PYLADES. 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. Phœbus 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. IPHIGENIA. 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. PYLADES. 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? IPHIGENIA. Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun, So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul. PYLADES. Oh, banish fear! With danger it hath form'd A close alliance,--they are constant friends. IPHIGENIA. It is an honest scruple, which forbids That I should cunningly deceive the king, And plunder him who was my second sire. PYLADES. Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother. IPHIGENIA. To me, at least, he hath been ever kind. PYLADES. What Fate commands is not ingratitude. IPHIGENIA. Alas! it still remains ingratitude; Necessity alone can justify it. PYLADES. Thee, before gods and men it justifies. IPHIGENIA. But my own heart is still unsatisfied. PYLADES. Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.