xuriant foliage, and the rich-springing laurel, and
the holy shoot of the deep blue olive, the dear place of Latona's
throes,[147] and the lake that rolls its waters in a circle,[148] where the
melodious swan honors the muses. O ye many tricklings of tears which fell
upon my cheeks, when, our towers being destroyed, I traveled in ships
beneath the oars and the spears of the foes.[149] And through a bartering
of great price I came a journey to a barbarian land,[150] where I serve the
daughter of Agamemnon, the priestess of the Goddess, and the
sheep-slaughtering[151] altars, envying her who has all her life been
unfortunate;[152] for she bends not under necessity, who is familiar with
it. Unhappiness is wont to change,[153] but to fare ill after prosperity is
a heavy life for mortals. And thee indeed, O mistress, an Argive ship of
fifty oars will conduct home, and the wax-bound reed of mountain Pan with
Syrinx tune cheer on the oarsmen, and prophet Phoebus, plying the tones of
his seven-stringed lyre, with song will lead thee prosperously to the rich
land of Athens. But leaving me here thou wilt travel by the dashing oars.
And the halyards by the prow,[154] will stretch forth the sails to the air,
above the beak, the sheet lines of the swift-journeying ship. Would that I
might pass through the glittering course, where the fair light of the sun
wends its way, and over my own chamber might rest from rapidly moving the
pinions on my shoulders.[155] And would that I might stand in the dance,
where also [I was wont to stand,] a virgin sprung from honorable
nuptials,[156] wreathing the dances of my companions at the foot of my dear
mother,[157] bounding to the rivalry of the graces, to the wealthy strife
respecting [beauteous] hair, pouring my variously-painted garb and tresses
around, I shadowed my cheeks.[158]

[_Enter_ THOAS.]

THOAS. Where is the Grecian woman who keeps the gate of this temple? Has
she yet begun the sacrifice of the strangers, and are the bodies burning in
the flame within the pure recesses?

CHOR. Here she is, O king, who will tell thee clearly all.

TH. Ah! Why art thou removing in your arms this image of the Goddess from
its seat that may not be disturbed, O daughter of Agamemnon?

IPH. O king, rest there thy foot in the portico.

TH. But what new matter is in the house, Iphigenia?

IPH. I avert the ill--for holy[159] do I utter this word.

TH. What new thing art thou prefacing? speak clearly.