O, a fortune too blissful for words doth receive thee, my soul, doth receive thee!
What can I say?—for, transcending all marvels, of speech they bereave me,
The things that have come on us now! 840
Orestes.
Hereafter side by side may we be blest!
Iphigeneia.
O friends, I am thrilled with a strange delight:
Yet I fear lest out of mine arms to the height
Of the heaven he may wing his flight.
O hearths Cyclopian, O my fatherland
Mycenæ the dear,
For the gift of his life thanks, thanks for thy fostering hand,
For that erst thou didst rear
My brother, a light of defence in our halls to stand.
Orestes.
Touching our birth blest are we, but our life, 850
My sister, in its fortunes was unblest.
Iphigeneia.
I know it, alas! who remember the blade
To my throat by my wretched father laid—
Orestes.
Woe's me! though far, I seem to see thee there!
Iphigeneia.
When by guile I was thitherward trained, the bride,
As they feigned, whom Achilles should wed!
