SCENE V.

                     IPHIGENIA, alone. 
    I must obey him, for I see my friends
    Beset with peril.  Yet my own sad fate
    Doth with increasing anguish move my heart. 
    May I no longer feed the silent hope
    Which in my solitude I fondly cherish’d? 
    Shall the dire curse eternally endure? 
    And shall our fated race ne’er rise again
    With blessings crown’d?—­All mortal things decay! 
    The noblest powers, the purest joys of life
    At length subside:  then wherefore not the curse? 
    And have I vainly hop’d that, guarded here,
    Secluded from the fortunes of my race,
    I, with pure heart and hands, some future day
    Might cleanse the deep defilement of our house? 
    Scarce was my brother in my circling arms
    From raging madness suddenly restor’d,
    Scarce had the ship, long pray’d for, near’d the strand,
    Once more to waft me to my native shores,
    When unrelenting fate, with iron hand,
    A double crime enjoins; commanding me
    To steal the image, sacred and rever’d,
    Confided to my care, and him deceive
    To whom I owe my life and destiny. 
    Let not abhorrence spring within my heart! 
    Nor the old Titan’s hate, toward you, ye gods,
    Infix its vulture talons in my breast! 
    Save me, and save your image in my soul! 
    An ancient song comes back upon mine ear—­
    I had forgotten it, and willingly—­
    The Parcae’s song, which horribly they sang,
    What time, hurl’d headlong from his golden seat,
    Fell Tantalus.  They with their noble friend
    Keen anguish suffer’d; savage was their breast
    And horrible their song.  In days gone by,
    When we were children, oft our ancient nurse
    Would sing it to us, and I mark’d it well.

        Oh, fear the immortals,
        Ye children of men! 
        Eternal dominion
        They hold in their hands. 
        And o’er their wide empire
        Wield absolute sway. 
        Whom they have exalted
        Let him fear them most! 
        Around golden tables,
        On cliffs and clouds resting
        The seats are prepar’d. 
        If contest ariseth;
        The guests are hurl’d headlong,
        Disgrac’d and dishonour’d,
        And fetter’d in darkness,
        Await with vain longing,
        A juster decree. 
        But in feasts everlasting,
        Around the gold tables
        Still dwell the immortals. 
        From mountain to mountain
        They stride; while ascending
        From fathomless chasms,
        The breath of the Titans,
        Half stifl’d with anguish,
        Like volumes of incense
        Fumes up to the skies. 
        From races ill-fated,
        Their aspect joy-bringing,
        Oft turn the celestials,