I must wait then and be slain: Thou shalt walk free in Argolis again, And all life smile on thee.--Dearest, we need Not shrink from that. I shall by mine own deed Have saved thee. And a man gone from the earth Is wept for. Women are but little worth. But Orestes refuses to accept the sacrifice. _Orestes._ I stand with thee One-hearted here, be it for life or death, And either bear thee, if God favoureth, With me to Greece and home, or else lie here Dead at thy side. * * * * * _Iphigenia._ To steal for thee the image, yet not die Myself! 'Tis that we need. They then begin to discuss every possible means of escape, and at last an idea comes to Iphigenia. She will tell the King that Orestes has come from Greece with his mother's blood upon him, and that therefore it would be a great offence to sacrifice him to the {260} goddess. Before he is sacrificed, he must be cleansed in the waves of the sea. But his very presence has denied the image of the goddess, and so that, too, must be taken to the shore and purified. Pylades shares in the guilt of his friend and will accompany him to the shore, and Iphigenia will go down with the image. The rest must be the work of Orestes, and he must arrange that they are taken on board his ship and so escape. It is a dangerous and a daring plan, but there is no hope anywhere else. Iphigenia, Orestes and Pylades will thus be saved, if saving be possible, but what of the Chorus, of these Greek women, companions of the exile and loneliness of Iphigenia? They are indeed "true of heart and faithful found," for with no hope of going home themselves, ignored even by Iphigenia in this tremendous moment of her own hope, they loyally promise secrecy about all that concerns the plot. Yet they, too, crave for home and they give voice to their longings. They see in imagination the Greek land. Once again the misery of their capture and enslavement comes before them, but they rise above their sorrow as they sing of what it will mean to Iphigenia to cross the sea, to behold her home once again, and to reach the land of freedom. {261} _Chorus._ Bird of the sea rocks, of the bursting spray, O halcyon bird, That wheelest crying, crying, on thy way; Who knoweth grief can read the tale of thee: One love long lost, one song for ever heard And wings that sweep the sea. Sister, I too beside the sea complain, A bird that hath no wing. Oh, for a kind Greek market-place again, For Artemis that healeth woman's pain; Here I stand hungering. Give me the little hill above the sea, The palm of Delos fringed delicately, The young sweet laurel and the olive-tree Grey-leaved and glimmering; * * * * *