"Between us Be Truth," is fine to my ear, on which our word Truth also pauses with a large dignity. The scenes go on more and more full of breathing beauty. The lovely joy of Iphigenia, the meditative softness with which the religiously educated mind perpetually draws the inference from the most agitating events, impress us more and more. At last the hour of trial comes. She is to keep off Thoas by a cunningly devised tale, while her brother and Pylades contrive their escape. Orestes has received to his heart the sister long lost, divinely restored, and in the embrace the curse falls from him, he is well, and Pylades more than happy. The ship waits to carry her to the palace home she is to free from a century's weight of pollution; and already the blue heavens of her adored Greece gleam before her fancy. But, O, the step before all this can be obtained;--to deceive Thoas, a savage and a tyrant indeed, but long her protector,--in his barbarous fashion, her benefactor! How can she buy life, happiness, or even the safety of those dear ones at such a price? "Woe, O Woe upon the lie! It frees not the breast, Like the true-spoken word; it comforts not, but tortures Him who devised it, and returns, An arrow once let fly, God-repelled, back, On the bosom of the Archer!" O, must I then resign the silent hope Which gave a beauty to my loneliness? Must the curse dwell forever, and our race Never be raised to life by a new blessing? All things decay, the fairest bliss is transient, The powers most full of life grow faint at last; And shall a curse alone boast an incessant life? Then have I idly hoped that here kept pure, So strangely severed from my kindred's lot, I was designed to come at the right moment, And with pure hand and heart to expiate The many sins that stain my native home. To lie, to steal the sacred image! Olympians, let not these vulture talons Seize on the tender breast. O, save me, And save your image in my soul! Within my ears resounds the ancient lay,-- I had forgotten it, and would so gladly,-- The lay of the Parcae, which they awful sung; As Tantalus fell from his golden seat They suffered with the noble friend. Wrathful Was their heart, and fearful was the song. In our childhood the nurse was wont to sing it To me, and my brother and sister. I marked it well. Then follows the sublime song of the Parcae, well known through translations.