PYLADES. The woe, Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps, I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us One ray of cheering hope! We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born, Named Cephalus; my eldest brother, he, Laodamus. Between us two a youth Of savage temper grew, who oft disturb'd The joy and concord of our youthful sports. Long as our father led his powers at Troy, Passive our mother's mandate we obey'd; But when, enrich'd with booty, he return'd, And shortly after died, a contest fierce For the succession and their father's wealth, Parted the brothers. I the eldest joined; He slew the second; and the Furies hence For kindred murder dog his restless steps. But to this savage shore the Delphian god Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope, commanding us Within his sister's temple to await The blessed hand of aid. We have been ta'en, Brought hither, and now stand for sacrifice. My tale is told. IPHIGENIA Tell me, is Troy o'erthrown? Assure me of its fall. PYLADES. It lies in ruins. But oh, ensure deliverance to us! Hasten, I pray, the promis'd aid of heav'n. Pity my brother, say a kindly word; But I implore thee, spare him when thou speakest. Too easily his inner mind is torn By joy, or grief, or cruel memory. A feverish madness oft doth seize on him, Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free, A prey to furies. IPHIGENIA. Great as is thy woe, Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while, Till I am satisfied. PYLADES. The stately town, Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host, Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again; Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall Our sad remembrance to that barbarous shore; There lies Achilles and his noble friend. IPHIGENIA. And are ye, godlike forms, reduc'd to dust! PYLADES. Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, ere again The daylight of their native land behold. IPHIGENIA. He speaks not of my father, doth not name Him with the fallen. He may yet survive! I may behold him! still hope on, my heart!