But now, let even that have rest:
I weep for him in Argos slain,
The brother whom I knew, Ah me,
A babe, a flower; and yet to be—
There on his mother's arms and breast—
The crowned Orestes, lord of men!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS.
Stay, yonder from some headland of the sea
There comes—methinks a herdsman, seeking thee.
(Enter a HERDSMAN. IPHIGENIA is still on her knees.)
HERDSMAN.
Daughter of Clytemnestra and her king,
Give ear! I bear news of a wondrous thing.
IPHIGENIA.
What news, that should so mar my obsequies?
HERDSMAN.
A ship hath passed the blue Symplegades,
And here upon our coast two men are thrown,
Young, bold, good slaughter for the altar-stone
Of Artemis!
[SHE RISES.]
Make all the speed ye may;
'Tis not too much. The blood-bowl and the spray!
IPHIGENIA.
Men of what nation? Doth their habit show?
HERDSMAN.
Hellenes for sure, but that is all we know.