THOAS. I'm a man, And better 'tis we end this conference. Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still Of the great goddess who selected thee; And may she pardon me, that I from her, Unjustly and with secret self-reproach, Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld. From olden times no stranger near'd our shore But fell a victim at her sacred shrine. But thou, with kind affection (which at times Seem'd like a gentle daughter's tender love, At times assum'd to my enraptur'd heart The modest inclination of a bride), Didst so inthral me, as with magic bonds, That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock My senses in a dream: I did not hear My people's murmurs: now they cry aloud, Ascribing my poor son's untimely death To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd, Who urgently demand the sacrifice. IPHIGENIA. For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee. Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood Do misconceive their nature, and impute To them their own inhuman dark desires. Did not Diana snatch me from the priest, Preferring my poor service to my death? THOAS. 'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds, Lightly to guide and construe rites divine. Perform thy duty; I'll accomplish mine. Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power. With them thy goddess may once more resume Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites! I send them here,--thy duty not unknown. [_Exit._ IPHIGENIA, _alone_. Gracious protectress! thou hast clouds To shelter innocence distress'd, And genial gales from Fate's rude grasp, Safely to waft her o'er the sea, O'er the wide earth's remotest realms, Where'er it seemeth good to thee. Wise art thou,--thine all-seeing eye The future and the past surveys, And doth on all thy children rest, E'en as thy pure and guardian light Keeps o'er the earth its silent watch, The beauty and the life of night. O Goddess! keep my hands from blood! Blessing it never brings, nor peace; And still in evil hours the form Of the chance-murder'd man appears To fill the unwilling murderer's soul With horrible and gloomy fears. For fondly the Immortals view Man's widely-scatter'd, simple race; And the poor mortal's transient life Gladly prolong, that he may raise Awhile to their eternal heavens His sympathetic joyous gaze. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. ORESTES. PYLADES.