IPHIGENIA. 'Tis even he; But gods should not hold intercourse with men As with themselves. Too weak the human race, Not to grow dizzy on unwonted heights. Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer; To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great: To be his friend and comrade,--but a man. His crime was human, and their doom severe; For poets sing, that treachery and pride Did from Jove's table hurl him headlong down, To grovel in the depths of Tartarus. Alas, and his whole race their hate pursues. THOAS. Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'? IPHIGENIA. The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame Was his descendant's certain heritage; But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass. Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint, He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd; In them each passion grew to savage rage, And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son, The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride, Hippodamia, child of Œnomaus, Through treachery and murder; she ere long Bore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes; With envy they beheld the growing love Their father cherish'd for a first-born son Sprung from another union. Bound by hate, In secret they contrive their brother's death. The sire, the crime imputing to his wife, With savage fury claim'd from her his child, And she in terror did destroy herself-- THOAS. Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative! Do not repent thy confidence--say on!