severed from the home of such a tragic fate, the palace of Mycenæ. Troy had fallen, Agamemnon been murdered, Orestes had grown up to avenge his death. All these events were unknown to the exiled Iphigenia. The priestess of Diana in a barbarous land, she had passed the years in the duties of the sanctuary, and in acts of beneficence. She had acquired great power over the mind of Thoas, king of Tauris, and used it to protect strangers, whom it had previously been the custom of the country to sacrifice to the goddess.

She salutes us with a soliloquy, of which I give a rude translation:—

 Beneath your shade, living summits Of this ancient, holy, thick-leaved grove, As in the silent sanctuary of the Goddess, Still I walk with those same shuddering feelings, As when I trod these walks for the first time. My spirit cannot accustom itself to these places; Many years now has kept me here concealed A higher will, to which I am submissive; Yet ever am I, as at first, the stranger; For ah! the sea divides me from my beloved ones, And on the shore whole days I stand, Seeking with my soul the land of the Greeks, And to my sighs brings the rushing wave only Its hollow tones in answer. Woe to him who, far from parents, and brothers, and sisters, Drags on a lonely life. Grief consumes The nearest happiness away from his lips; His thoughts crowd downwards— Seeking the hall of his fathers, where the Sun First opened heaven to him, and kindred-born In their first plays knit daily firmer and firmer The bond from heart to heart—I question not the Gods, Only the lot of woman is one of sorrow; In the house and in the war man rules, Knows how to help himself in foreign lands, Possessions gladden and victory crowns him, And an honorable death stands ready to end his days. Within what narrow limits is bounded the luck of woman! To obey a rude husband even is duty and comfort; how sad When, instead, a hostile fate drives her out of her sphere! So holds me Thoas, indeed a noble man, fast In solemn, sacred, but slavish bonds. O, with shame I confess that with secret reluctance I serve thee, Goddess, thee, my deliverer. My life should freely have been dedicate to thee, But I have always been hoping in thee, O Diana, Who didst take in thy soft arms me, the rejected daughter Of the greatest king! Yes, daughter of Zeus, I thought if thou gavest such anguish to him, the high hero, The godlike Agamemnon; Since he brought his dearest, a victim, to thy altar, That, when he should return, crowned with glory, from Ilium, At the same time thou would'st give to his arms his other treasures, His spouse, Electra, and the princely son; Me also, thou would'st restore to mine own, Saving a second 

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