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Iphigenia
From the beginning my fate was unhappy, from that first night of my mather’s marriage;
from the beginning the Fates attendant on my birth directed a hard upbringing for me, wooed by Hellenes, the first-born child in the home,
205
whom the unhappy daughter of Leda, by my father’s fault, bore as a victim and a sacrifice not joyful, she brought me up as an offering. In the horse-drawn chariot,
210
they set me as a bride on the sands of
Aulis
, oh woe, a wretched bride for the son of the Nereid, alas! But now, as a stranger I live in an unfertile home on this sea that is hostile to strangers,
215
without marriage, or children, or city, or friends, not raising hymns to Hera at
Argos
, nor embroidering with my shuttle, in the singing loom, the likeness of Athenian Pallas and the Titans; but
220
. . . a bloody fate, not to be hymned by the lyre, of strangers who wail a piteous cry and weep piteous tears. And now I must forget these things,
225
and lament my brother, killed in
Argos
, whom I left at the breast, still a baby, still an infant, still a young child in his mother’s arms and at her breast,
230
the holder of the scepter in
Argos
, Orestes.
235
From the beginning my fate was unhappy, from that first night of my mather’s marriage;
from the beginning the Fates attendant on my birth directed a hard upbringing for me, wooed by Hellenes, the first-born child in the home,
205
whom the unhappy daughter of Leda, by my father’s fault, bore as a victim and a sacrifice not joyful, she brought me up as an offering. In the horse-drawn chariot,
210
they set me as a bride on the sands of
Aulis
, oh woe, a wretched bride for the son of the Nereid, alas! But now, as a stranger I live in an unfertile home on this sea that is hostile to strangers,
215
without marriage, or children, or city, or friends, not raising hymns to Hera at
Argos
, nor embroidering with my shuttle, in the singing loom, the likeness of Athenian Pallas and the Titans; but
220
. . . a bloody fate, not to be hymned by the lyre, of strangers who wail a piteous cry and weep piteous tears. And now I must forget these things,
225
and lament my brother, killed in
Argos
, whom I left at the breast, still a baby, still an infant, still a young child in his mother’s arms and at her breast,
230
the holder of the scepter in
Argos
, Orestes.
235
Iphigenia in Tauris. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1891.
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Funding provided by The Annenberg CPB/Project.