ARKAS. The king hath sent me hither, and commands To hail Diana's priestess. This the day, On which for new and wonderful success, Tauris her goddess thanks. The king and host Draw near,--I come to herald their approach.
IPHIGENIA. We are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting; Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.
ARKAS. Oh, priestess, that thine eye more mildly beam'd,-- Thou much-rever'd one,--that I found thy glance, O consecrated maid, more calm, more bright, To all a happy omen! Still doth grief, With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind; Still, still, through many a year we wait in vain For one confiding utt'rance from thy breast. Long as I've known thee in this holy place, That look of thine hath ever made me shudder; And, as with iron bands, thy soul remains Lock'd in the deep recesses of thy breast.
IPHIGENIA. As doth become the exile and the orphan.
ARKAS. Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?
IPHIGENIA. Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
ARKAS. Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
IPHIGENIA. Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals. In early youth, when first my soul, in love, Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd, A group of tender germs, in union sweet, We sprang in beauty from the parent stem, And heavenward grew. An unrelenting curse Then seiz'd and sever'd me from those I lov'd, And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands. It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth, The simple gladness of life's early dawn; Though sav'd, I was a shadow of myself, And life's fresh joyance bloom'd in me no more.
ARKAS. If thus thou ever dost lament thy fate, I must accuse thee of ingratitude.
ARKAS. Not the honest thanks Which prompt the heart to offices of love; The joyous glance, revealing to the host A grateful spirit, with its lot content. When thee a deep mysterious destiny Brought to this sacred fane, long years ago. To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven, With reverence and affection, Thoas came. Benign and friendly was this shore to thee, Which had before each stranger's heart appall'd, For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm But fell, according to an ancient rite, A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.