Cease thy pursuit,and stop this rushing flood Of arms;for hither,by the fateful voice Of Phoebus,came Orestes,warn'd to fly The anger of the Furies,to convey His sister to her native Argos back,And to my land the sacred image bear.
Thoas,I speak to thee:him,whom thy rage Would kill,Orestes,on the wild waves seized,Neptune,to do me grace,already wafts On the smooth sea,the swelling surges calm'd.
And thou,Orestes (for my voice thou hear'st,Though distant far),to my commands attend:
Go,with the sacred image,which thou bear'st,And with thy sister:but when thou shalt come To Athens built by gods,there is a place On the extreme borders of the Attic land,Close neighbouring to Carystia's craggy height,Sacred;my people call it Alae:there A temple raise,and fix the statue there,Which from the Tauric goddess shall receive Its name,and from thy toils,which thou,through Greece Driven by the Furies'maddening stings,hast borne;And mortals shall in future times with hymns The Tauric goddess there,Diana,hail.
And be this law establish'd;when the feast For thy deliverance from this shrine is held,To a man's throat that they apply the sword,And draw the blood,in memory of these rites,That of her honours naught the goddess lose.
Thou,Iphigenia,on the hallow'd heights Of Brauron on this goddess shalt attend Her priestess,dying shalt be there interr'd,Graced with the honours of the gorgeous vests Of finest texture,in their houses left By matrons who in childbed pangs expired.