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    Act the Fourth

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    Chapter 4
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    SCENE I.

    When the Powers on high decree
    For a feeble child of earth
    Dire perplexity and woe,
    And his spirit doom to pass
    With tumult wild from joy to grief,
    And back again from grief to joy,
    In fearful alternation;
    They in mercy then provide,
    In the precincts of his home,
    Or upon the distant shore,
    That to him may never fail
    Ready help in hours of need,
    A tranquil, faithful friend.
    Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades,
    And every project that his mind may form!
    In combat his the vigorous arm of youth,
    And in the counsel his the eye of age.
    His soul is tranquil; in his inner mind
    He guards a sacred, undisturb'd repose,
    And from its silent depths a rich supply
    Of aid and counsel draws for the distress'd.
    He tore me from my brother, upon whom,
    With fond amaze, I gaz'd and gaz'd again;
    I could not realize my happiness,
    Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not
    The danger's near approach that threatens us.
    To execute their project of escape,
    They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
    Their comrades in the vessel lie conceal'd
    And wait a signal. Me they have supplied
    With artful answers, should the monarch send
    To urge the sacrifice. Alas! I see
    I must consent to follow like a child.
    I have not learn'd deception, nor the art
    To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.
    Detested falsehood! it doth not relieve
    The breast like words of truth: it comforts not,
    But is a torment in the forger's heart,
    And, like an arrow which a god directs,
    Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart
    One fear doth chase another; perhaps with rage,
    Again on the unconsecrated shore,
    The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.
    Perchance they are surpris'd? Methinks I hear
    The tread of armed men. A messenger
    Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.
    How throbs my heart, how troubl'd is my soul
    Now that I see the countenance of one,
    Whom with a word untrue I must encounter!



    Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice,
    Impatiently the king and people wait.

    I had perform'd my duty and thy will,
    Had not an unforeseen impediment
    The execution of my purpose thwarted.

    What is it that obstructs the king's commands?

    Chance, which from mortals will not brook control.

    Possess me with the reason, that with speed
    I may inform the king, who hath decreed
    The death of both.

    The gods have not decreed it.
    The elder of these men doth bear the guilt
    Of kindred murder; on his steps attend
    The dread Eumenides. They seiz'd their prey
    Within the inner fane, polluting thus
    The holy sanctuary. I hasten now,
    Together with my virgin-train, to bathe
    Diana's image in the sea, and there
    With solemn rites its purity restore.
    Let none presume our silent march to follow!

    This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce:
    Do not commence the rite till he permit.

    The priestess interferes alone in this.

    An incident so strange the king should know.

    Here, nor his counsel nor command avails.

    Oft are the great consulted out of form.

    Do not insist on what I must refuse.

    A needful and a just demand refuse not.

    I yield, if thou delay not.

    I with speed
    Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon
    Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.
    There is a message I would gladly bear him:
    'Twould quickly banish all perplexity:
    Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.

    I willingly have done whate'er I could.

    E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy mind.

    To do so is, alas, beyond our power.

    What thou wouldst shun, thou deem'st impossible.

    Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.

    Wilt thou so calmly venture everything?

    My fate I have committed to the gods.

    The gods are wont to save by human means.

    By their appointment everything is done.

    Believe me, all doth now depend on thee.
    The irritated temper of the king
    Alone condemns these men to bitter death.
    The soldiers from the cruel sacrifice
    And bloody service long have been disused;
    Nay, many, whom their adverse fortunes cast
    In foreign regions, there themselves have felt
    How godlike to the exil'd wanderer
    The friendly countenance of man appears.
    Do not deprive us of thy gentle aid!
    With ease thou canst thy sacred task fulfil:
    For nowhere doth benignity, which comes
    In human form from heaven, so quickly gain
    An empire o'er the heart, as where a race,
    Gloomy and savage, full of life and power,
    Without external guidance, and oppress'd
    With vague forebodings, bear life's heavy load.

    Shake not my spirit, which thou canst not bend
    According to thy will.

    While there is time
    Nor labour nor persuasion shall be spar'd.

    Thy labour but occasions pain to me;
    Both are in vain; therefore, I pray, depart.

    I summon pain to aid me. 'tis a friend
    Who counsels wisely.

    Though it shakes my soul,
    It doth not banish thence my strong repugnance.

    Can then a gentle soul repugnance feel
    For benefits bestow'd by one so noble?

    Yes, when the donor, for those benefits,
    Instead of gratitude, demands myself.

    Who no affection feels doth never want
    Excuses. To the king I'll now relate
    All that has happen'd. Oh, that in thy soul
    Thou wouldst revolve his noble conduct, priestess,
    Since thy arrival to the present day!


    IPHIGENIA, _alone_.
    These words at an unseasonable hour
    Produce a strong revulsion in my breast;
    I am alarm'd!--For as the rushing tide
    In rapid currents eddies o'er the rocks
    Which lie among the sand upon the shore;
    E'en so a stream of joy o'erwhelm'd my soul.
    I grasp'd what had appear'd impossible.
    It was as though another gentle cloud
    Around me lay, to raise me from the earth,
    And rock my spirit in the same sweet sleep
    Which the kind goddess shed around my brow,
    What time her circling arm from danger snatch'd me.
    My brother forcibly engross'd my heart;
    I listen'd only to his friend's advice;
    My soul rush'd eagerly to rescue them,
    And as the mariner with joy surveys
    The less'ning breakers of a desert isle,
    So Tauris lay behind me. But the voice
    Of faithful Arkas wakes me from my dream,
    Reminding me that those whom I forsake
    Are also men. Deceit doth now become
    Doubly detested. O my soul, be still!
    Beginn'st thou now to tremble and to doubt?
    Thy lonely shelter on the firm-set earth
    Must thou abandon? and, embark'd once more,
    At random drift upon tumultuous waves,
    A stranger to thyself and to the world?



    Where is she? that my words with speed may tell
    The joyful tidings of our near escape!

    Oppress'd with gloomy care, I much require
    The certain comfort thou dost promise me.

    Thy brother is restor'd! The rocky paths
    Of this unconsecrated shore we trod
    In friendly converse, while behind us lay,
    Unmark'd by us, the consecrated grove;
    And ever with increasing glory shone
    The fire of youth around his noble brow.
    Courage and hope his glowing eye inspir'd;
    And his free heart exulted with the joy
    Of saving thee, his sister, and his friend.

    The gods shower blessings on thee, Pylades!
    And from those lips which breathe such welcome news,
    Be the sad note of anguish never heard!

    I bring yet more,--for Fortune, like a prince,
    Comes not alone, but well accompanied.
    Our friends and comrades we have also found.
    Within a bay they had conceal'd the ship,
    And mournful sat expectant. They beheld
    Thy brother, and a joyous shout uprais'd,
    Imploring him to haste the parting hour.
    Each hand impatient long'd to grasp the oar,
    While from the shore a gently murmuring breeze,
    Perceiv'd by all, unfurl'd its wing auspicious.
    Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane,
    That I may tread the sanctuary, and seize
    With sacred awe the object of our hopes.
    I can unaided on my shoulder bear
    Diana's image: how I long to feel
    The precious burden!
    [_While speaking the last words, he approaches the Temple,
    without perceiving that he is not followed by
    Iphigenia: at length he turns round._]
    Why thus ling'ring stand.
    Why art thou silent? wherefore thus confus'd?
    Doth some new obstacle oppose our bliss?
    Inform me, hast thou to the king announc'd
    The prudent message we agreed upon?

    I have, dear Pylades; yet wilt thou chide.
    Thy very aspect is a mute reproach.
    The royal messenger arriv'd, and I,
    According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech.
    He seem'd surpris'd, and urgently besought,
    That to the monarch I should first announce
    The rite unusual, and attend his will.
    I now await the messenger's return.

    Danger again doth hover o'er our heads!
    O priestess, why neglect to shroud thyself
    Within the veil of sacerdotal rites?

    I never have employ'd them as a veil.

    Pure soul! thy scruples will destroy alike
    Thyself and us. Why did I not foresee
    Such an emergency, and tutor thee
    This counsel also wisely to elude?

    Chide only me, for mine alone the blame.
    Yet other answer could I not return
    To him, who strongly and with reason urg'd
    What my own heart acknowledg'd to be right.

    The danger thickens; but let us be firm,
    Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves;
    Calmly await the messenger's return,
    And then stand fast, whatever his reply:
    For the appointment of such sacred rites
    Doth to the priestess, not the king belong.
    Should he demand the stranger to behold
    Who is by madness heavily oppress'd,
    Evasively pretend, that in the fane,
    Securely guarded, thou retain'st us both.
    Thus you secure us time to fly with speed,
    Bearing the sacred treasure from this race,
    Unworthy its possession. Phoebus sends
    Auspicious omens, and fulfils his word,
    Ere we the first conditions have perform'd.
    Free is Orestes, from the curse absolv'd!
    Oh, with the freed one, to the rocky isle
    Where dwells the god, waft us, propitious gales!
    Thence to Mycene, that she may revive;
    That from the ashes of the extinguish'd hearth,
    The household gods may joyously arise,
    And beauteous fire illumine their abode!
    Thy hand from golden censers first shall strew
    The fragrant incense. O'er that threshold thou
    Shalt life and blessing once again dispense,
    The curse atone, and all thy kindred grace
    With the fresh bloom of renovated life.

    As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,
    Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,
    Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.
    How dear the counsel of a present friend,
    Lacking whose godlike power, the lonely one
    In silence droops! for, lock'd within his breast,
    Slowly are ripen'd purpose and resolve,
    Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matur'd.

    Farewell! I haste to re-assure our friends,
    Who anxiously await us: then with speed
    I will return, and, hid within the brake,
    Attend thy signal.--Wherefore, all at once,
    Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?

    Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun,
    So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.

    Oh, banish fear! With danger it hath form'd
    A close alliance,--they are constant friends.

    It is an honest scruple, which forbids
    That I should cunningly deceive the king,
    And plunder him who was my second sire.

    Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother.

    To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.

    What Fate commands is not ingratitude.

    Alas! it still remains ingratitude;
    Necessity alone can justify it.

    Thee, before gods and men it justifies.

    But my own heart is still unsatisfied.

    Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.

    I cannot argue, I can only feel.

    Conscious of right, thou shouldst respect thyself.

    Then only doth the heart know perfect ease,
    When not a stain pollutes it.

    In this fane
    Pure hast thou kept thy heart. Life teaches us
    To be less strict with others and ourselves;
    Thou'lt learn the lesson too. So wonderful
    Is human nature, and its varied ties
    Are so involv'd and complicate, that none
    May hope to keep his inmost spirit pure,
    And walk without perplexity through life.
    Nor are we call'd upon to judge ourselves;
    With circumspection to pursue his path,
    Is the immediate duty of a man.
    For seldom can he rightly estimate,
    Or his past conduct or his present deeds.

    Almost thou dost persuade me to consent.

    Needs there persuasion when no choice is granted?
    To save thyself, thy brother, and a friend,
    One path presents itself, and canst thou ask
    If we shall follow it?

    Still let me pause,
    For such injustice thou couldst not thyself
    Calmly return for benefits receiv'd.

    If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,
    Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.
    It seems thou art not used to suffer much,
    When, to escape so great calamity,
    Thou canst refuse to utter one false word.

    Oh, that I bore within a manly heart!
    Which, when it hath conceiv'd a bold resolve,
    'Gainst every other voice doth close itself.

    In vain thou dost refuse; with iron hand
    Necessity commands; her stern decree
    Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves
    Must yield submission. In dread silence rules
    The uncounsell'd sister of eternal fate.
    What she appoints thee to endure,--endure;
    What to perform,--perform. The rest thou know'st.
    Ere long I will return, and then receive
    The seal of safety from thy sacred hand.

    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 Parcæ'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,
    And shun in the children
    To gaze on the features
    Once lov'd and still speaking
    Of their mighty sire.
    Thus sternly the Fates sang
    Immur'd in his dungeon.
    The banish'd one listens,
    The song of the Parcæ,
    His children's doom ponders,
    And boweth his head.
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