Browsing named entities in Aeschylus, Agamemnon (ed. Robert Browning).
Found 100 total hits in 30 results.
To Ilion Wrath, fulfilling her intent, This marriage-care -- the rightly named so -- sent: In after-time, for the tables' abuse And that of the hearth-partaker Zeus, Bringing to punishment Those who honoured with noisy throat The honour of the bride, the hymenseal note Which did the kinsfolk then to singing urge. But, learning a new hymn for that which was, The ancient city of Priamos Groans probably a great and general dirge, Denominating Paris "The man that miserably marries": -- She who, all the while before, A life, that was a general dirge For citizens' unhappy slaughter, bore.
Approach then, my monarch, of Troia the sacker, of Atreus the son! How ought I address thee, how ought I revere thee, -- nor yet overhitting Nor yet underbending the grace that is fitting? Many of mortals hasten to honour the seeming-to-be -- Passing by justice: and, with the ill-faring, to groan as he groans all are free. But no bite of the sorrow their liver has reached to: They say with the joyful, -- one outside on each, too, As they force to a smile smileless faces. But whoever is good at distinguishing races In sheep of his flock -- it is not for the eyes Of a man to escape such a shepherd's surprise, As they seem, from a well-wishing mind, In watery friendship to fawn and be kind. Thou to me, then, indeed, sending an army for Helena's sake, (I will not conceal it) wast -- oh, by no help of the Muses! -- depicted Not well of thy midriff the rudder directing. -- convicted Of bringing a boldness they did not desire to the men with existence at stake. But now -- from no outside o
AGAMEMNON. First, indeed, Argos, and the gods, the local, 'T is right addressing -- those with me the partners In this return and right things done the city Of Priamos: gods who, from no tongue hearing The rights o' the cause, for Ilion's fate man-slaught'rous Into the bloody vase, not oscillating, Put the vote-pebbles, while, o' the rival vessel, Hope rose up to the lip-edge: filled it was not. By smoke the captured city is still conspicuous: Até's burnt offerings live: and, dying with them, The ash sends forth the fulsome blasts of riches. Of these things, to the gods grace many-mindful 'T is right I render, since both nets outrageous We built them round with, and, for sake of woman, It did the city to dust -- the Argeian monster, The horse's nestling, the shield-bearing people That made a leap, at setting of the Pleiads, And, vaulting o'er the tower, the raw-flesh-feeding Lion licked up his fill of blood tyrannic. I to the gods indeed prolonged this preface; But -- as for thy
CHOROS. Wherefore to me, this fear -- Groundedly stationed here Fronting my heart, the portent-watcher -- flits she? Wherefore should prophet-play The uncalled and unpaid lay, Nor -- having spat forth fear, like bad dreams -- sits she On the mind's throne beloved -- well-suasive Boldness? For time, since, by a throw of all the hands, The boat's stern-cables touched the sands, Has past from youth to oldness, -- When under Ilion rushed the ship-borne bands.