Ho, whither now, so hot upon the prey, King Thoas? It is I that bid thee stay, Athena, child of Zeus. Turn back this flood Of wrathful men, and get thee temperate blood. Apollo's word and Fate's ordained path Have led Orestes here, to escape the wrath Of Them that hate. To Argos he must bring His sister's life, and guide that Holy Thing Which fell from heaven, in mine own land to dwell. So shall his pain have rest, and all be well. Thou hast heard my speech, O King. No death from thee May snare Orestes between rocks and sea: Poseidon for my love doth make the sore Waves gentle, and set free his labouring oar. And thou, O far away--for, far or near A goddess speaketh and thy heart must hear-- Go on thy ways, Orestes, bearing home The Image and thy sister. When ye come To god-built Athens, lo, a land there is Half hid on Attica's last boundaries, A little land, hard by Karystus' Rock, But sacred. It is called by Attic folk Halae. Build there a temple, and bestow Therein thine Image, that the world may know The tale of Tauris and of thee, cast out From pole to pole of Greece, a blood-hound rout {273} Of ill thoughts driving thee. So through the whole Of time to Artemis the Tauropole Shall men make hymns at Halae. And withal, Give them this law. At each high festival, A sword, in record of thy death undone, Shall touch a man's throat, and the red blood run-- One drop, for old religion's sake. In this Shall live that old red rite of Artemis. And thou, Iphigenia, by the stair Of Brauron in the rocks, the Key shall bear Of Artemis. There shalt thou live and die, And there have burial. * * * * * Ye last, O exiled women, true of heart And faithful found, ye shall in peace depart, Each to her home: behold Athena's will. Orestes, Begone. Lead forth thy sister from this shore In peace; and thou Thoas, be wroth no more. _Thoas._ Most high Athena, he who bows not low His head to God's word spoken, I scarce know How such a one doth live. Orestes hath Fled with mine Image hence.--I bear no wrath. Nor yet against his sister. There is naught, Methinks of honour in a battle fought {274} 'Gainst gods. The strength is theirs. Let those two fare Forth to thy land and plant mine Image there. I wish them well. These bondwomen no less I will send free to Greece and happiness, And stay my galleys' oars, and bid this brand Be sheathed again, Goddess, at thy command. _Athena._ 'Tis well, O King. For that which needs must be Holdeth the high gods as it holdeth thee. Winds of the north, O winds that laugh and run, Bear now to Athens Agamemnon's son; Myself am with you, o'er long leagues of foam Guiding my sister's hallowed Image home. (_She floats away._) _Chorus._ _Some women._ Go forth in bliss, O ye whose lot God shieldeth, that ye perish not! _Others._