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Article THE AGAMEMNON OF AECHYLUS.* ← Page 4 of 5 →
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Agamemnon Of Aechylus.*
" ' Peace ! startle not tho light With the wild dreams of night !'So spake the Princes in their pride and joy , When I iii their dull ears Shrieked forth my tale of tears , ' Woe to the gorgeous city , woe to Troy !'—¦
" Yo watch the dun smoke rise Dp to the lurid skies ; Ye see the red light flickering on the stream ; Yc listen to the fall Of gate and tower ancl wall ; Sisters , the time is come !—alas , it is no dream !
" Through hall and court ancl porch Glides on tho pitiless torch ; The swift avengers faint not in their toil : Vain now the matron ' s sighs ; Vain now the infant ' s cries;—Look , sisters , look ! who leads them to the spoil ?
" Not Pyrrhus , though his hand Is on his father ' s brand ; Not the fell framcr of the accursed steed ; Not Nestor's hoary head , J ^ or Teucer ' s rapid ( read , Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomedc .
" Visions of deeper fear To-night are waning here;—I know them , sisters , the mysterious Three : Minerva ' s lightning frown , And Juno ' s golden crown , And him , the mighty Ruler of the sounding sea !
" Through wailing and through woe Silent and stern they go So have I ever seen them in my trance : Exultingly they guide Destruction's fiery tide , And lift the dazzling shield , ancl poise the deadly lance .
" Lo , where the old man stands , Folding his palsied hands , And muttering , with white lips , his querulous prayer : ' Where is my noble son , My best , my bravest one—Troy ' s hope and Priam ' s—where is Hector , where ?'
" Why is thy falchion grasped ? Why is thy helmet clasped ? Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine ! The altar reeks with gore ; 0 sisters , look no more ! It is our father's blood upon the shrine !
" And ye , alas ! must roam Far from your desolate home , Far from lost Ilium , o ' er the joyless wave ; Ye may not from these bowers Gather the trampled flowers To wreathe sad garlands for your brethren ' s grave .
" Away , away ! the gale Stirs the white-bosomed sail ; Hence ! look not back to freedom or to fame ; Labour must be your doom , Night-watchings , days of gloom , The bitter bread of tears , the bridal couch of shame .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Agamemnon Of Aechylus.*
" ' Peace ! startle not tho light With the wild dreams of night !'So spake the Princes in their pride and joy , When I iii their dull ears Shrieked forth my tale of tears , ' Woe to the gorgeous city , woe to Troy !'—¦
" Yo watch the dun smoke rise Dp to the lurid skies ; Ye see the red light flickering on the stream ; Yc listen to the fall Of gate and tower ancl wall ; Sisters , the time is come !—alas , it is no dream !
" Through hall and court ancl porch Glides on tho pitiless torch ; The swift avengers faint not in their toil : Vain now the matron ' s sighs ; Vain now the infant ' s cries;—Look , sisters , look ! who leads them to the spoil ?
" Not Pyrrhus , though his hand Is on his father ' s brand ; Not the fell framcr of the accursed steed ; Not Nestor's hoary head , J ^ or Teucer ' s rapid ( read , Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomedc .
" Visions of deeper fear To-night are waning here;—I know them , sisters , the mysterious Three : Minerva ' s lightning frown , And Juno ' s golden crown , And him , the mighty Ruler of the sounding sea !
" Through wailing and through woe Silent and stern they go So have I ever seen them in my trance : Exultingly they guide Destruction's fiery tide , And lift the dazzling shield , ancl poise the deadly lance .
" Lo , where the old man stands , Folding his palsied hands , And muttering , with white lips , his querulous prayer : ' Where is my noble son , My best , my bravest one—Troy ' s hope and Priam ' s—where is Hector , where ?'
" Why is thy falchion grasped ? Why is thy helmet clasped ? Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine ! The altar reeks with gore ; 0 sisters , look no more ! It is our father's blood upon the shrine !
" And ye , alas ! must roam Far from your desolate home , Far from lost Ilium , o ' er the joyless wave ; Ye may not from these bowers Gather the trampled flowers To wreathe sad garlands for your brethren ' s grave .
" Away , away ! the gale Stirs the white-bosomed sail ; Hence ! look not back to freedom or to fame ; Labour must be your doom , Night-watchings , days of gloom , The bitter bread of tears , the bridal couch of shame .