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    Contents:
  • Translator's preface
  • Episode 1
  • Choral 1
  • Episode 2
  • Choral 2
  • Episode 3
  • Choral 3
  • Episode 4
  • Choral 4
  • Episode 5
  • Choral 5
  • Episode 6
  • Choral 6
  • Episode 7
  • Choral 7
  • Episode 8
    		•

    Aeschylus, Agamemnon (ed. Robert Browning)

    KASSANDRA.

    Editions and translations: Greek (ed. Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph.D.) | English (ed. Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D.) | English (ed. Robert Browning)
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    Table of ContentsGo to Previous Next


    CHOROS.
    Thuestes' feast, indeed, on flesh of children,
    I went with, and I shuddered. Fear too holds me
    Listing what's true as life, nowise out-imaged.
    KASSANDRA.
    I say, thou Agamemnon's fate shalt look on.
    CHOROS.
    Speak good words, O unhappy! Set mouth sleeping!
    KASSANDRA.
    But Paian stands in no stead to the speech here.
    CHOROS.
    Nay, if the thing be near: but never be it!
    KASSANDRA.
    Thou, indeed, prayest: they to kill are busy.
    CHOROS.
    Of what man is it ministered, this sorrow?
    KASSANDRA.
    There again, wide thou look'st of my foretellings.
    CHOROS.
    For, the fulfiller's scheme I have not gone with.
    KASSANDRA.
    And yet too well I know the speech Hellenic.
    CHOROS.
    For Puthian oracles, thy speech, and hard too.
    KASSANDRA
    Papai: what fire this! and it comes upon me!
    Ototoi, Lukeion Apollon, ah me -- me!
    She, the two-footed lioness that sleeps with
    The wolf, in absence of the generous lion,
    Kills me the unhappy one: and as a poison
    Brewing, to put my price too in the anger,
    She vows, against her mate this weapon whetting
    To pay him back the bringing me, with slaughter.
    Why keep I then these things to make me laughed at,
    Both wands and, round my neck, oracular fillets?
    Thee, at least, ere my own fate will I ruin:
    Go, to perdition falling! Boons exchange we --
    Some other Até in my stead make wealthy!
    See there -- himself, Apollon stripping from me
    The oracular garment! having looked upon me
    -- Even in these adornments, laughed by friends at,
    As good as foes, i' the balance weighed: and vainly --
    For, called crazed stroller, -- as I had been gipsy,
    Beggar, unhappy, starved to death, -- I bore it.
    And now the Prophet -- prophet me undoing,
    Has led away to these so deadly fortunes!
    Instead of my sire's altar, waits the hack-block
    She struck with first warm bloody sacrificing!
    Yet nowise unavenged of gods will death be:
    For there shall come another, our avenger,
    The mother-slaying scion, father's doomsman:
    Fugitive, wanderer, from this land an exile,
    Back shall he come, -- for friends, copestone these curses!
    For there is sworn a great oath from the gods that
    Him shall bring hither his fallen sire's prostration.
    Why make I then, like an indweller, moaning?
    Since at the first I foresaw Ilion's city
    Suffering as it has suffered: and who took it,
    Thus by the judgment of the gods are faring.
    I go, will suffer, will submit to dying!
    But, Haides' gates -- these same I call, I speak to,
    And pray that on an opportune blow chancing,
    Without a struggle, -- blood the calm death bringing
    In easy outflow, -- I this eye may close up!

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    This text is based on the following book(s):
    The Poetical Works of Robert Browning, volume 13. Robert Browning. London. Smith, Elder, and Co. 1889.

    This text was converted to electronic form by optical character recognition and has been proofread to a medium level of accuracy.

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