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Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus (ed. Sir Richard Jebb) | 2 | 0 | Browse | Search |
Demosthenes, Speeches 51-61 | 2 | 0 | Browse | Search |
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Euripides, Iphigenia in Tauris (ed. Robert Potter), line 687 (search)
Euripides, Iphigenia in Tauris (ed. Robert Potter), line 1123 (search)
Chorus
And you, lady, the Argive penteconter will bear you home; the wax-bound reed of the mountain god Pan, piping, will shout to the oars, and Phoebus the prophet, with the ring of his seven-stringed lyre, singing, will guide you well to the gleaming land of the Athenians. Leaving me here, you will go with splashing oars. In the breeze, the forestays of the ship that carries you swiftly will spread out over the front beyond the prow.
Electra comes out of the palace.
Electra
Women, has my poor Orestes left the house, mastered by the heaven-sent madness?
Chorus Leader
Not at all; he has gone to the Argive people to stand the appointed trial for his life, in which he and you must live or die.
Electra
Oh! Why did he do it? Who persuaded him?
Chorus Leader
Pylades; but this messenger will no doubt soon tell us what happened to your brother there.
A messenger, formerly a servant of Agamemnon, enters.
Messenger
Wretched, unhappy daughter of the general Agamemnon, my lady Electra, hear the sad tidings I bring you.
Electra
Alas! we are ruined; your words show it; you have clearly come with tidings of woe.
Messenger
The Pelasgians have decided by vote that you, poor lady, and your brother are to die this day.
Electra
Alas! my expectation has come to pass; I have long feared this, and have been wasting away in mourning for what was sure to happen. But what was the trial, what was said by the Argives, to condemn
After him lord Diomedes made a speech; he said they should not kill you and your brother, but keep clear of guilt by punishing you with exile. Some roared out that his words were good, but others disapproved. Next stood up a fellow, who cannot close his lips; one whose impudence is his strength; an Argive, but not of Argos, forced on us; confident in bluster and ignorant free speech, and plausible enough to involve them in some mischief sooner or later; [for whenever a man with a pleasing trick of speech, but of unsound principles, persuades the mob, it is a serious evil to the state; but those who give sound and sensible advice on all occasions, if not immediately useful to the state, yet prove so afterwards. And this is the way in which to regard a party leader; for the position is much the same in the case of an orator and a man in office.] He was for stoning you and Orestes to death, but it was Tyndareus who kept suggesting arguments of this kind to him as he urged the death o
Electra
spoken
They do not hear; alas for my troubles! Can it be that her beauty has blunted their swords?
sung
Soon some Argive in full armor, hurrying to her rescue, will attack the palace.
spoken
Keep a better look-out; it is not a contest of sitting still; turn about, some here, some there.
Chorus
sung
I am looking everywhere in turn along the road.
Helen
within
Oh, Pelasgian Argos! I am being foully murdered.
Chorus
Did you hear? The men have put their hand to the slaughter.
It is Helen screaming, at a guess.
Electra
sung
O eternal might of Zeus, of Zeus, only come to help my friends!
Helen
within
Menelaus, I am dying, but you do not help me, though you are near.
Chorus Leader
[But the bolts of the palace-doors rattle; be silent; for one of the Phrygians is coming out, from whom we will inquire how it is within.]
The Phrygian Eunuch enters from the palace, expressing the most abject terror. His lines are sung, in answer to the Chorus' spoken questions.
Phrygian
I have escaped from death by Argive sword, in my Asian slippers, by clambering over the cedar-beams that roof the porch and the Doric triglyphs, away, away! O Earth, Earth! in barbaric flight! Alas! You foreign women, where can I escape, flying through the clear sky or over the sea, which bull-headed Ocean rolls about as he circles the world in his embrace?
Chorus Leader
What is it, Helen's slave, creature from Ida?
Phrygian
Ilium, Ilium, oh me! city of Phrygia, and Ida's holy hill with fruitful soil, how I mourn for your destruction [a shrill song] with barbarian cry; destroyed through her beauty, born from a bird, swan-feathered, Leda's cub, hellish Helen! to be a curse to