This dream will melt and soar
Up to the fiery skies from whence it came.
O Argos land, O hearth and holy flame
That old Cyclopes lit,
I bless ye that he lives, that he is grown,
A light and strength, my brother and mine own;
I bless your name for it.

ORESTES.
One blood we are; so much is well. But Fate,
Sister, hath not yet made us fortunate.

IPHIGENIA.
O most unfortunate! Did I not feel,
Whose father, misery-hearted, at my bare
Throat held the steel?

ORESTES.
Woe's me! Methinks even now I see thee there.

IPHIGENIA.
No love-song of Achilles! Crafty arms
Drew me to that cold sleep,
And tears, blind tears amid the altar psalms
And noise of them that weep--
That was my cleansing!

ORESTES.
My heart too doth bleed,
To think our father wrought so dire a deed.