Greek mythology: Iphigenia.
“I was cut off from hope in that sad place,
Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears
My father held his hand upon his face;
I, blinded by my tears,
Still strove to speak; my voice was thick with sighs,
As in a dream. Dimly I could decry
The stern black-bearded kings, with wolfish eyes,
Waiting to see me die.
The tall masts quivered as they lay afloat,
The temples and the people and the shore;
One drew a sharp knife through my tender throat
Slowly, and—nothing more.”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
silverliningjohn