oh, gaze not so--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced.
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced.
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
and this guilty head
Is stooping to the tomb and covets death;
It will be welcome now in any shape.
[ORESTES _retires_. IPHIGENIA _prays to the gods, and_
ORESTES _returns_.
ORESTES: Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA: Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she--Iphigenia!
ORESTES: Hence, away, begone!
Leave me! Like Heracles, a death of shame,
Unworthy wretch, locked in myself, I'll die!
IPHIGENIA: Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! Dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implored so long.
Orestes! O my brother!
ORESTES: There's pity in thy look!
oh, gaze not so--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced.
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams.
[_He sinks exhausted. Enter_ PYLADES.
PYLADES: Dost thou not know me, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Attend! Each moment is of priceless worth,
And our return hangs on a slender thread.
The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
ACT IV
IPHIGENIA _alone_.
IPHIGENIA: They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
Their comrades in the vessel lie concealed,
Waiting a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Detested falsehood!
[_Enter_ ARKAS.
ARKAS: Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice!
Impatiently the king and people wait.
Is stooping to the tomb and covets death;
It will be welcome now in any shape.
[ORESTES _retires_. IPHIGENIA _prays to the gods, and_
ORESTES _returns_.
ORESTES: Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA: Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she--Iphigenia!
ORESTES: Hence, away, begone!
Leave me! Like Heracles, a death of shame,
Unworthy wretch, locked in myself, I'll die!
IPHIGENIA: Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! Dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implored so long.
Orestes! O my brother!
ORESTES: There's pity in thy look!
oh, gaze not so--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced.
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams.
[_He sinks exhausted. Enter_ PYLADES.
PYLADES: Dost thou not know me, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Attend! Each moment is of priceless worth,
And our return hangs on a slender thread.
The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
ACT IV
IPHIGENIA _alone_.
IPHIGENIA: They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
Their comrades in the vessel lie concealed,
Waiting a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Detested falsehood!
[_Enter_ ARKAS.
ARKAS: Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice!
Impatiently the king and people wait.
