Iphigenia in Tauris. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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      Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'?

      The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame

      Was his descendant's certain heritage;

      But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass.

      Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,

      He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd;

      In them each passion grew to savage rage,

      And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son,

      The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride,

      Hippodamia, child of Œnomaus,

      Through treachery and murder; she ere long

      Bore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes;

      With envy they beheld the growing love

      Their father cherish'd for a first-born son

      Sprung from another union. Bound by hate,

      In secret they contrive their brother's death.

      The sire, the crime imputing to his wife,

      With savage fury claim'd from her his child,

      And she in terror did destroy herself —

      Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative!

      Do not repent thy confidence – say on!

      How blest is he who his progenitors

      With pride remembers, to the list'ner tells

      The story of their greatness, of their deeds,

      And, silently rejoicing, sees himself

      Link'd to this goodly chain! For the same stock

      Bears not the monster and the demigod:

      A line, or good or evil, ushers in

      The glory or the terror of the world. —

      After the death of Pelops, his two sons

      Rul'd o'er the city with divided sway.

      But such an union could not long endure.

      His brother's honour first Thyestes wounds.

      In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.

      Thyestes, planning horrors, long before

      Had stealthily procur'd his brother's son,

      Whom he in secret nurtur'd as his own.

      Revenge and fury in his breast he pour'd,

      Then to the royal city sent him forth,

      That in his uncle he might slay his sire,

      The meditated murder was disclos'd,

      And by the king most cruelly aveng'd,

      Who slaughter'd, as he thought, his brother's son.

      Too late he learn'd whose dying tortures met

      His drunken gaze; and seeking to assuage

      The insatiate vengeance that possess'd his soul,

      He plann'd a deed unheard of. He assum'd

      A friendly tone, seem'd reconcil'd, appeas'd.

      And lur'd his brother, with his children twain,

      Back to his kingdom; these he seiz'd and slew;

      Then plac'd the loathsome and abhorrent food

      At his first meal before the unconscious sire.

      And when Thyestes had his hunger still'd

      With his own flesh, a sadness seiz'd his soul;

      He for his children ask'd, – their steps, their voice,

      Fancied he heard already at the door;

      And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,

      Threw in the members of the slaughter'd boys. —

      Shudd'ring, O king, thou dost avert thy face:

      So did the sun his radiant visage hide,

      And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.

      These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors,

      And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,

      And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,

      Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,

      Or shroud in gloomy twilight.

      Hidden there

      Let them abide. A truce to horror now,

      And tell me by what miracle thou sprang'st

      From race so savage.

      Atreus' eldest son

      Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire:

      But I may say with truth, that, from a child,

      In him the model of a perfect man

      I witness'd ever. Clytemnestra bore

      To him, myself, the firstling of their love,

      Electra then. Peaceful the monarch rul'd,

      And to the house of Tantalus was given

      A long-withheld repose. A son alone

      Was wanting to complete my parent's bliss;

      Scarce was this wish fulfill'd, and young Orestes,

      The household's darling, with his sisters grew,

      When new misfortunes vex'd our ancient house.

      To you hath come the rumour of the war,

      Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,

      The force united of the Grecian kings

      Round Ilion's walls encamp'd. Whether the town

      Was humbl'd, and achiev'd their great revenge

      I have not heard. My father led the host

      In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale

      They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,

      Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,

      Through Calchas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.

      They lur'd me with my mother to the camp,

      And at Diana's altar doom'd this head. —

      She was appeas'd, she did not wish my blood,

      And wrapt me in a soft protecting cloud;

      Within this temple from the dream of death

      I waken'd first. Yes, I myself am she;

      Iphigenia, – I who speak to thee

      Am Atreus' grandchild, Agamemnon's child,

      And great Diana's consecrated priestess.

      I yield no higher honour or regard

      To the king's daughter than the maid unknown;

      Once more my first proposal I repeat;

      Come, follow me, and share what I possess.

      How dare I venture such a step, O king?

      Hath not the goddess who protected me

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