
consign'd thee to my hands, thou wast to me
as sacred as to her. Be she once more
our umpire! and if thou can see the means
for thy return, I give thee leave to quit me.
But if thy flight be hopeless, if thy race
in scatter'd exile rove, or heavier fate
have crusht them ruthless: then I claim thy hand.
My rights are more than one. Speak openly.
Thou knowst my word is sacred.

IPHIGENIA.
Willingly
my tongue breaks not its ancient bond to spread
the long-hid secret: once divulg'd it can
no more resume the safe retreat within;
but, as the gods determine, harms or saves.
Hear. I am of the race of Tantalus.

THOAS.
Calmly thou speakst a word of import high.
Is he thy ancestor, whom all the world
knows as a former favourite of the gods?
Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himself
call'd to his council-table, whose discourse
experience link'd with wisdom, which the'immortals
heard with delight.

IPHIGENIA.
From him I spring; but gods
should never treat a mortal like their equal:
weak man grows giddy if he'is lifted high.
He had a noble soul and was no traitor.
He was too great to be the slave of Jove,
too mean for his companion; so he fell.
His fault was human, but his fate severe.
The poets tell us his vain-glorious pride
and too incautious tongue from heaven hurl'd him
to groan below in ancient Tartarus—
and now the hate of gods pursues his offpsring.

THOAS.
Do they his misdeeds or their own atone?

IPHIGENIA.
His sons and grandsons heir'd the mighty breast
and curbless strength of Titan's progeny;
but fate with iron bandage from their eyes
hid wisdom, patience, prudence, moderation.
Their wishes rul'd with boundless violence.
Pelops, the only son of Tantalus,
acquir'd his wife by treachery and murder,
Hippodameia born of Œnomaus.
Two sons she bore him, Atreus and Thyestes.
With envious eye they mark'd the father's fondness
for his first-born, the son of lawless union.
Together they contriv'd a fratricide.
The angry Pelops thought Hippodameia
the authoress of the murder, and with fury
reclaims his slaughter'd child—the' affrighted matron
in anguish slew herself—

THOAS.
Why art thou silent?
repent not of thy confidence—speak on.

IPHIGENIA.
How happy he who gladly meditates
the story of his lineage, loves to tell
the deeds and greatness of his ancestry,
delights his hearer with their list of virtues,
and feels with silent joy his happy name
worthy to close the beauteous file of heroes.
Not often does one family produce
the demigod, or monster: first, a row
of good or mean unheeded passes, ere
the pride or terror of a world appears.
When Pelops died, his sons, with common sway,
the city rul'd, until Thyestes' lust
defil'd his brother's bed. His exile follow'd.
But long before, Thyestes, planning horrors,
had from his brother stolen a child, and taught it
to call its uncle father; and the youth
grew up in hate of Atreus; then he sends him
to plunge a steel in the paternal breast.
The king detects him, and with cruel torture
dislimbs his fancy'd nephew. Soon he learns
it was his son, and his recoiling soul
is all absorb'd in wishes of revenge.
With acted listlessness, he draws his brother
and both his nephews back into the city,
slays the two boys, and at the feast of welcome
presents their roasted members. When the father
with his own flesh had satiated his hunger,
a sudden gloom oppress'd him, he desires
to see his children, hears them both announc'd,
and counts their coming steps with anxious ear.
The doors unfold, and Atreus, smiling, flings
their bloody heads against the shuddering father.
Thou turnst aside thy head—so turn'd the sun
his palen'd visage from the damned deed,
and swerv'd his car from the eternal path
From such a race thy priestess is descended.
Much ill my forefathers have borne and done,
which thro' tradition's twilight dimly gleams,
or with broad wing forgetfulness hath shaded.

THOAS.
Remain it hid! Enough of guilt and horror.
Say by what miracle thy virtues sprang
from such a savage race.

IPHIGENIA.
The eldest son
of Atreus, Agamemnon, is my father;
and I with boldness may assert, I ever
beheld in him the model of a man.
To him the beauteous Clytemnestra bore
me, the first-fruits of love, and then Electra.
Peaceful my father rul'd in long exemption
from the dire fate of Tantalus's race;
a son alone was wanting to his wishes.
Scarce was Orestes born, when fate forwent
to spin these golden days. Ye here have heard
of the fierce war, avenging Helen's rape,
which round the walls of Troy the Grecians wag'd.
If they have reacht the aim of their revenge
and won the town I have not learnt. My father
was chosen leader of the Grecian forces.
Arriv'd in Aulis, adverse gods deny'd
the winds they wanted; for Diana frown'd
upon my father, and by Calchas' mouth
claim'd the devotement of his eldest daughter.
I, with my mother to the camp allur'd,
from her embrace was torn, and at the altar
presented in atonement to the goddess.
She spar'd my life. The cloud that seal'd my sense
her saving arm first scatter'd in this temple.
And I am she, that Iphigenia,
of Atreus' race, and Agamemnon's daughter,
Diana's property, who now address thee.

THOAS.
I have no higher honors for the daughter
of Grecian kings, than for the maid unknown.
My first proposal I again repeat;
come, follow me, and share what I possess.

IPHIGENIA.
How may I venture on this impious step?
Has not the goddess, who protected me,
alone a right to my devoted head?
She sought me an asylum, she preserves me
perchance to soothe an aged father's cares,
whom my apparent loss enough has punisht.
Perchance my glad return is now approaching:
and shall I, mindless of the ways of heaven,
bind myself here without Diana's sanction?
Was I to stay I ask'd a signal of her—

THOAS.
That signal is that thou art still detain'd.
Seek not so many vain pretences, maid:
he, that refuses, needs not many words,
the other hears, among them, only no.

IPHIGENIA.
They are not words intended to mislead.
I've laid the bottom of my heart before thee.
Dost thou not feel how I, with anxious bosom,
pant to reclasp my father, mother, brethren;
that in the halls, where Mourning's still small voice
has lisp'd my absence, Joy, with fragrant hand,
may hang the garland for my glad return.
Ah! wouldst thou send me thither in thy ships,
to me and them thou gave a second life.

THOAS.
Return then—do whate'er thy wishes prompt—
despise the voice of good advice and reason—
be quite the woman, rul'd by each desire
that draws the wavering soul to right or wrong.
If haply lust within her bosom burn
no sacred bond retains her from the traitor,
who from the faithful long-protecting hand
of father or of husband, would allure her;
and when the blaze of passion does not prompt,
the golden tongue of eloquence in vain
assails her deafen'd ear.

IPHIGENIA.
Remember, prince,
the noble promise which thy lips have made.—
And wilt thou thus repay my trust. Thou seemedst
prepar'd to let me pour out my whole soul.

THOAS.
I was not arm'd for so unhop'd an answer;
but 'twas to be expected, for I knew
it was a woman that I had to deal with.

IPHIGENIA.
Prince, be not angry with our hapless sex.
Our weapons are not dignified as yours,
yet are they not ignoble. Thou mayst trust me,
I am not blind unto thy happiness.
Thou thinkst, unknowing both thyself and me,
that closer union would in bliss connect us,
and boldly askest of me tame consent;
I thank the gods that they have giv'n me firmness
thus to decline what they have not approv'd.

THOAS.
'Tis not a god, but thy own heart denies me.

IPHIGENIA.
The gods address us only thro' our hearts.

THOAS.
And have not I an equal right to hear them.

IPHIGENIA.
The storm of passion drowns a gentler voice.

THOAS.
Can none beside the priestess lend attention?

IPHIGENIA.
The prince, above all others, should attend.

THOAS.
Thy holy office, thy ancestrial claim
to sit at Jove's own board, may well, I ween,
have made thee more familiar with the gods
than earth-born savages.

IPHIGENIA.
And must I then
thus—thus—atone the confidence extorted?

THOAS.
I am but man, 'tis better we conclude.
I keep my word: meanwhile continue priestess
of our Diana, as herself appointed.
The goddess pardon me that I thus long
unjustly and with inward disapproval
allow thee to withhold the ancient offerings.
From immemorial ages not a stranger
lands on our fatal shore unsacrific'd.
Thy blandishments (wherein I sometimes read
the soft affection of a loving daughter,
sometimes with inward joy the secret wishes
that fitly vest a bride) have held me back,
with magic bondage from the walk of duty.
My senses, lull'd by thee to artful slumber,
heard not the angry murmurs of the people:
to this my weakness, loudly they ascribe
the early fall of my unhappy son.
For thee I brave no more a nation's curse
but reinstate the ritual of my fathers.

IPHIGENIA.
On my account I never ask'd it of thee.
He knows the'immortals not, whose soul believes
that they delight in slaughter; but attributes
his own dark cruel wishes to their natures.
Did not the goddess snatch me from the priest?
She chose my service rather than my death.

THOAS.
'Tis not for us to judge and to reform
the sacred rites by our uncertain reason.
Perform thy duty, I accomplish mine.
Two strangers, whose arrival bodes no good,
are found among the caverns on our coast,
and now in bonds. With these resume the goddess
her ancient pious long-lost sacrifice!
I send them hither strait: thou knowst the service.

[goes.
IPHIGENIA.