The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 19

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; alas, a foreign curse Then seized and sever'd me from those I loved, 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 blooms in me no more.

ARKAS

If thou wilt ever call thyself unblest, I must accuse thee of ingrat.i.tude.

IPHIGENIA

Thanks have you ever.

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 sh.o.r.e to thee, To every stranger else with horror fraught, For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm But fell, according to an ancient rite, A b.l.o.o.d.y victim at Diana's shrine.

IPHIGENIA

Freely to breathe alone is not to live.

Say, is it life, within this holy fane, Like a poor ghost around its sepulchre To linger out my days? Or call you that A life of conscious happiness and joy, When every hour, dream'd listlessly away, Still leadeth onward to those gloomy days, Which the sad troop of the departed spend In self-forgetfulness on Lethe's sh.o.r.e?

A useless life is but an early death; This woman's destiny hath still been mine.

ARKAS

I can forgive, though I must needs deplore, The n.o.ble pride which underrates itself; It robs thee of the happiness of life.

But hast thou, since thy coming here, done naught?

Who hath the monarch's gloomy temper cheered?

Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd, From year to year, the usage of our sires, By which, a victim at Diana's shrine, Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain death Sending so oft the rescued captive home?

Hath not Diana, harboring no revenge For this suspension of her b.l.o.o.d.y rites, In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer?

On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host, Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar?

And feels not every one a happier lot, Since Thoas, who so long hath guided us With wisdom and with valor, sway'd by thee.

The joy of mild benignity approves, Which leads him to relax the rigid claims Of mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou, When from thy being o'er a thousand hearts, A healing balsam flows? when to a race, To whom a G.o.d consign'd thee, thou dost prove A fountain of perpetual happiness, And from this dire inhospitable coast, Dost to the stranger grant a safe return?

IPHIGENIA

The little done doth vanish to the mind, Which forward sees how much remains to do.

ARKAS

Him dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?

IPHIGENIA

Who weigheth his own deeds is justly blam'd.

ARKAS

He too, real worth too proudly who condemns, As who, too vainly, spurious worth o'er-rateth.

Trust me, and heed the counsel of a man With honest zeal devoted to thy service: When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee, Lend to his purposed words a gracious ear.

IPHIGENIA

Thy well-intention'd counsel troubles me: His offer I have ever sought to shun.

ARKAS

Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh.

Sithence King Thoas lost his son and heir, Among his followers he trusts but few, And trusts those few no more as formerly.

With jealous eye he views each n.o.ble's son As the successor of his realm, he dreads A solitary, helpless age--perchance Sudden rebellion and untimely death.

A Scythian studies not the rules of speech, And least of all the king. He who is used To act and to command, knows not the art, From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse Through many windings to its destin'd goal.

Thwart not his purpose by a cold refusal, By an intended misconception. Meet, With gracious mien, half-way the royal wish.

IPHIGENIA

Shall I then speed the doom that threatens me?

ARKAS

His gracious offer canst thou call a threat?

IPHIGENIA

'Tis the most terrible of all to me.

ARKAS

For his affection grant him confidence.

IPHIGENIA

If he will first redeem my soul from fear.

ARKAS

Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?

IPHIGENIA

A priestess secrecy doth well become.

ARKAS

Naught to a monarch should a secret be; And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine, His n.o.ble nature feels, ay, deeply feels, That thou with care dost hide thyself from him.

IPHIGENIA

Ill-will and anger harbors he against me?