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Iphigenia in Tauris (Angel Classics), Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Author Name    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Title   Iphigenia in Tauris (Angel Classics)


Book Condition   Very Good

Publisher    Angel Books

ISBN Number    0946162794 / 9780946162796

Seller ID   SKU9143813

0946162794 Very Good. Light wear to covers/corners. Trade paperback binding. Support Last Word Books & Press and independent booksellers.

Stock Description, May Not Reflect Item

Excerpt: ...by with triple sorrow fraught ORESTES, returning. Dost thou for Pylades and for thyself Implore the gods, blend not my name with yours; Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join, But wilt participate his curse and woe. IPHIGENIA. My destiny is firmly bound to thine. ORESTES. No, say not so; alone and unattended Let me descend to Hades. Though thou shouldst In thine own veil enwrap the guilty one. Thou couldst not shroud him from his wakeful foes; And e'en thy sacred presence, heavenly maid, Drives them aside, but scares them not away. With brazen impious feet they dare not tread Within the precincts of this sacred grove: Yet in the distance, ever and anon, I hear their horrid laughter, like the howl Of famish'd wolves, beneath the tree wherein The traveller hides. Without, encamp'd they lie, And should I quit this consecrated grove, Shaking their serpent locks, they would arise, And, raising clouds of dust on every side, Ceaseless pursue their miserable prey. IPHIGENIA. Orestes, canst thou hear a friendly word? ORESTES. Reserve it for one favour'd by the gods. 34 IPHIGENIA. To thee they give anew the light of hope. ORESTES. Through clouds and smoke I see the feeble gleam Of the death-stream which lights me down to hell. IPHIGENIA. Hast thou one sister only, thy Electra? ORESTES. I knew but one: yet her kind destiny, Which seem'd to us so terrible, betimes Removed an elder sister from the woe That dogs the race of Pelops. Cease, oh cease Thy questions, maiden, nor thus league thyself With the Eumenides, who blow away, With fiendish joy, the ashes from my soul, Lest the last spark of horror's fiery brand Should be extinguish'd there. Must then the fire, Deliberately kindl'd and supplied With hellish sulphur, never cease to sear My tortur'd bosom? IPHIGENIA. In the flame I throw Sweet incense. Let the gentle breath of love, Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow. Orestes, fondly lov'd,

Price = 8.00 USD

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