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Article THE AGAMEMNON OF AECHYLUS.* ← Page 2 of 5 →
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The Agamemnon Of Aechylus.*
Well done , Cly temnestra ! We have also a very poetic representation of the sad reminiscences of the chorus , which Lord Carnarvon has turned into " octosyllabics " of much grace and pathos , and which we shall again venture to compare with " Du Theil's " literal French prose .
" Those who went forth to war return No more to us ; but in their room The hero dust ancl funeral urn Are sadly borne to their last homo . The God who rules war's usury , Changing life to ashes dry , Who holds the scale with even hand In the rude shock of spear and brand ,
Send from Troy's war-wasted plains A few scorched , ancl scanty grains , Holies of each gallant wight , Stored hi urn who fell in fight . And loud the cry goes up for him , The strong of heart , the stout of limb ; Or him , the warriors killed in strife , Who perished for another ' s wife .
And round and round , With hateful sound , The envious whispers come and go , And wrath , ancl bitterness , and woe 'Gainst the Atroidce twain ; ]? or those who in a foreign grave Take then- last rest—the young and brave
All in then- beauty slain . Mingled with curses deep and loud , The tale is passed from man to man ; And still my longing grows to scan What the blind caves of night do shroud . The jealous Gods are swif t to mark The man of blood ; the Furies dark Swift to hurl him to disgrace Prom his pitch of power ancl place . Passeth strength ancl fadeth bloom In the land of endless gloom . "
" On a vu partir les gages les plus chers ; il ne revient , a leur place , que cles urnes & de la cendre Celui qui fait echanger les cadavres centre l'or , qui , dans les ' combats , tient la balance des amies , Mars , ne renvoie d'llion a de tristes parens , qu ' un deplorable reste recueilli sur le bucher , une poudre legere , rent'ermee dans un vase . . . Hs gemissent .... ils rappellent , l ' adresse de colui-ci dans la guerre , le trepas glorieux de celui-la & pour qui- ? pour une femme etrangcre .... Peut-etre murmurent-ils tout has ; mais , un regret jaloux accuse , en secret , les trop vindicatifs Atrides En effetune tendre & belle jeimesse a trouve son tombeau sous
, les murs d'llion ; la terre conqnise ensevilit les vainqueurs . " Cassandra is one of the most touching pictures of the " great tableau vivant . " Her sad prophetic words still can move us ! She still seems to rise before us , a dim shadow of the past , surrounded with the pathos , the reality , the tenderness of ages . " Gods ! I'm consumed by the prophetic
fire—Woe's me , Apollo , Slayer of tho Wolves ; This human lioness , the base wolf ' s mate , What time the generous lion ' s far from home , Shall murder me . Aye , as she whets her sword To slay the man , like one who drugs the bowl , She pours into the cup of wrath my life , Repaying by my death my bringing here . Why wear I then the symbols of my
art—The prophet's necklace , the diviner ' s staff ? They shall not live at least to see my doom—Go to destruction , whither I go too , — Go and enrich some other hapless maid . Aye—He himself looks on and sees me scorned .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Agamemnon Of Aechylus.*
Well done , Cly temnestra ! We have also a very poetic representation of the sad reminiscences of the chorus , which Lord Carnarvon has turned into " octosyllabics " of much grace and pathos , and which we shall again venture to compare with " Du Theil's " literal French prose .
" Those who went forth to war return No more to us ; but in their room The hero dust ancl funeral urn Are sadly borne to their last homo . The God who rules war's usury , Changing life to ashes dry , Who holds the scale with even hand In the rude shock of spear and brand ,
Send from Troy's war-wasted plains A few scorched , ancl scanty grains , Holies of each gallant wight , Stored hi urn who fell in fight . And loud the cry goes up for him , The strong of heart , the stout of limb ; Or him , the warriors killed in strife , Who perished for another ' s wife .
And round and round , With hateful sound , The envious whispers come and go , And wrath , ancl bitterness , and woe 'Gainst the Atroidce twain ; ]? or those who in a foreign grave Take then- last rest—the young and brave
All in then- beauty slain . Mingled with curses deep and loud , The tale is passed from man to man ; And still my longing grows to scan What the blind caves of night do shroud . The jealous Gods are swif t to mark The man of blood ; the Furies dark Swift to hurl him to disgrace Prom his pitch of power ancl place . Passeth strength ancl fadeth bloom In the land of endless gloom . "
" On a vu partir les gages les plus chers ; il ne revient , a leur place , que cles urnes & de la cendre Celui qui fait echanger les cadavres centre l'or , qui , dans les ' combats , tient la balance des amies , Mars , ne renvoie d'llion a de tristes parens , qu ' un deplorable reste recueilli sur le bucher , une poudre legere , rent'ermee dans un vase . . . Hs gemissent .... ils rappellent , l ' adresse de colui-ci dans la guerre , le trepas glorieux de celui-la & pour qui- ? pour une femme etrangcre .... Peut-etre murmurent-ils tout has ; mais , un regret jaloux accuse , en secret , les trop vindicatifs Atrides En effetune tendre & belle jeimesse a trouve son tombeau sous
, les murs d'llion ; la terre conqnise ensevilit les vainqueurs . " Cassandra is one of the most touching pictures of the " great tableau vivant . " Her sad prophetic words still can move us ! She still seems to rise before us , a dim shadow of the past , surrounded with the pathos , the reality , the tenderness of ages . " Gods ! I'm consumed by the prophetic
fire—Woe's me , Apollo , Slayer of tho Wolves ; This human lioness , the base wolf ' s mate , What time the generous lion ' s far from home , Shall murder me . Aye , as she whets her sword To slay the man , like one who drugs the bowl , She pours into the cup of wrath my life , Repaying by my death my bringing here . Why wear I then the symbols of my
art—The prophet's necklace , the diviner ' s staff ? They shall not live at least to see my doom—Go to destruction , whither I go too , — Go and enrich some other hapless maid . Aye—He himself looks on and sees me scorned .