CHORUS.  Thou bird, that by the rocky cliffs of the sea, halcyon,[144] dost chant thy mournful elegy, a sound well understood by the skilled, namely, that thou art ever bemoaning thine husband in song, I, a wingless bird, compare my dirge with thine, longing for the assemblies[145] of the Greeks, longing for Lucina, who dwells along the Cynthian height, and near the palm[146] with its luxuriant 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.

IPH.  O king, no pure offerings hast thou hunted out for me.