SCENE II
IPHIGENIA, PYLADES
IPHIGENIA
Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
[She unbinds his chains.]
The freedom that I give is dangerous;
The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
PYLADES
Delicious music! dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land
With joy my captive eye once more beholds
The azure mountains of my native coast.
Oh, let this joy that I, too, am a Greek
Convince thee, priestess! How I need thine aid,
A moment I forget, my spirit rapt
In contemplation of so fair a vision.
If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips,
From which of our illustrious races say,
Dost thou thy godlike origin derive?
IPHIGENIA
The priestess whom the goddess hath herself
Selected and ordained, doth speak with thee.
Let that suffice: but tell me, who art thou,
And what unbless'd o'erruling destiny
Hath hither led thee with thy friend?