The herdsman tells his tale of how the men were taken prisoners. Iphigenia hears in silence and at the end of it says:
'Tis well. Let thy hand bring them, and mine own
Shall falter not till here God's will be done.
(Exit Herdsman.)
Iphigenia then gives way to her feelings. There are strangers to be sacrificed; to that she is accustomed, but these men are Greeks. Yet she herself suffered bitter things at the hands of the Greeks; should she not avenge these? By degrees, however, as she thinks of her youth, of her home, she melts, and at length withdraws into the Temple, raging against the cruel deed that she must do, and not at all sure that she can nerve herself to do it.
The coming of these Greeks has brought Greece vividly back to the thoughts of the Chorus. All Greeks loved the sea and were seafarers, and the arrival of these two adventurous men reminds these exiled women of their home, and in their imagination they see the ship cross the sea, until it touches the Friendless and cruel shore.
Chorus.
But who be these, from where the rushes blow
On pale Eurotas, from pure Dirces,
That turn not neither falter,
Seeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread,
Her without pity, round whose virgin head
Blood on the pillars rusts from long ago,
Blood on the ancient altar.
A flash of the foam, a flash of the foam,
A wave on the oar-blade welling,
And out they passed to the heart of the blue;
A chariot shell that the wild waves drew.
Is it for passion of gold they come,
Or pride to make great their dwelling?
* * * * *