IPHIGENIA. 
In the flame I throw
Sweet incense.  Let the gentle breath of love,
Low murmuring, cool thy bosom’s fiery glow. 
Orestes, fondly lov’d,—­canst thou not hear me? 
Hath the terrific Furies’ grisly band
Completely dried the life-blood in thy veins? 
Creeps there, as from the Gorgon’s direful head,
A petrifying charm through all thy limbs? 
If hollow voices, from a mother’s blood,
Call thee to hell, may not a sister’s word
With benediction pure ascend to heaven,
And summon thence some gracious power to aid thee?

                  ORESTES. 

She calls! she calls!—­Thou too desir’st my death? 
Is there a fury shrouded in thy form? 
Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom’s inmost depths?

IPHIGENIA. 
Thine inmost heart reveals it.  I am she,
Iphigenia,—­look on me, Orestes!

ORESTES. 
Thou!

IPHIGENIA. 
My own brother!

ORESTES. 
Hence, away, begone! 
Touch not these locks, I counsel thee; from me,
As from Creusa’s bridal robe, proceeds
An unextinguishable fire.  Depart! 
Like Hercules, an ignominious death,
Unworthy wretch, look’d in myself, I’ll die.

                 IPHIGENIA. 

Thou shalt not perish!  Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implor’d so long. 
A wheel of joy and sorrow in my heart
Ceaseless revolves.  With shy reserve I turn
From one unknown; but unto thee, my brother,
My inmost heart resistlessly impels me.

                  ORESTES. 

Is this Lyaeus’ temple?  Doth the glow
Of holy rage unbridl’d thus possess
The sacred priestess?

IPHIGENIA. 
Hear me, oh, look up! 
See how my heart, which hath been clos’d so long,
Doth open to the bliss of seeing thee,
The dearest treasure that the world contains,—­
Of falling on thy neck, and folding thee
Within my longing arms, which have till now
Met the embraces of the empty wind. 
Do not repulse me,—­the eternal spring,
Whose crystal waters from Parnassus flow,
Bounds not more gaily on from rock to rock,
Down to the golden vale, than from my heart
The waters of affection freely gush,
And round me form a circling sea of bliss. 
Orestes!  Oh, my brother!

ORESTES. 
Lovely nymph! 
Nor thy caresses, nor thyself I trust;
Diana claims attendants more severe,
And doth avenge her desecrated fane. 
Remove thy circling arm! and if thou wilt
Safety and love upon a youth bestow,
Unto my friend, more worthy than myself,
Impart thy gifts; among yon rocks he roves;
Go seek him, guide him hence, and heed not me.