Agamemnon

Calamitous, death-bringing!

And of all this the end

I am without resource to apprehend

Well then, the oracle from veils no longer

Shall be outlooking, like a bride new-married:

But bright it seems, against the sun’s uprisings

Breathing, to penetrate thee: so as, wave-like,

To wash against the rays a woe much greater

Than this. I will no longer teach by riddles.

And witness, running with me, that of evils

Done long ago, I nosing track the footstep!

For, this same roof here — never quits a Choros

One-voiced, not well-tuned since no well it utters:

And truly having drunk, to get more courage,

Man’s blood — the Komos keeps within the household

— Hard to be sent outside — of sister Furies:

They hymn their hymn — within the house close sitting —

The first beginning curse: in turn spit forth at

The Brother’s bed, to him who spurned it hostile.

Have I missed aught, or hit I like a bowman?

False prophet am I, — knock at doors, a babbler?

Henceforward witness, swearing now, I know not

By other’s word the old sins of this household!

And how should oath, bond honourably binding,

Become thy cure? No less I wonder at thee

— That thou, beyond sea reared, a strange-tongued city

Shouldst hit in speaking, just as if thou stood’st by!

Prophet Apollon put me in this office.

What, even though a god, with longing smitten?

At first, indeed, shame was to me to say this.

For, more relaxed grows everyone who fares well.

But he was athlete to me — huge grace breathing!

Well, to the work of children, went ye law’s way?

Having consented, I played false to Loxias.

Already when the wits inspired possessed of?

Already townsmen all their woes I foretold.

How wast thou then unhurt by Loxias’ anger?

I no one aught persuaded, when I sinned thus.

To us, at least, now sooth to say thou seemest.

Halloo, halloo, ah, evils!

Again, straightforward foresight’s fearful labour

Whirls me, distracting with prelusive last-lays!

Behold ye those there, in the household seated, —

Young ones, — of dreams approaching to the figures?

Children, as if they died by their beloveds —

Hands they have filled with flesh, the meal domestic —

Entrails and vitals both, most piteous burthen,

Plain they are holding! — which their father tasted!

For this, I say, plans punishment a certain

Lion ignoble, on the bed that wallows,

House-guard (ah, me!) to the returning master

— Mine, since to bear the slavish yoke behoves me!

The ship’s commander, Ilion’s desolator,

Knows not what things the tongue of the lewd she-dog

Speaking, outspreading, shiny-souled, in fashion

Of Até hid, will reach to, by ill fortune!

Such things she dares — the female, the male’s slayer!

She is . . . how calling her the hateful bite-beast

May I hit the mark? Some amphisbaina, — Skulla

Housing in rocks, of mariners the mischief,

Revelling Haides’ mother, — curse, no truce with,

Breathing at friends! How piously she shouted,

The all-courageous, as at turn of battle!

She seems to joy at the back-bringing safety!

Of this, too, if I nought persuade, all’s one! Why?

What is to be will come. And soon thou, present,

True prophet all too much wilt pitying style me.

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.

I say, thou Agamemnon’s fate shalt look on.

Speak good words, O unhappy! Set mouth sleeping!

But Paian stands in no stead to the speech here.

Nay, if the thing be near: but never be it!

Thou, indeed, prayest: they to kill are busy.

Of what man is it ministered, this sorrow?

There again, wide thou look’st of my foretellings.

For, the fulfiller’s scheme I have not gone with.

And yet too well I know the speech Hellenic.

For Puthian oracles, thy speech, and hard too.

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,