Agamemnon [tr. into Engl. verse by E. Fitzgerald. With MS. corrections by the translator].

Clarendon Press, 1876 - 240 Seiten

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Seite 45 - Thorough trampled ashes, blood, and fiery rain, Over water seething, and behind the breathing Warhorse in the darkness — till you rose again — Took the helm — took the rein — CHORUS. As one that half asleep at dawn recalls A night of Horror! CASSANDRA. Hither, whither, Phoebus? And with whom, Leading me, lighting me — CHORUS. I can answer that — CASSANDRA. Down to what slaughter-house? Foh! the smell of carnage through the door Scares me from it — drags me tow'rd it — Phoebus!
Seite 43 - A time will come for her. See you to it : A greater business now is on my hands : For lo ! the fire of Sacrifice is lit, And the grand victim by the altar stands. [Exit CLYTEMNESTRA.
Seite 36 - I clothe myself withal ; And knowing that, of all their gifts to man, No greater gift than Self-sobriety The Gods vouchsafe him in the race of life : Which, after thus far running, if I reach The goal in peace, it shall be well for me. CLYTEMNESTRA. Why, how think you old Priam would have walk'd Had he return'd to Troy your conqueror, As you to Hellas his ? AGAMEMNON.
Seite 61 - CLYTEMNESTRA. Call not on Death, old man, that call'd or no, Comes quick ; nor spend your ebbing breath on me, Nor Helena : who but as arrows be Shot by the hidden hand behind the bow. CHORUS. Alas, alas ! The Curse I...
Seite 58 - ... body, Thou Talk of libation !—Thou ! Thou ! Thou ! But mark! Not thine of sacred wine Over his head, but ours on thine Of curse, and groan, and torn-up stone, To slay or storm thee from the gate, The City's curse, the People's hate, Execrate, exterminate— CLYTEMNESTRA. Ay, ay, to me how lightly you adjudge Exile or death, and never had a word Of...
Seite 48 - Harpy-claw'd, Into the glittering meshes of slaughter She wheedles, entices, him into the poisonous Fold of the serpent — Chorus. Peace, mad woman, peace! Whose stony lips once open vomit out Such uncouth horrors. Cassandra. I tell you the lioness Slaughters the Lion asleep; and lifting Her blood-dripping fangs buried deep in his mane, Glaring about her insatiable, bellowing, Bounds hither — Phoebus, Apollo, Apollo, Apollo!
Seite 38 - AGAMEMNON. But not till I have put these sandals off, That, slave-like, too officiously would pander Between the purple and my dainty feet. For fear, for fear indeed, some Jealous eye From heav'n above, or earth below, should strike The Man who walks the earth Immortal-like.
Seite 48 - Nay, but again at fault: For in the tragic story of this House — Unless, indeed, the fatal Helen — No woman — CASSANDRA. No Woman — Tisiphone! Daughter Of Tartarus — love-grinning Woman above...
Seite 63 - ... slain ? and now, gone down among the Ghost, Of taken Troy indeed may make the most, But not one unrequited murder boast. Chorus — Oh, Agamemnon, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead ! What hand, what pious hand shall wash the wound Through which the sacred spirit...

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