University of Virginia Library

IPHIGENIA & ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA
unbinding him.
Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds
in sign of harder fate: the freedom granted
here in the holy grove to both of you
is, like the last bright gleam of animation
upon the sick man's face, death's harbinger.
I dare not yet acknowlege to myself
that you are lost; for how could I uplift
a murderous hand 'gainst your devoted lives?
and no one dares presume, while I am priestess,
to touch your consecrated heads. But, ah!
should I refuse obedience to the king,
in anger he will choose among my train
some other virgin to discharge the office,
and I shall have but wishes to bestow.—
Much-valued countryman! The very slave
who but approach'd our patrial houshold gods
is richly welcome in a foreign land—
how can I pour enough of joy and blessing
on you, who bear the image of the heroes
whom from my infancy I've learn'd to honour,
and in my inmost heart light up anew
the faded flattering pictures of my youth.

ORESTES.
Dost thou from prudent choice conceal thy name
and thy descent, or may I hope to know
whose heavenly goodness warbles comfort to me?

IPHIGENIA.
Yes, thou shalt know me; but inform me first
(for from thy brother I have learnt but half)
of those, who coming back from fallen Troy
found on the threshold of a long-wisht home
an unexpected hard and cruel doom.
Tho' I was early banisht to this shore,
I recollect the shy and hasty glance,
I cast with wonder on the train of heroes.
'Twas as Olympus from its top had pour'd
the awful shadows of the'illustrious dead
to stalk in terror to the walls of Troy;
and Agamemnon was of all the greatest.
Tell me—he fell, the day he saw his home,
by Clytemnestra and Ægisthus slain?

ORESTES.
He did.

IPHIGENIA.
Ah sad Mycene! On thy site
the sons of Tantalus, with lavish hand,
are strowing curse on curse: like baneful weeds
they teem with ever-multiplying crimes,
and to their children's children still transmit
murder on murder for inheritance.
Disclose the rest thy brother left untold,
when horror's gloom suspended my attention.
How was the remnant of this mighty race,
hereafter the avenger of his father,
the last-born child, the only son, Orestes,
preserv'd from slaughter on that day of blood?
The net of black Avernus round his head
has a like fortune drawn or spar'd in mercy?
Say, was he sav'd? Lives he? and lives Electra?

ORESTES.
They live.

IPHIGENIA.
They live? Lend me, thou golden sun,
thy fairest beams to lay in gratitude
before Jove's throne! for I am poor and mute—

ORESTES.
If the heir'd ties of hospitality
or nearer bonds connect thee with this house,
as by thy joy would seem, o curb thy heart;
for to re-plunge into a sea of sorrow
is to the happy doubly horrible.
Thou only knowst of Agamemnon's death
I find—

IPHIGENIA.
And is not this enough to know?

ORESTES.
Thou yet hast heard but half the horrid tale.

IPHIGENIA.
What more?—Orestes and Electra live?—

ORESTES.
Hast thou no fears for Clytemnestra's fate?

IPHIGENIA.
My fears or hopes are impotent to save her.

ORESTES.
She is departed from the land of hope.

IPHIGENIA.
Did her repenting hand in expiation
shed her own blood?

ORESTES.
Not so: yet her own blood
consign'd her to the shades.

IPHIGENIA.
Give clearer answer.
Uncertainty with many-folded wing
hides in ill-boding gloom my anxious head.

ORESTES.
And have the gods reserv'd me to relate
a deed which gladly in the silent realms
of night and hell I would for ever hide—
thy gentle tongue against my will compels it.
Expect and have a tale to shudder at.
The day that royal Agamemnon fell,
Electra's prudent hand conceal'd her brother
beneath the roof of Strophius, a kinsman.
He willingly receiv'd and educated
with his own Pylades, the fugitive,
and both the youths grew up in tenderest friendship.
Their bosoms early felt a burning wish
to'avenge the monarch's death: in strange attire
they sought Mycene, and announc'd themselves
as messengers of young Orestes' death,
and bearers of his ashes. Thus they gain'd
a glad admittance from the credulous queen.
Orestes to Electra then disclos'd
his name and purpose. She, with ardent lip
rekindled soon the embers of revenge
that in the sacred presence of a mother
had faded in his breast; in silence led him
to where his father fell, and pointed out
a wither'd blood-mark on the guilty floor
that linger'd still for vengeance; there describ'd
with tongue of fire each murky circumstance
that dy'd the crime still deeper, wail'd her own
hard slavish treatment and the haughty carriage
of the successful traitors, show'd the dangers
that loured over Agamemnon's children
from their unfeeling step-mother (for such
to them she was become) and to Orestes
consign'd the old and oft-incrimson'd poignard
so wont to murders in the house of Pelops—
And Clytemnestra by her son was slaughter'd.

IPHIGENIA.
Immortals, who on ever-golden clouds
spend your clear days in joy—was it for this
ye tore me from my country, from the world—
for this that ye approach'd me to your shrines—
for this intrusted to my patient hand
to feed the holy flame, taught my calm'd soul
like it to lift a clear and equal look
of pious hope to your unruffled dwellings—
that I might later learn and deeper feel
the dire misfortunes of a race ye frown on?
Talk to me of the wretched—of Orestes

ORESTES.
Would I could tell thee also of his death!
How from his mother's gaping wounds arose
her haughty spirit, and with angry yell
shriek'd to the ancient daughters of the night
“Seize on this parricide, this son of guilt,
“and with implacable revenge pursue him.”
They heard her voice; they roll'd their hollow eyes,
like famisht eagles, on their destin'd prey;
in their dark dens they stirr'd; their sad companions
Doubt and Remorse from silent corners stole
with knitted hands to earth from their loose locks
dispersing pitchy damps of Acheron.—
Now ceaseless contemplation of the past
rolls in black gyres around his haunted brow.—
The fiends long-banisht from the beauteous earth
renew their all-deforming range with him,
pursue his rovings, hang upon his step,
and only stop to add redoubled horror
to the black hour they overtake his flight.

IPHIGENIA.
Unhappy man! Thy much resembling fate
makes thee more deeply sympathize with his.

ORESTES.
How cam'st thou to suspect my fate like his?

IPHIGENIA.
Thy younger brother has intrusted to me
that thou hast also slain thy nearest kinsman.

ORESTES.
I cannot bear that thy pure spotless soul
should be misled by falshood. Let the stranger
weave his deceitful and insnaring wiles
for them he fears; but, between us, be truth.
I am Orestes: and this guilty head
is stooping to the tomb, is seeking death—
in any form his coming shall be welcome.
Whoe'er thou be, to thee and to my friend
I wish deliverance, to myself destruction.
Thou seemst to be detain'd against thy will;
contrive to fly with him, and leave me here,
that headlong hurl'd from these impending rocks
my gushing blood may to the sea extend,
and roll wide curses o'er this savage shore.
Go ye together back to lovely Greece,
there may new life and happier days await you.

[Retires into the wood.
IPHIGENIA.
Fulfilment, daughter of the almighty sire,
at length the hour of thy descent is come,
and thy vast image stands unroll'd before me!
My aching sight scarce reaches to thy hands,
which, with the treasures of Olympus fill'd,
shower wreaths of benediction!—As a king
is known by the profusion of his bounty,
(for that to him is nothing, which to crouds
is riches) also ye are known, Celestials,
by long-reserv'd and wisely-granted gifts:
for ye alone distinguish what behooves us,
and oversee futurity's wide realms,
while mists conceal from us the wonderous prospect
and dim the twinkling star-beams to our gaze.
Calmly ye hear our restless childish prayers
to hasten your decrees; but your wise hands
cull not the heavenly fruit, while unmatur'd:
and wo is him, who with impatient lip
would seize the good in store!—he swallows death.
Let not this long-awaited joy forsake me,
and, like the visions of departed friends,
abandon to reality of woe.

IPHIGENIA & ORESTES.
ORESTES
returning.
If thou be praying to the gods above
speak not my name with thine and Pylades',
my name draws vengeance down on its associates,
and prayers are impotent to soothe this torment.

IPHIGENIA.
My fate is knit with thine.

ORESTES.
Not so: alone
and unattended would I sink to Hades.
Were thy own veil inwrapt around my head
it could not hide me from the dragon-eyed
the ever-watchful followers of my step.
Nay, e'en thy very presence, heavenly woman,
may turn their looks askance, but can't avert them.
What tho' their impious brazen tread may not
o'erstep the limits of the holy grove,
I hear them yonder grinning horrid laughter,
like wolves around the tree upon whose top
the traveller climb'd for safety. There they lie,
and at my coming from the earth shall start,
lift the big cloud of dust with busy feet,
give to the hissing winds their snaky locks,
and dog my flight with never-ending chace.

IPHIGENIA.
Orestes, listen to a friendly word.

ORESTES.
No: keep it for a friend of the celestials.

IPHIGENIA.
They give thee earnest of reviving hopes.

ORESTES.
I see the pale gleam of the flood of death—
'twill guide me thro' this mist of woe to hell.

IPHIGENIA.
Hast thou no other sister than Electra?

ORESTES.
I knew but one; yet the all-ruling hand
of fate remov'd an elder, who beheld not
the miserable doom of all her kindred.
Cease, cease thy questions, do not join the band
of my tormentresses, who blow away
with wicked joy the ashes of oblivion,
least the warm embers of remorse should fade
and cease to scorch my soul. Will they for ever
cast scalding sulphur on the glowing brand
which Crime has given to the sons of Pelops
for a perpetual heirdom—ever sear
my soul with coals of hell.

IPHIGENIA.
Be't mine to fling
some fragrant incense on the flame. Allow
affection's gentle breath to cool thy bosom.
Orestes, my belov'd, wilt thou not hear me?
Has the terrific band of thy pursuers
drain'd all the blood of nature from thy veins,
and have their Gorgon-eyeballs petrified
thy feeling heart?—O, if a mother's curse
call thee with hollow accent to the shades,
may not the purer blessing of a sister
draw from Olympus ease and comfort to thee?

ORESTES.
She calls—and thou combin'st to rend my bosom.
Have gods of vengeance borrow'd e'en thy form?
Who art thou, that with searching tongue disturbest
the very bottom of my billowing soul?

IPHIGENIA.
Does not thy heart inform thee? I am she—
am Iphigenia—am here—alive.

ORESTES.
Who, thou?

IPHIGENIA.
My brother!

ORESTES.
Hence! nor touch these locks;
as from Creusa's wedding-garment, thence
contagious flows a fire unquenchable.
Away—like Hercules, I would exhale
my worthless hated life in wilds and deserts.

IPHIGENIA.
Thou shalt not perish.—O that I could hear
one calm reply to banish every doubt
and make me sure I have the bliss I've pray'd for.
A wheel of joy and sorrow hurries round
my agitated soul. Upon the stranger
I look with apprehension; but my heart
resistless throws me on a darling brother.

ORESTES.
Is this Lyæus' temple, that the priestess
thus with unbridled holy fury glows?

IPHIGENIA.
O hear me, look upon me, how my heart
expands to compass all the happiness
of seeing thee (the dearest whom the world
has left me still) of folding in these arms,
that long have open'd on the vacant wind,
thee, my Orestes. Let me, let me clasp thee.
As down Parnassus flows the' eternal fountain
from rock to rock along the golden vale
clear and abundant, so a flood of joy
streams from my heart in copious waves, and spreads
an ample sea of happiness around me.
Orestes, o my brother!

ORESTES.
Lovely nymph,
I neither trust thee nor thy soothing speeches.
Diana asks severer votaries,
nor will she see her sanctuary profan'd.
A truce to thy embraces! Wouldst thou give
thy fond affections to a worthy youth,
with love and safety crown my friend. He roves
among yon rocks: seek him; abandon me.

IPHIGENIA.
Brother, command thyself, and know me better:
nor take a sister's transports (heaven approves them)
for hasty punishable headlong lust.
Ye gods, remove illusion from his eye,
least this bright instant of the utmost joy
should make us trebly wretched. I am she,
thy long-lost sister. Trembling from the altar
Diana bore me to her temple here.
Thou art the destin'd victim now, and findest
a sister in the priestess.

ORESTES.
Curse on curse!
now may the sun behold the dire completion
of the black woes, that gather on our house.
Is not Electra here to perish with us,
and save her head from lengthening coils of horror?
Come, priestess, to the altar—Fratricide
with us is an hereditary custom—
First let me thank the gods that they decree
to root me childless from the face of earth
And, let me counsel thee, forget to view
the sun and stars with pleasure, and prepare
with me for mansions in the house of darkness.
Our race—like dragons in the sulphur-pool,
born of one mother—tear each others entrails—
Childless and guiltless come along with me.
Thou lookst with pity on me—look not so—
such were the eyes thy mother turn'd upon me
to seek an entrance to my filial heart,
when I had heav'd my hand to pierce her bosom:
and yet the dagger pierc'd her.—Mother, come,
and place a troop of furies round thy children:
they'll have a welcome sight to smile upon,
the last, most horrible, that shall befall us.
Nor hate, nor grim revenge have whet the poignard;
but a fond sister shall be forced to use it.—
Weep not, thou hast no crimes upon thy soul.
From infancy I have not known such love
as I could feel for thee. But, spare me not,
lift, lift the glittering steel, in kindness make
an outlet for the boiling streams within.

[Falls exhausted upon the ground.
IPHIGENIA.
Alone I cannot bear this bliss and woe .
Where art thou Pylades to lend me help?

[Retires in search of him,
ORESTES
rising from his swoon.
Another—Grant me yet from Lethe's wave
one more reviving cup of cool refreshment—
soon shall these dregs of life be rinc'd away
by calm Oblivion's flood. To you, ye shades,
to your eternal mists, eternal stillness
a persecuted wretch would fly for refuge.
I hear the whispering of your twilight groves:
round their new guest your cloudy forms assemble.
What lofty band in sweet communion met,
like a collected family of princes,
come gliding hither, every sex and age,
yet all of godlike port in peaceful union.
'Tis they, 'tis they! my ancestors—With Atreus
Thyestes walks in confidential converse,
the children smiling hang upon their steps.
And does not enmity pervade your dwellings—
does vengeance wither with the light of day—
then I am welcome, and may hope to join
your solemn train, may bid you, hail! my fathers,
Orestes—of your race the last—arrives.
He reap'd the harvest that ye sow'd of curses.
But here all burdens are more light to bear.
Admit him of your circle. Thee, Thyestes,
thee, Atreus, I respect: here hate expires.
Show me my father, whom I saw on earth
but once—Does he accompany my mother
and link his arm in her's who plann'd his death?
and may not I approach her—say, behold
thy son, behold your son—and they will greet me.
On earth a salutation foreran murder
among the sons of ancient Tantalus;—
after the night of death their joys begin.
Ye welcome me, receive me in your band,
now guide me to the venerable form
of him, who sat in council with the gods.
Ye seem to shudder and avert your looks.
What! have the mighty fasten'd cruel Torment
with brazen fetters to the hero's breast?
[Iphigenia and Pylades enter.
And are ye come already? Welcome, sister.
Some god of mercy send our only remnant,
Electra, hither with a gentle arrow!
I pity thee, my friend—my hapless friend.
Come, come with me to Pluto's throne—'tis fitting
that the new guests salute their gloomy host.

IPHIGENIA, ORESTES & PYLADES.
IPHIGENIA.
Twin-born of Jove, who thro' the skiey vast
conduct the lovely lights of day and night,
the solace of mankind, forbid to shine
on the departed, by your mutual fondness
look on a brother's and a sister's woe.
Thou lov'st thy gentle brother, o Diana,
more than all things above, on earth, below,
and ever turnst in silent contemplation
thy virgin-face to his eternal light.
Let not my only, late-found, dear Orestes
in the dark wilderness of madness rove;
but, if thy will, when thou didst hide me here,
be now fulfill'd; if thou, thro' him to me,
thro' me to him, intendest bounteous aid;
o loose him from the fetters of the curse,
least we forgo the precious hour of flight.

PYLADES.
Wilt thou not know us, and this holy grove,
and this fair light that beams not on the dead?
Feel the embraces of a friend and sister,
who hold thee fast and living. Grasp our hands—
we are not empty shades—arise, attend,
each moment is important—our return
hangs on a slender thread, which, it should seem,
auspicious fates with willing finger spin.

ORESTES
to Iphigenia.
For the first time let me with open heart
taste in thy arms the purity of joy.
Ye gods, who spread on high with flaming hand
the heavy storm-cloud, kindly terrible
who pour the rain upon the thirsty earth
amid the rush of winds and roar of thunder,
changing the silent awe and humble fear
of man to thankful tears and songs of praise,
while the new sun from ev'ry brighten'd leaf
reflects his presence, and with painted hand,
Iris divides the dusky-skirted clouds—
o let me also in my sister's clasp,
and on the bosom of my friend, injoy
the bliss, ye give, in fullest gratitude.
My heart feels conscious that your curses finish.
I hear the fleet Eumenides retire
and cloze behind them the far-thundering doors
of Tartarus. The earth steams welcome fragrance,
inviting me upon its smiling brim
to chace the joys of life and meeds of virtue.

PYLADES.
Let not the hour that's given escape unus'd.
The wind that swells our sail must be the bearer
of our full satisfaction to Olympus.
Come, we have need of hasty resolution.