University of Virginia Library

ORESTES & PYLADES bound.
ORESTES.
It is the path of death that we are treading:
at every step my troubled soul grows calmer.
When I besought Apollo to remove
this griesly band of vengeful spirits from me,
he seem'd in clear and hope-infusing words
to promise me deliverance at Tauris,
here in his sister's temple. Now I find
that all my woes shall terminate with life.
How readily does he, whom gods oppress,
resign the aspect of the golden sun!
And must the blood of Atreus not obtain
a glorious end in fight—like Agamemnon,
must I, a slaughter'd victim, fall defenceless—
so be it; rather at the altar here
than by the knives of an avenging kindred.
Spare me this gasp of life—infernal gods
who dog-like track my footsteps to lap up
with hellish thirst this parricidal blood,
leave me—I soon shall be your own for ever.
The light was neither made for you nor me;
nor should the verdant carpet of the earth
be stalkt upon by fiends. Below, below,
I seek your dwellings, and an equal lot
shall bind us there in everlasting darkness.
'Tis thou, my Pylades, 'tis thou alone,
the innocent copartner of my curse,
whom to the comfortless abode I grieve
to drag with me so soon. Thy life or death
alone excites my hope or apprehension.

PYLADES.
I am not yet, Orestes, like thyself,
dispos'd to wander to the realm of shades:
nor am I hopeless from this tangled path,
that seems to lead us to the endless vale,
to find an upway back to light and life.
I think not yet to perish; but would fancy
that destiny prepares a way for flight.
Fear'd or unfear'd the stroke of death must come;
but it may yet be distant. Had the priestess
already cut from our devoted heads
the consecrated locks; my only study
should still be our escape. Despond not thus,
thy doubts can but accelerate the danger.
Apollo said, that, in his sister's temple,
relief, return, were both provided thee:
the promises of gods are ne'er ambiguous,
as the opprest imagine in despair.

ORESTES.
Dark and ill-boding was the web of life
my mother coil'd around my infant head;
for as I grew, my likeness to my father
frown'd mute reproof on her, and her adulterer.
How often, when Electra by the fire
in our deep hall sat silent, I have thrown
my troubled arm around her bending neck,
and with broad eye explor'd her secret sorrow.
Then would she tell me of my father's greatness—
and I have wisht to see him, to be near him,
to follow him to Troy—then would I pant
for his return

PYLADES.
Let dæmons of the deep
nightly discourse of that: the recollection
of brighter hours shall fire our souls to daring.
The gods have need of many a virtuous man
to work their kind intentions here below,
and on thy aid they reckon; for they sent not
thee with thy father to unwelcome Orkus.

ORESTES.
O had I seiz'd his garment and gone with him!

PYLADES.
If so—the gods, who sav'd thee, thought of me.
What I had been, if thou hadst not surviv'd,
I cannot think; since with thee and for thee
alone I've liv'd and wisht to live till now.

ORESTES.
Remind me not of those pure days of bliss,
when my asylum was beneath thy roof:
when the nipt blossom of my helpless youth
thy noble father's kind and prudent care
protected, shelter'd, sav'd: when thou, my friend,
my first companion, like a butterfly
round a dark flower, wouldst play and sport about me,
tranfuse thy chearfulness into my bosom,
make me forget the sorrows of my soul,
and bask with thee in youth's delightful sunshine.

PYLADES.
'Twas then my life began when first I lov'd thee.

ORESTES.
Say rather it was then thy woes began.
O 'tis the hardest of the pangs I suffer
that, like a plague-infected vagabond,
I bear destruction secretly about me,
and, when I enter the most wholesome place,
the blooming cheek grows pale, the writhing feature
betrays the coming agony of death.

PYLADES.
If such contagion from thy presence flow'd
I had been first to feel it, my Orestes:
yet I am full of spirits still and courage,
and these are Execution's wings on which
she reaches mighty actions.

ORESTES.
Mighty actions!
I recollect the time we thought about them.
When we had chac'd the game o'er hill and dale
hoping hereafter, like our ancestors,
so to pursue, with undegenerate strength,
the monster or the robber, and at twilight
together sat upon the beachy shore
leaning against each other, where the waves
would sport and flicker to our very feet—
and the wide world so open lay before us—
oft we have seiz'd our swords with glowing hand,
while future deeds of glory burst upon us,
like countless stars from the surrounding gloom.

PYLADES.
The task is infinite, Orestes, which
the soul aspires to accomplish. We would do
each deed as greatly as the poet shapes it,
roll'd by the swelling tempest of his song
adown the stream of time from land to land.
What our forefathers did appears so splendid,
when in the silent shades of evening stretcht
we hear it warbled to the stricken harp,
and what we do is, as it was to them,
a painful piece-meal work, Thus we run on
pursuing what's before—of what's beside
unmindful—nor observe the obvious traces
of our forefathers' earthly drudgery;
but chace their shadows, which like gods adorn
a mountain-summit on a golden cloud.
Him I esteem not, who can prize himself
high as the multitude may chance to lift him.
But thou, young man, be thankful to the gods
that they have done so much thro' thee already.

ORESTES.
Let him be thankful thro' whose favour'd hand
misfortune from his family is warded,
his kingdom is enlarg'd or made secure,
his ancient foes defeated or destroy'd;
for he obtains the sweetest bliss of life.
But me they have made choice of for a butcher,
have made the murderer of an honour'd mother,
and lay'd me low in unremoving woe,
the guilty' avenger of a deed of guilt.
O hardly-fated house of Tantalus !
Not thy last remnant would the gods destroy
unsoil'd by crime and imfamy.

PYLADES.
The gods
avenge not on the son the father's crimes.
The good, the wicked, earns his own deserts
by his own deeds. The blessings of a parent,
but not his curses are hereditary.

ORESTES.
Methinks it is no blessing brings us hither.

PYLADES.
It is at least the order of the gods.

ORESTES.
Their order then destroys.

PYLADES.
Obey in patience.
When thou hast borne his sister to Apollo,
and both receive fit reverence at Delphos,
they shall be gracious to thee for the deed,
and banish thy infernal followers.
Beneath these hallow'd shades their feet impure
presume not.

ORESTES.
Then my death will be the calmer.

PYLADES.
My hopes rise higher: thoughtfully combining
the past and future, one may penetrate,
methinks, the plans that fate is ripening.
Diana wishes from this savage coast,
and from its human offerings to escape:
we are selected for the'auspicious theft,
and destiny has led us to the threshold.

ORESTES.
Dost thou not cunningly mistake thy wishes
for the predestination of the god?

PYLADES.
What is all human prudence, if neglectful
to seek the will of heaven? The gods call forth
a man of many sins, but noble soul,
to difficult and dangerous undertaking—
lo, he succeeds! The pardon'd penitent
heaven and mankind conspire to bless and honour.

ORESTES.
If my doom were a life of active service,
some god would from my darken'd front roll back
this cloud of gloom, thro' which I only scan
the path all clotted with a mother's blood,
down which I slide to Orkus—he would dry
the fountain that from Clytemnestra's wounds
defiles me with its ever-springing gore.

PYLADES.
Wait patiently. Thou dost augment thy evils,
and take the furies' office to thyself.
Let me contrive our conduct; at the last,
when there is need of our united daring,
I'll claim thy succour to achieve the project.

ORESTES.
I hear Ulysses speak .

PYLADES.
No mockery now.
Yet every one must fix upon some hero
on whom to model his pursuit of glory:
and I acknowlege to thee, in my eyes
prudence and art do seldom misbecome
the man, who aims at shining enterprize.

ORESTES.
I like him best, who'is bold sincere and open.

PYLADES.
And therefore have I not requir'd thy counsel.
One step is already taken. From our guards
I learn there dwells a godlike woman here,
who checks the execution of the law
that threats us, only offering to the gods
incense and prayer and a pure spotless heart.
All love her, and they think that she descends
from Amazons, and hither fled for refuge
against some great impending woe.

ORESTES.
It seems
her gentle sway lost all its lenient power
when guilt and I approach'd, whom Jove's displeasure
with midnight horror every where surrounds.
Relentment ceas'd from pity when I came,
and Custom whets again the rusted knife.
The king is angry, and has doom'd our end;
how should a woman save us from his rage?

PYLADES.
I'am glad it is a woman we look up to.
The best of men learns cruelty at length
and grows accustom'd to the deed he hated;
women retain whatever bent of mind
they first contract. As well in good as evil
one may more surely reckon on their sameness.
Hearken—she comes. She must not know at once
and unreserv'd our names and our adventures.
Retire awhile, and let me speak with thee,
before she sees thee.

[Orestes goes.
IPHIGENIA & PYLADES.
IPHIGENIA
unbinding him.
Tell me whence thou art?
I think thou wearst the semblance of a Greek
not of a Scythian. Freedom is not safety—
The gods award impending danger from thee!

PYLADES.
Blest sound! thrice welcome in a foreign land
thou well-known accent of my native tongue.
Thy voice calls up before the captive's view
the azure mountains of his mother-country.
O let my joy convince thee I'am a Greek,
and plead for my forgiveness, if awhile
I have forgotten what is due to thee,
and bent my fancy toward the fond idea.
O say, if no superior power forbid,
from which of our heroic families
thy noble birth derives its origin.

IPHIGENIA.
The priestess, by Diana's self appointed,
discourses with thee, and let that suffice.
But tell me who art thou? what evil star
hath guided hither thee and thy companion?

PYLADES.
That thou couldst dart the ray of hope upon us
as easily as I relate our woes!
We are from Crete, the sons of brave Adrastus.
He is the first-born, nam'd Laodamas;
I, Cephalus, the youngest: but between us
a rude wild youth grew up, whose very sports
had often torn our bonds of love asunder.
While yet our father at the siege of Troy
was busied, we obey'd a mother's prudence:
but when enrich'd with plunder he return'd
and died ere long; a contest for his wealth
and for the vacant sceptre parted us.
I join'd the elder: he has slain his brother.
For fratricide the furies haunt his path.
The Delphian Phœbus promis'd us in Tauris
a termination to the louring curse.
Our capture and our threaten'd sacrifice
thou knowst.

IPHIGENIA.
And is the fall of Troy accomplisht?
Dearest of men, repeat, repeat that word.

PYLADES.
It is. Be thou our guardian and protectress.
Accelerate the promis'd help of heaven,
take pity on my brother and console him;
but spare him, I beseech thee, in thy speech.
His feeling soul, by painful recollection,
is torn too easily; and feverish madness
will often seize him in her vulture-claw
and give him up to the unpitying furies.

IPHIGENIA.
Great as his sufferings are, I must conjure thee
forget them for a while and satisfy me.

PYLADES.
The haughty city, which for ten whole years
withstood the might of Greece, is now a ruin;
but many a Greecian tomb will long arrest
our fond remembrance on the Trojan shore.
There fell Achilles and his beauteous friend.

IPHIGENIA.
So crumble e'en the images of gods?

PYLADES.
Nor Palamede nor Telamonian Ajax
review'd the sunshine on their native hills.

IPHIGENIA
aside.
He does not name my father with the slain.
He lives, he lives! and I again may see him—

PYLADES.
Yet happy are the thousands that have sunk
by hostile hands in honourable combat:
for horrid slaughters and a mournful end
some angry god prepar'd to the returning
instead of triumphs. Does the voice of man
not reach this land, that thou hast yet to learn
the complicate misfortunes that befell,
and art a stranger to the woe that fills
Mycene's hall with ceaseless lamentation.
Assisted by Ægisthus, Clytemnestra
slew, on the day of his return, her husband.
I see thou honourest this royal house.—
Thy bosom vainly labours to throw off
the unexpected weight of my sad words.—
Art thou the daughter of some friend or kinsman,
or born perchance within that unblest city?—
Hide it not from me; and detest me not
for bringing hither first the hated tidings.

IPHIGENIA.
Say further how the horrid deed was done.

PYLADES.
The day the king arriv'd, as from the bath
refresht he was ascending, and awaited
a change of raiment from his consort's hand,
she flung, with cunning arm, a tangled robe
across his shoulders and majestic head.
While from its many and confusing folds,
as from a net, he strove to disintangle
his prison'd limbs, the vile Ægisthus smote him,
and veil'd, the prince descended to the shades.

IPHIGENIA.
What was the cursed traitor's recompence?

PYLADES.
A bed and kingdom he posses'd already.

IPHIGENIA.
'Twas lust then prompted to the guilty deed?

PYLADES.
Lust and long-harbour'd wishes of revenge.

IPHIGENIA.
How had the king offended Clytemnestra?

PYLADES.
With harshness, which if aught might plead for murder
would lessen the atrociousness of this.
He had allur'd the queen to come to Aulis,
there seiz'd her darling first-born Iphigenia,
and stain'd the altar with a daughter's blood;
because the gods denied a prosperous wind.
Hence sprang the hate, that to Ægisthus' tongue
unlock'd her easy bosom, and induc'd her
to weave this woof of mischief for her husband.

IPHIGENIA
veiling herself.
Captive enough. Thou'lt see me yet again.

[goes.
PYLADES.
She seems affected deeply by the fate
of Agamemnon. Whosoe'er she be,
she must have known him well, and have belong'd
to some high family before her capture
and sale to these barbarians. Now, my heart,
a twinkling star of hope is risen anew,
and we may steer our course with growing spirit.