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AESCHYLUS



The Oresteia Trilogy


Agamemnon

…..
Oh, the torment bred in the race,

the grinding scream of death

and the stroke that hits the vein,

the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief,

the curse no man can bear.


But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no,

not from others but from them,

their bloody strife. We sing to you,

dark gods beneath the earth.


Now hear, you blissful powers underground --

answer the call, send help.

Bless the children, give them triumph now.

…..
The truth has to be melted out of our stubborn lives by suffering. Nothing speaks the truth, nothing tells us how things really are, nothing forces us to know what we do not want to know except pain. And this is how the gods declare their love.

…..
And now it goes as it goes

and where it ends is Fate.

And neither by singeing flesh

nor tipping cups of wine

nor shedding burning tears can you

enchant away the rigid Fury.

…..


The Eumenides

…..
The man who boldly transgresses, amassing a great heap unjustly--by force, in time, he will strike his sail, when trouble seizes him as the yardarm is splintered. He calls on those who hear nothing and he struggles in the midst of the whirling waters. The god laughs at the hot-headed man, seeing him, who boasted that this would never happen, exhausted by distress without remedy and unable to surmount the cresting wave. He wrecks the happiness of his earlier life on the reef of Justice, and he perishes unwept, unseen.

…..


The Suppliants

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CHORUS


Zeus! Lord and guard of suppliant hands

Look down benign on us who crave

Thine aid-whom winds and waters drave

From where, through drifting shifting sands,

Pours Nilus to the wave.

From where the green land, god-possest,

Closes and fronts the Syrian waste,

We flee as exiles, yet unbanned

By murder’s sentence from our land;

But-since Aegyptus had decreed

His sons should wed his brother’s seed,-

Ourselves we tore from bonds abhorred,

From wedlock not of heart but hand,

Nor brooked to call a kinsman lord!


And Danaus, our sire and guide,

The king of counsel, pond’ring well

The dice of fortune as they fell,

Out of two griefs the kindlier chose,

And bade us fly, with him beside,

Heedless what winds or waves arose,

And o’er the wide sea waters haste,

Until to Argos’ shore at last

Our wandering pinnace came-

Argos, the immemorial home

Of her from whom we boast to come-

Io, the ox-horned maiden, whom,

After long wandering, woe, and scathe,

Zeus with a touch, a mystic breath,

Made mother of our name.

Therefore, of all the lands of earth,

On this most gladly step we forth,

And in our hands aloft we bear-

Sole weapon for a suppliant’s wear-

The olive-shoot, with wool enwound!

City, and land, and waters wan

Of Inachus, and gods most high,

And ye who, deep beneath the ground,

Bring vengeance weird on mortal man,

Powers of the grave, on you we cry!

And unto Zeus the Saviour, guard

Of mortals’ holy purity!

Receive ye us-keep watch and ward

Above the suppliant maiden band!

Chaste be the heart of this your land

Towards the weak! but, ere the throng,

The wanton swarm, from Egypt sprung,

Leap forth upon the silted shore,

Thrust back their swift-rowed bark again,

Repel them, urge them to the main!

And there, ‘mid storm and lightning’s shine,

And scudding drift and thunder’s roar,

Deep death be theirs, in stormy brine!

Before they foully grasp and win

Us, maiden-children of their kin,

And climb the couch by law denied,

And wrong each weak reluctant bride.

…..