​

​

When Iphigeneia, daughter of Agamemnon, lay on the altar of sacrifice at Aulis, Artemis snatched her away, and bare her to the Tauric land, which lieth in Thrace to north of the Black Sea. Here she was made priestess of the Goddess's temple, and in this office was constrained to consecrate men for death upon the altar; for what Greeks soever came to that coast were seized and sacrificed to Artemis.

And herein is told how her own brother Orestes came thither, and by what means they were made known to each other, and of the plot that they framed for their escape.

​

​

Enter from temple Iphigeneia.

Pelops, the son of Tantalus, with fleet steeds
To Pisa came, and won Oenomaus' child:
Atreus she bare; of him Menelaus sprang
And Agamemnon, born of whom was I,
Iphigeneia, Tyndareus' daughter's babe.⁠5
Me, by the eddies that with ceaseless gusts
Euripus shifteth, rolling his dark surge,
My sire slew—as he thinks—for Helen's sake
To Artemis, in Aulis' clefts renowned.
For king Agamemnon drew together there⁠10
The Hellenic armament, a thousand ships,
Fain that Achaia should from Ilium win
Fair victory's crown, and Helen's outraged bed
Avenge—all this for Menelaus' sake.
But, in that dead calm and despair of winds,^[1]⁠15
To altar-flames he turned, and Kalchas spake:
"Thou captain of this battle-host of Greece,
Agamemnon, thou shalt sail not from the land
​Ere Artemis receive thy daughter slain,
Iphigeneia: for, of one year's fruit,⁠20
Thou vowedst the fairest to the Queen of Light.
Lo, thy wife Klytemnestra in thine halls
Bare thee a child "—so naming me most fair,—
"Whom thou must offer." By Odysseus' wiles^[2]
From her they drew me, as to wed Achilles.⁠25
I came to Aulis: o'er the pyre,—ah me!—
High raised was I, the sword in act to slay,—
When Artemis stole me, for the Achaians set^[3]
There in my place a hind, and through clear air
Wafted me, in this Taurian land to dwell,⁠30
Where a barbarian rules barbarians,
Thoas, who, since his feet be swift as wings
Of birds, hath of his fleetness won his name.
And in this fane her priestess made she me:
Wherefore the Goddess Artemis hath joy⁠35
In festal rites, whose name alone is fair;^[4]
The rest—for dread of her I hold my peace.
I sacrifice—'twas this land's ancient wont—
What Greek soever cometh to this shore.
Mine are the first rites;^[5] in the Goddess' shrines⁠40
The unspeakable slaughter is for others' hands.
Now the strange visions that the night hath brought
​To heaven I tell—if aught of cure be there.^[6]
In sleep methought I had escaped this land,
And dwelt in Argos. Midst my maiden train⁠45
I slept: then with an earthquake shook the ground.
I fled, I stood without, the cornice saw
Of the roof falling,—then, all crashing down,
Turret and basement, hurled was the house to earth.
One only column, as meseemed, was left⁠45
Of my sires' halls; this from its capital
Streamed golden hair, and spake with human voice.
Then I, my wonted stranger-slaughtering rite
Observing, sprinkled it, as doomed to death,
Weeping. Now thus I read this dream of mine:⁠45
Dead is Orestes—him I sacrificed;
Seeing the pillars of a house be sons,
And they die upon whom my sprinklings fall.
None other friend can I match with my dream;
For on my death-day Strophius had no son.⁠60
Now then will I, here, pour drink-offerings
Unto my brother there,—'tis all I can,—
I with mine handmaids, given me of the king,
Greek damsels. But for some cause are they here
Not yet: within the portals will I pass⁠65
Of this, the Goddess' shrine, wherein I dwell.

Enter Orestes and Pylades.

Look thou—take heed that none be in the path.

​

I look, I watch, all ways I turn mine eyes.

Pylades, deem'st thou this the Goddess' fane
Whither from Argos we steered oversea?⁠70

I deem it is, Orestes, as must thou.

And the altar, overdripped with Hellene blood?

Blood-russet are its rims in any wise.

And 'neath them seest thou hung the spoils arow?

Yea, trophies of the strangers who have died.⁠75
But needs must we glance round with heedful eyes.

Phœbus, why is thy word again my snare,
When I have slain my mother, and avenged
My sire? From tired Fiends Fiends take up the chase,
And exiled drive me, outcast from my land,⁠80
In many a wild race doubling to and fro.
To thee I came and asked how might I win
My whirling madness' goal, my troubles' end,
​Wherein I travailed, roving Hellas through.
Thou bad'st me go unto the Taurian coasts⁠85
Where Artemis thy sister hath her altars,
And take the Goddess' image, which, men say,
Here fell into this temple out of heaven,
And, winning it by craft or happy chance,
All danger braved, to the Athenians' land⁠90
To give it—nought beyond was bidden me;—
This done, should I have respite from my toils.
I come, thy words obeying, hitherward
To a strange land and cheerless. Thee I ask,
Pylades, thee mine helper in this toil, —⁠95
What shall we do? Thou seest the engirdling walls,
How high they be. Up yonder temple-steps^[7]
Shall we ascend? How then could we learn more,^[8]
Except our levers force the brazen bolts
Whereof we know nought? If we be surprised⁠100
Opening gates, and plotting entrance here,
Die shall we. Nay, ere dying, let us flee
Back to the ship wherein we hither sailed.

Flee?—'twere intolerable!—'twas ne'er our wont:
Nor cravens may we be to the oracle.⁠105
Withdraw we from the temple; let us hide
In caves by the dark sea-wash oversprayed,
Far from our ship, lest some one spy her hull,
​And tell the chiefs, and we be seized by force.
But when the eye of murky night is come,⁠110
That carven image must we dare to take
Out of the shrine with all the craft we may.
Mark thou betwixt the triglyphs a void space
Whereby to climb down. Brave men on all toils
Adventure; nought are cowards anywhere.⁠115
Have we come with the oar a weary way,
And from the goal shall we turn back again?

Good: I must heed thee. Best withdraw ourselves
Unto a place where we shall lurk unseen.
For, if his oracle fall unto the ground,⁠120
The God's fault shall it not be. We must dare,
Since for young men toil knoweth no excuse.

Enter Chorus and Iphigeneia.

⁠Keep reverent silence, ye
⁠Beside the Euxine Sea
Who dwell, anigh the clashing rock-towers twain.
⁠Maid of the mountain-wild,
⁠Dictynna, Leto's child,
Unto thy court, thy lovely-pillared fane,
⁠Whose roofs with red gold burn,
⁠Pure maiden feet I turn,⁠130
Who serve the hallowed Bearer of the Key,
⁠Banished from Hellas' towers,
⁠From trees and meadow-flowers
That fringe Eurotas by mine home o'ersea.
​⁠I come. Thy tidings?—what
⁠Thy care? Why hast thou brought
Me to the shrines, O child of him who led
⁠That fleet, the thousand-keeled,
⁠That host of myriad shield⁠140
That Troyward with the glorious Atreïds sped?

⁠Lo, I will peal on high
⁠To echo thine, O queen,⁠180
My dirge, the Asian hymn, and that weird cry,
⁠The wild barbaric keen,
⁠The litany of death,
⁠Song-tribute that we bring
To perished ones, where moaneth Hades' breath,
⁠Where no glad pæans ring.

⁠Woe for the kingly sway
⁠From Atreus' house that falls!
Passed is their sceptre's glory, passed away—
⁠Woe for my fathers' halls!
⁠Where are the heaven-blest kings⁠190
⁠Throned erstwhile in their might
O'er Argos? Trouble out of trouble springs
⁠In ceaseless arrowy flight.

​

⁠O day when from his place
⁠The Sun his winged steeds wheeled,
Turning the splendour of his holy face
⁠From horrors there revealed!
⁠That golden lamb^[9] hath brought
⁠Woe added unto woe,
Pang upon pang, murder on murder wrought:
⁠All these thy line must know.
⁠Vengeance thine house must feel
⁠For sons thereof long dead:⁠200
Their sins Fate, zealous with an evil zeal,
⁠Visiteth on thine head.

From the beginning was to me accurst
⁠My mother's spousal-fate:
The Queens of Birth with hardship from the first
⁠Crushed down my childhood-state.
I, the first blossom of the bridal-bower
⁠Of Leda's hapless daughter⁠210
By princes wooed, was nursed for that dark hour
⁠Of sacrificial slaughter,
For vows that stained with sin my father's hands
⁠When I was chariot-borne
Unto the Nereid's son on Aulis' sands—
⁠Ah me, a bride forlorn!
Lone by a stern sea's desert shores I live
⁠Loveless, no children clinging
To me—the homeless, friendless, cannot give⁠220
⁠To Hera praise of singing
​In Argos; nor to music of my loom
⁠Shall Pallas' image grow
Splendid in strife Titanic:^[10]—in my doom
⁠Blood-streams mid groanings flow,
The ghastly music made of strangers laid
⁠On altars, piteous-weeping!
Yet from these horrors now my thoughts have strayed,
⁠Afar to Argos leaping⁠230
To wail Orestes dead—a kingdom's heir!
⁠Ah, hands of my lost mother
At my departing clasped, her bosom bare
⁠The babe-face of my brother!

Lo, yonder from the sea-shore one hath come,
A herdman bearing tidings unto thee.

Enter Herdman.

Agamemnon's daughter, Klytemnestra's child,
Hear the strange story that I bring to thee!

What cause is in thy tale for this amaze?^[11]⁠240

Unto the land, through those blue Clashing Rocks
Sped by the oar-blades, two young men be come,
A welcome offering and sacrifice
​To Artemis. Prepare thee with all speed
The lustral streams, the consecrating rites.⁠245

Whence come?—what land's name do the strangers bear?^[12]

Hellenes: this one thing know I; nought beside.

Nor heardest thou their name, to tell it me?

Pylades one was of his fellow named.

And of the stranger's comrade what the name?⁠250

This no man knoweth, for we heard it not.

Where saw ye—came upon them—captured them?

Upon the breakers' verge of yon drear sea.

Now what have herdmen with the sea to do?

​

We went to wash our cattle in sea-brine.⁠255

To this return—where laid ye hold on them,
And in what manner? This I fain would learn.
For late they come: the Goddess' altar long
Hath been with streams of Hellene blood undyed.

Even as we drave our woodland-pasturing kine⁠260
Down to the sea that parts the Clashing Rocks,—
There was a cliff-chine, by the ceaseless dash
Of waves grooved out, a purple-fishers' haunt;—
Even there a herdman of our company
Beheld two youths, and backward turned again,⁠265
With tiptoe stealth his footsteps piloting,
And spake, "Do ye not see them?—yonder sit
Gods!" One of us, a god-revering man,
Lifted his hands, and looked on them, and prayed:
"Guardian of ships, Sea-queen Leukothea's son,⁠270
O Lord Palaimon, gracious be to us,—
Whether the Great Twin Brethren yonder sit,
Or Nereus' darlings, born of him of whom
That company of fifty Nereids sprang."
But one, a scorner, bold in lawlessness,⁠275
Mocked at his prayers: for shipwrecked mariners
Dreading our law, said he, sat in the cleft,
Who had heard how strangers here be sacrificed.
And now the more part said, "He speaketh well:
Let us then hunt the Goddess' victims due."⁠280
One of the strangers left meantime the cave,
​Stood forth, and up and down he swayed his head,
And groaned and groaned again with quivering hands,
Frenzy-distraught, and shouted hunter-like:
"Pylades, seest thou her?—dost mark not her,⁠285
Yon Hades-dragon, lusting for my death,
Her hideous vipers gaping upon me?
And yon third, breathing fire and slaughter forth,
Flaps wings—my mother in her arms she holds—
Ha, now to a rock-mass changed!—to hurl her down!⁠290
Ah! she will slay me! Whither can I fly?"
We could not see these shapes: his fancy changed
Lowing of kine and barking of the dogs
To howlings which the Fiends sent forth, he said.^[13]
We, cowering low, as men that looked to die,⁠295
Sat hushed. With sudden hand he drew his sword,
And like a lion rushed amidst the kine,
Smote with the steel their flanks, pierced through their ribs,—
Deeming that thus he beat the Erinnyes back,—
So that the sea-brine blossomed with blood-foam.⁠300
Thereat each man, soon as he marked the herds
Harried and falling slain, 'gan arm himself,
Blowing on conchs and gathering dwellers-round;
For we accounted herdmen all too weak
​To fight with strangers young and lusty-grown.⁠305
So in short time were many mustered there.
Now ceased the stranger's madness-fit: he falls,
Foam spraying o'er his beard. We, marking him
So timely fallen, wrought each man his part,
Hurling with battering stones. His fellow still⁠310
Wiped off the foam, and tended still his frame,
And screened it with his cloak's fair-woven folds,
Watching against the ever-hailing blows,
With loving service ministering to his friend.
He came to himself—he leapt from where he lay—⁠315
He marked the surge of foes that rolled on him,
And marked the ruin imminent on them,
And groaned: but we ceased not from hurling stones,
Hard pressing them from this side and from that.
Thereat we heard this terrible onset-shout:⁠320
"Pylades, we shall die: see to it we die
With honour! Draw thy sword, and follow me."
But when we saw our two foes' brandished blades,
In flight we filled the copses of the cliffs.
Yet, if these fled, would those press on again,⁠325
And cast at them; and if they drave those back,
They that first yielded hurled again the stones.
Yet past belief it was—of all those hands,
To smite the Goddess' victims none prevailed.
At last we overbore them,—not by courage,⁠330
But, compassing them, smote the swords unwares
Out of their hands with stones. To earth they bowed
Their toil-spent knees. We brought them to the king:
He looked on them, and sent them with all speed
To thee, for sprinkling waters and blood-bowls. ⁠335
Pray, maiden, that such strangers aye be given
For victims. If thou still destroy such men,
​Hellas shall make atonement for thy death,
Yea, shall requite thy blood in Aulis spilt.

Strange tale thou tellest of the man new come,⁠340
Whoe'er from Hellas yon drear sea hath reached.

Enough: go thou, the strangers hither bring:
I will take thought for all that needeth here.
[Exit Herdman.
O hardened heart, to strangers in time past
Gentle wast thou and ever pitiful,⁠345
To kinship meting out its due of tears,
When Greeks soever fell into thine hands.
But now, from dreams whereby mine heart is steeled,—
Who deem Orestes seeth light no more,—
Stern shall ye find me, who ye be soe'er.⁠350
Ah, friends, true saw was this, I prove it now:—
The hapless, which, have known fair fortune once,
Are bitter-thoughted unto happier folk.
Ah, never yet a breeze from Zeus hath come,
Nor ship, that through the Clashing Rocks hath brought⁠355
Hitherward Helen, her which ruined me,
And Menelaus, that I might requite
An Aulis here on them for that afar,
Where, like a calf, the sons of Danaus seized
And would have slain me—mine own sire the priest!⁠360
Ah me! that hour's woe cannot I forget—
How oft unto my father's beard I strained
Mine hands, and clung unto my father's knees,
Crying, "O father, in a shameful bridal
I am joined of thee! My mother, in this hour⁠365
​When thou art slaying me, with Argive dames
Chanteth my marriage-hymn: through all the house
Flutes ring!—and I am dying by thine hand!
Hades the Achilles was, no Peleus' son,
Thou profferedst me for spouse: thou broughtest me⁠370
By guile with chariot-pomp to bloody spousals."
But I—the fine-spun veil fell o'er mine eyes,
That I took not my brother in mine arms,
Who now is dead, nor kissed my sister's lips
For shame, as unto halls of Peleus bound.⁠375
Yea, many a loving greeting I deferred,
As who should come to Argos yet again.
Hapless Orestes!—from what goodly lot
By death thou art banished, what high heritage!
Out on this Goddess's false subtleties,⁠380
Who, if one stain his hands with blood of men,
Or touch a wife new-travailed, or a corpse,
Bars him her altars, holding him defiled,
Yet joys herself in human sacrifice!
It cannot be that Zeus' bride Leto bare⁠385
Such folly. Nay, I hold unworthy credence
The banquet given of Tantalus to the Gods,—
As though the Gods could savour a child's flesh!
Even so, this folk, themselves man-murderers,
Charge on their Goddess their own sin, I ween;⁠390
For I believe that none of Gods is vile.

Dark cliffs, dark cliffs of the Twin Seas' meeting,
Where the gadfly of Io, from Argos fleeting,
⁠Passed o'er the heave of the havenless surge
⁠From the Asian land unto Europe's verge,
​Who are these, that from waters lovely-gleaming
By Eurotas' reeds, or from fountains streaming⁠400
⁠Of Dirkê the hallowed have come, have come,
⁠To the shore where the stranger may find no home,
Where with crimson from human veins that raineth
The Daughter of Zeus her altars staineth^[14]
⁠And her pillared dome?
(Ant. 1)
Or with pine-oars rightward and leftward flinging
The surf, and the breeze in the tackle singing
⁠Of the sea-wain, over the surge did they sweep,⁠410
⁠Sore-coveted wealth in their halls to heap?—
For winsome is hope unto men's undoing,
And unsatisfied ever they be with pursuing
⁠The treasure up-piled for the which they roam
⁠Unto alien cities o'er ridges of foam,
By a day-dream beguiled:—and one ne'er taketh
Fortune at flood, while her full tide breaketh
⁠Unsought over some.⁠420
(Str. 2)
⁠How 'twixt the Death-crags' swing,
⁠And by Phineus' beaches that ring
⁠With voices of seas unsleeping,
⁠Won they, by breakers leaping
⁠O'er the Sea-queen's strand, as they passed
⁠Through the crash of the surge flying fast,
⁠And saw where in dance-rings sweeping
⁠The fifty Nereids sing,—
⁠When strained in the breeze the sail,⁠430
⁠When hissed, as the keel ran free,
​⁠The rudder astern, and before the gale
⁠Of the south did the good ship flee,
⁠Or by breath of the west was fanned
⁠Past that bird-haunted strand,
⁠The long white reach of Achilles' Beach,
⁠Where his ghost-feet skim the sand
⁠By the cheerless sea?
(Ant. 2)
⁠But O had Helen but strayed
⁠Hither from Troy, as prayed⁠440
⁠My lady,—that Leda's daughter,
⁠Her darling, with spray of the water
⁠Of death on her head as a wreath,
⁠Were but laid with her throat beneath
⁠The hand of my mistress for slaughter!
⁠Fit penalty so should be paid.
⁠How gladly the word would I hail,
⁠If there came from the Hellene shore,
⁠One hitherward wafted by wing of the sail,
⁠Who should bid that my bondage be o'er,⁠450
⁠My bondage of travail and pain!
⁠O but in dreams yet again
⁠Mid the homes to stand of my fatherland,
⁠In the bliss of a rapturous strain
⁠My soul to outpour!
Enter attendants with Orestes and Pylades.
⁠Lo, hither with pinioned arms come twain,
⁠Victims fresh for the Goddess's fane:—
⁠Friends, hold ye your peace.
⁠No lying message the herdman spoke:⁠460
⁠To the temple be coming the pride of the folk
⁠Of the land of Greece!

Dread Goddess, if well-pleasing unto thee
​Are this land's deeds, accept the sacrifice
Her laws give openly, although it be
⁠Accurst in Hellene eyes.

Enter Iphigeneia.

First, that the Goddess' rites be duly done
Must I take heed. Unbind the strangers' hands,
That, being hallowed, they be chained no more;
Then, pass within the temple, and prepare⁠470
What needs for present use, what custom bids.
Sighs.[Exeunt attendants.
Who was your mother, she which gave you birth?—
Your sire?—your sister who?—if such there be,
Of what fair brethren shall she be bereaved,
Brotherless now! . . . . Who knoweth upon whom⁠475
Such fates shall fall? Heaven's dealings follow ways
Past finding out, and none foreseeth ill.
Fate draws us ever on to the unknown! . . . .
Whence, O whence come ye, strangers evil-starred?
O'er what long paths to this land have ye sailed?⁠480
Long, long from home shall ye in Hades be.

Why make this moan, and with the ills to come
Afflict us, woman, whosoe'er thou art?
Not wise I count him, who, when doomed to death,
By lamentation would its terrors quell,⁠485
Nor him who wails for Hades looming nigh,
Hopeless of help. Fie maketh evils twain
Of one: he stands of foolishness convict,
And dies no less. E'en let fate take her course.
For us make thou no moan: the altar-rites⁠490
Which this land useth have we learnt, and know.

​

Whether of you twain here was called by name
Pylades?—this thing first I fain would learn.

He—if to learn this pleasure thee at all.

And of what Hellene state born citizen?⁠495

How should the knowledge, lady, advantage thee?

Say, of one mother be ye brethren twain?

In love we are brethren, lady, not in birth.

And what name gave thy father unto thee?

Rightly might I be called "Unfortunate."⁠500

Not this I ask: lay this to fortune's door.^[15]

​

If I die nameless, I shall not be mocked.^[16]

Now wherefore grudge me this? So proud art thou?

My body shalt thou slaughter, not my name.

Not even thy city wilt thou name to me?⁠505

Thou seekest to no profit: I must die.

Yet, as a grace to me, why grant not this?

Argos^[17] the glorious boast I for my land.

'Fore Heaven, stranger, art indeed her son?

Yea—of Mycenæ, prosperous in time past.⁠510

​

Exiled didst quit thy land, or by what hap?

In a sort exiled—willing, and yet loth.

Yet long-desired from Argos hast thou come.

Of me, not: if of thee, see thou to that.^[18]

Now wouldst thou tell a thing I fain would know?⁠515

Ay—a straw added to my trouble's weight.

Troy haply know'st thou, famed the wide world through?

Would I did not,—not even seen in dreams!

They say she is no more, by spears o'erthrown.

So is it: things not unfulfilled ye heard.⁠520

Came Helen back to Menelaus' home?

​

She came—for evil unto kin of mine.

Where is she? Evil debt she oweth me.

In Sparta dwelling with her sometime lord.

Thing loathed of Hellenes, not of me alone!⁠525

I too have tasted of her bridal's fruit.

And came the Achaians home, as rumour saith?

Thou in one question comprehendest all.

Ah, ere thou die, this boon I fain would win.

Ask on, since this thou cravest. I will speak.⁠530

Kalchas, a prophet—came he back from Troy?

Dead—as the rumour in Mycenæ ran.

​

O Queen, how justly! And Laertes' son?

He hath won not home, but liveth, rumour tells.

Now ruin seize him! Never win he home!⁠535

No need to curse. His lot is misery all.

Liveth the son of Nereid Thetis yet?

Lives not. In Aulis vain his bridal was.

A treacherous bridal!—they which suffered know.

Who art thou—thou apt questioner touching Greece?⁠540

Thence am I, in my childhood lost to her.

Well mayst thou, lady, long for word of her.

What of her war-chief, named the prosperous?

​

Who? Of the prosperous is not he I know.

One King Agamemnon, Atreus' scion named.⁠545

I know not. Lady, let his story be.

Nay, tell, by Heaven, that I be gladdened, friend.

Dead, hapless king!—and perished not alone.

Dead is he? By what fate?—ah, woe is me!

Why dost thou sigh thus? Is he kin to thee?⁠550

His happiness of old days I bemoan.

Yea, and his awful death—slain by his wife!

O all-bewailed, the murderess and the dead!

Refrain thee even now, and ask no more.

​

This only—lives the hapless hero's wife?⁠555

Lives not. Her son—ay,^[19] whom herself bare—slew her.

O house distraught! Slew her!—with what intent?

To avenge on her his murdered father's blood.

Alas!—ill justice, wrought how righteously!

Not blest of Heaven is he, how just soe'er.^[20]⁠560

Left the king other issue in his halls?

One maiden child, Electra, hath he left.

How, is nought said of her they sacrificed?

​

Nought—save, being dead, she seeth not the light.

Ah, hapless she, and hapless sire that slew!⁠565

Slain for an evil woman—graceless grace!

And lives the dead king's son in Argos yet?

He lives, unhappy, nowhere, everywhere.

False dreams, avaunt! So then ye were but nought.

Ay, and not even Gods, whom men call wise,⁠570
Are less deceitful than be fleeting dreams.
Utter confusion is in things divine,
As in things human. This worst grief remains,
When, not of folly, but through words of seers,
Comes ruin—how deep, they that prove it know.⁠575

Alas, alas! Of me—my parents—what?
Live they, or live they not? Ah, who can tell?

Hearken, for I have found us a device,
​Strangers, shall do you service, and withal
To me; and thus is fair speed best attained,⁠580
If the same end be pleasing unto all.
Wouldst thou, if I would save thee, take for me
To Argos tidings to my kindred there,
And bear a letter, which a captive wrote
Of pity for me, counting not mine hand⁠585
His murderer, but that he died by law
Of this land, since the Goddess holds it just?
For I had none from Argos come, to go
Back, saved alive, to Argos, and to bear
My letter to a certain friend of mine.⁠590
But thou, if thou art nobly-born, as seems,
And know'st Mycenæ, and the folk I mean,
Receive thy life: accept no base reward,
Deliverance, for a little letter's sake.
But this man, since the state constraineth so,⁠595
Torn from thee, be the Goddess' sacrifice.

Well say'st thou, save for one thing, stranger maid:—
That he be slain were heavy on my soul.
I was his pilot to calamity,
He sails with me for mine affliction's sake.⁠600
Unjust it were that I, in pleasuring thee,
Should seal his doom, and 'scape myself from ills.
Nay, be it thus,—the letter give to him
To bear to Argos; so art thou content:
But me let who will slay. Most base it is⁠605
That one should in misfortune whelm his friends,
Himself escaping. This man is my friend,
Whose life I tender even as mine own.

​

O noble spirit! from what princely stock
Hast thou sprung, thou so loyal to thy friends!⁠610
Even such be he that of my father's house
Is left alive! For, stranger, brotherless
I too am not, save that I see him not.
Since thou wilt have it so, him will I send
Bearing the letter: thou wilt die. Ah, deep⁠615
This thy strange yearning unto death must be!

Whose shall be that dread deed, my sacrifice?

Mine; for this office hold I of the Goddess.

A task, O maid, unenviable, unblest.

Bowed 'neath necessity, I must submit. ⁠620

A woman, with the priest's knife slay'st thou men?

Nay, on thine hair I shed but lustral spray.

The slayer, who?—if I may ask thee this.

​

Within the fane be men whose part is this.

And what tomb shall receive me, being dead?⁠625

A wide rock-rift within, and holy fire.

Would that a sister's hand might lay me out!

Vain prayer, unhappy, whosoe'er thou be,
Thou prayest. Far she dwells from this wild land.
Yet, forasmuch as thou an Argive art,⁠630
Of all I can, no service will I spare.
Much ornament will I lay on thy grave:
With golden oil thine ashes will I quench;
The tawny hill-bee's amber-lucent dews,
That well from flowers, I'll shed upon thy pyre.⁠635
I go, the letter from the Goddess' shrine
To bring. Ah, think not bitterly of me!^[21]
Ward them, ye guards, but with no manacles.
Perchance to a friend in Argos shall I send
Tidings unhoped—the friend whom most I love:—⁠640
The letter, telling that she lives whom dead
He deems, shall seal the happy tidings' faith.^[22]

​

To Orestes. (Str.)
⁠I wail for thee, for whom there wait
⁠The drops barbaric, on thy brow
⁠To fall, to doom thee to be slain.

This asks not pity. Stranger maids, farewell.^[23]

To Pylades. (Ant.)
⁠Thee count I blessed for thy fate,
⁠Thine happy fate, fair youth, that thou
⁠Shalt tread thy native shore again.

Small cause to envy friends, when die their friends.⁠650

⁠Ah, cruel journeying for thee!
⁠Woe! thou art ruined utterly!
⁠Alas! woe worth the day!
Whether of you is deeper whelmed in woe?^[24]
For yet my soul in doubt sways to and fro—
Thee shall I chiefly wail, or thee? How shall I say?

'Fore heaven, Pylades, is thy thought mine?—

I know not: this thy question baffles me.

​

Who is the maiden? With how Greek a heart⁠660
She asked us of the toils in Ilium,
The host's home-coming, Kalchas the wise seer
Of birds, Achilles' name! How pitied she
Agamemnon's wretched fate, and questioned me
Touching his wife, his children! Sure, her birth⁠665
Is thence, of Argos; else she ne'er would send
A letter thither, nor would question thus,
As one whose welfare hung on Argos' weal.

Mine own thought but a little thou forestallest,
Save this—that the calamities of kings⁠670
All know, who have had converse with the world.
But my mind runneth on another theme.^[25]

What? Share it, and thou better shalt conclude.

'Twere base that I live on, when thou art dead:
With thee I voyaged, and with thee should die.⁠675
A coward's and a knave's name shall I earn
In Argos and in Phocis' thousand glens.
Most men will think—seeing most men be knaves—
That I forsook thee, escaping home alone,—
Yea, slew thee, mid the afflictions of thine house⁠680
Devising, for thy throne's sake, doom for thee,
As being to thine heiress sister wed.
​For these things, then, I take both shame and fear:
It cannot be but I must die with thee,
With thee be slaughtered and with thee be burned,⁠685
Seeing I am thy friend, and dread reproach.

Ah, speak not so! My burden must I bear;
Nor, when but one grief needs, will I bear twain.
For that reproach and grief which thou dost name
Is mine, if thee, the sharer of my toil,⁠690
I slay. For my lot is not evil all,—
Being thus tormented by the Gods,—to die.
But thou art prosperous: taintless are thine halls,
Unstricken; mine accurst and fortune-crost.
If thou be saved, and get thee sons of her,⁠695
My sister, whom I gave thee to thy wife,
Then should my name live, nor my father's house
Ever, for lack of heirs, be blotted out.
Pass hence, and live: dwell in my father's halls.
And when to Greece and Argos' war-steed land⁠700
Thou com'st,—by this right hand do I charge thee—
Heap me a tomb: memorials lay of me
There; tears and shorn hair let my sister give.
And tell how by an Argive woman's hand
I died, by altar death-dews consecrate.⁠705
Never forsake my sister, though thou see
Thy marriage-kin, my sire's house, desolate.
Farewell. Of friends I have found thee kindliest,
O fellow-hunter, foster-brother mine,
Bearer of many a burden of mine ills!⁠710
Me Phœbus, prophet though he be, deceived,
And by a cunning shift from Argos drave
Afar, for shame of those his prophecies.
​I gave up all to him, obeyed his words,
My mother slew—and perish now myself!⁠715

Thine shall a tomb be: ne'er will I betray
Thy sister's bed, O hapless: I shall still
Hold thee a dearer friend in death than life.
Yet thee hath the God's oracle not yet
Destroyed, albeit thou standest hard by death.⁠720
Nay, misery's blackest night may chance, may chance,
By fortune's turn, to unfold a sudden dawn.

Peace! Phœbus' words avail me nothing now;
For yonder forth the temple comes the maid.

Enter Iphigeneia.

Depart ye, and within make ready all⁠725
For them whose office is the sacrifice.[Exeunt guards].
Strangers, my letter's many-leavèd folds
Are here: but that which therebeside I wish
Hear:—in affliction is no man the same
As when he hath passed from fear to confidence.⁠730
I dread lest, having gotten from this land,
He who to Argos should my tablet bear
Shall set my letter utterly at nought.

What wouldst thou then? Why thus disquieted?

Let him make oath to bear to Argos this⁠735
To them to whom I fain would send my script.

​

Wilt thou in turn give him the selfsame pledge?

To do what thing, or leave undone? Say on.

To send him forth this barbarous land unslain?

A fair claim thine! How should he bear it else?⁠740

But will the king withal consent hereto?

I will persuade him, yea, embark thy friend.

Swear thou:—and thou a sacred oath dictate.

Say thou wilt give this tablet to my friends.

I to thy friends will render up this script.⁠745

And through the Dark Rocks will I send thee safe.

What Gods dost take to witness this thine oath?

​

Artemis, in whose fane I hold mine office.

And I by Heaven's King, revered Zeus.

What if thou fail thine oath, and do me wrong?⁠750

May I return not. If thou save me not?—

Alive in Argos may I ne'er set foot.

Hear now a matter overlooked of us.

Not yet is this too late, so it be fair.

This clearance grant me—if the ship be wrecked,⁠755
And in the sea-surge with the lading sink
The letter, and my life alone I save,
That then of this mine oath shall I be clear.

"For many a chance have many a shift"^[26]— hear mine:—
All that is written in the letter's folds⁠760
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To Athens: even I will voyage with him,
Keeping my sister's holy image safe.