Keep careful watch, lest some one come this way.

PYLADES

I watch, and turn mine eye to every part.

ORESTES

And dost thou, Pylades, imagine this

The temple of the goddess, which we seek,

Our sails from Argos sweeping o'er the main?

PYLADES

Orestes, such my thought, and must be thine.

ORESTES

And this the altar wet with Grecian blood?

PYLADES

Crimson'd with gore behold its sculptured wreaths.

ORESTES

See, from the battlements what trophies hang!

PYLADES

The spoils of strangers that have here been slain.

ORESTES

Behooves us then to watch with careful eye.

O Phoebus, by thy oracles again

Why hast thou led me to these toils? E'er since,

In vengeance for my father's blood, I slew

My mother, ceaseless by the Furies driven,

Vagrant, an outcast, many a bending course

My feet have trod: to thee I came, of the

Inquired this whirling frenzy by what means,

And by what means my labours I might end.

Thy voice commanded me to speed my course

To this wild coast of Tauris, where a shrine

Thy sister hath, Diana; thence to take

The statue of the goddess, which from heaven

(So say the natives) to this temple fell:

This image, or by fraud or fortune won,

The dangerous toil achieved, to place the prize

In the Athenian land: no more was said;

But that, performing this, I should obtain

Rest from my toils. Obedient to thy words,

On this unknown, inhospitable coast

Am I arrived. Now, Pylades (for thou

Art my associate in this dangerous task),

Of thee I ask, What shall we do? for high

The walls, thou seest, which fence the temple round.

Shall we ascend their height? But how escape

Observing eyes? Or burst the brazen bars?

Of these we nothing know: in the attempt

To force the gates, or meditating means

To enter, if detected, we shall die.

Shall we then, ere we die, by flight regain

The ship in which we hither plough'd the sea?

PYLADES

Of flight we brook no thought, nor such hath been

Our wont; nor may the god's commanding voice

Be disobey'd; but from the temple now

Retiring, in some cave, which the black sea

Beats with its billows, we may lie conceal'd

At distance from our bark, lest some, whose eyes

May note it, bear the tidings to the king,

And we be seized by force. But when the eye

Of night comes darkling on, then must we dare,

And take the polish'd image from the shrine,

Attempting all things: and the vacant space

Between the triglyphs (mark it well) enough

Is open to admit us; by that way

Attempt we to descend: in toils the brave

Are daring; of no worth the abject soul.

ORESTES

This length of sea we plough'd not, from this coast,

Nothing effected, to return: but well

Hast thou advised; the god must be obey'd.

Retire we then where we may lie conceal'd;

For never from the god will come the cause,

That what his sacred voice commands should fall

Effectless. We must dare. No toil to youth

Excuse, which justifies inaction, brings. -

(They go out. IPHIGENIA and the CHORUS enter from the temple.) -

IPHIGENIA (singing)

You, who your savage dwellings hold

Nigh this inhospitable main,

'Gainst clashing rocks with fury roll'd,

From all but hallow'd words abstain.

Virgin queen, Latona's grace,

joying in the mountain chase,

To thy court, thy rich domain,

To thy beauteous-pillar'd fane

Where our wondering eyes behold

Battlements that blaze with gold,

Thus my virgin steps I bend,

Holy, the holy to attend;

Servant, virgin queen, to thee;

Power, who bear'st life's golden key,

Far from Greece for steeds renown'd,

From her walls with towers crown'd,

From the beauteous-planted meads

Where his train Eurotas leads,

Visiting the loved retreats,

Once my father's royal seats.

CHORUS (singing)

I come. What cares disturb thy rest?

Why hast thou brought me to the shrine?

Doth some fresh grief afflict thy breast?

Why bring me to this seat divine?

Thou daughter of that chief, whose powers

Plough'd with a thousand keels the strand

And ranged in arms shook Troy's proud towers

Beneath the Atreidae's great command!

IPHIGENIA (singing)

O ye attendant train,

How is my heart oppress'd with wo!

What notes, save notes of grief, can flow,

A harsh and unmelodious strain?

My soul domestic ills oppress with dread,

And bid me mourn a brother dead.

What visions did my sleeping sense appall

In the past dark and midnight hour!

'Tis ruin, ruin all.

My father's houses-it is no more:

No more is his illustrious line.

What dreadful deeds hath Argos known!