ARKAS.
Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?
IPHIGENIA.
Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
ARKAS.
Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
IPHIGENIA.
Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals.
In early youth, when first my soul, in love,
Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd,
A group of tender germs, in union sweet,
We sprang in beauty from the parent stem,
And heavenward grew. An unrelenting curse
Then seiz'd and sever'd me from those I lov'd,
And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands.
It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth,
The simple gladness of life's early dawn;
Though sav'd, I was a shadow of myself,
And life's fresh joyance bloom'd in me no more.
ARKAS.
If thus thou ever dost lament thy fate,
I must accuse thee of ingratitude.