PYLADES:
Delicious
music!
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
But mark if not the gods perchance present
Means and fit moment for a joyful flight.
The gods avenge not on the son the deeds
Done by their father.
ORESTES: It is their decree
Which doth destroy us.
PYLADES: From our guards I learn
A strange and god-like woman holds in check
The execution of the bloody law.
ORESTES: The monarch's savage will decrees our death;
A woman cannot save when he condemns.
PYLADES: She comes: leave us alone. I dare not tell
At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide
Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile.
[_Exit_ ORESTES. _Enter_ IPHIGENIA.
IPHIGENIA: Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
[_She unbinds his chains_.
The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
PYLADES: Delicious music! Dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land!
We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons; and I
Am Cephalus; my eldest brother, he,
Laodamas. Between us stood a youth
Whom, when our sire died (having return'd
From Troy, enrich'd with loot), in contest fierce
My brother slew! 'Tis thus the Furies now
For kindred-murder dog his restless steps.
But to this savage shore the Delphian god
Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope. My tale is told.
IPHIGENIA: Troy fallen! Dear stranger, oh, say!
PYLADES: The stately town
Now lies in ruins. Many a hero's grave
Will oft our thoughts recall to Ilion's shore.
There lies Achilles and his noble friend;
Nor Palamedes, nor Ajax, e'er again
The daylight of their native land beheld.
Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd
Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand,
And not like Agamemnon, who, ensnared,
Fell murdered on the day of his return
By Clytemnestra, with AEgisthus' aid.
IPHIGENIA: Base passion prompted then this deed of
shame?
PYLADES: And feelings, cherish'd long of deep revenge.
For such a dreadful deed, that if on earth
Aught could exculpate murder, it were this.