Iphigenia in Tauris. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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      Beneath your leafy gloom, ye waving boughs

      Of this old, shady, consecrated grove,

      As in the goddess' silent sanctuary,

      With the same shudd'ring feeling forth I step,

      As when I trod it first, nor ever here

      Doth my unquiet spirit feel at home.

      Long as the mighty will, to which I bow,

      Hath kept me here conceal'd, still, as at first,

      I feel myself a stranger. For the sea

      Doth sever me, alas! from those I love,

      And day by day upon the shore I stand,

      My soul still seeking for the land of Greece.

      But to my sighs, the hollow-sounding waves

      Bring, save their own hoarse murmurs, no reply.

      Alas for him! who friendless and alone,

      Remote from parents and from brethren dwells;

      From him grief snatches every coming joy

      Ere it doth reach his lip. His restless thoughts

      Revert for ever to his father's halls,

      Where first to him the radiant sun unclos'd

      The gates of heav'n; where closer, day by day,

      Brothers and sisters, leagu'd in pastime sweet,

      Around each other twin'd the bonds of love.

      I will not judge the counsel of the gods;

      Yet, truly, woman's lot doth merit pity.

      Man rules alike at home and in the field,

      Nor is in foreign climes without resource;

      Possession gladdens him, him conquest crowns,

      And him an honourable death awaits.

      How circumscrib'd is woman's destiny!

      Obedience to a harsh, imperious lord,

      Her duty, and her comfort; sad her fate,

      Whom hostile fortune drives to lands remote:

      Thus I, by noble Thoas, am detain'd,

      Bound with a heavy, though a sacred chain.

      Oh! with what shame, Diana, I confess

      That with repugnance I perform these rites

      For thee, divine protectress! unto whom

      I would in freedom dedicate my life.

      In thee, Diana, I have always hop'd,

      And still I hope in thee, who didst infold

      Within the holy shelter of thine arm

      The outcast daughter of the mighty king.

      Daughter of Jove! hast thou from ruin'd Troy

      Led back in triumph to his native land

      The mighty man, whom thou didst sore afflict,

      His daughter's life in sacrifice demanding, —

      Hast thou for him, the godlike Agamemnon,

      Who to thine altar led his darling child,

      Preserv'd his wife, Electra, and his son.

      His dearest treasures? – then at length restore

      Thy suppliant also to her friends and home,

      And save her, as thou once from death didst save,

      So now, from living here, a second death.

      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.

      We are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting;

      Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye

      The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.

      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.

      As doth become the exile and the orphan.

      Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?

      Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?

      Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.

      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.

      If thus thou ever dost lament thy fate,

      I must accuse thee of ingratitude.

      Thanks have you ever.

      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,

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