ESCHYLUS

ACHYLUS, the greatest name in Greek drama, was born at Eleusis, 525 B.C. He fought against the Persian invaders, greatly distinguishing himself at Marathon, and at Salamis ten years later. This lent coloring to one of the poet's most striking pictures in The Persians." He first appeared in the rôle of tragedy when twenty-six. His dramas were produced in rapid succession, but only seven survive. He died 456 B.C. The Middle Ages paid the most profound reverence to his name.

THE COMPLAINT OF PROMETHEUS "From "Prometheus Bound," Translation of Elizabeth Barrett

Browning)

PROMETHEUS (ALONE)

O Holy Æther, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,-
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,

I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me

The new King of the happy ones sublime Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!

Woe, woe! to-day's woe and coming morrow's

I cover with one groan. And where is found me A limit to these sorrows?

1

And yet what word do I say? I have treknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul--and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe

With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,

Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,

What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,

Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has he, bound,

To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain-
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,

And his gods hate again,

As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!

And the air undersings

The light stroke of their wings—

And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.

A PRAYER TO ARTEMIS

(From Miss Swanwick's Translation of "The Suppliants">

STROPHE IV.

Though Zeus plan all things right,

Yet is his heart's desire full hard to trace;

Nathless in every place

Brightly it gleameth, e'en in darkest night, Fraught with black fate to man's speech-gifted race

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Steadfast, ne'er thrown in fight,

The deed in brow of Zeus to ripeness brought; For wrapt in shadowy night,

Tangled, unscanned by mortal sight, Extend the pathways of his secret thought.

STROPHE V.

From towering hopes mortals he hurleth prone
To utter doom: but for their fal
No force arrayeth he; for all

That gods devise is without effort wrought.
A mindful Spirit aloft on holy throne
By inborn energy achieves his thought

ANTISTROPHE V.

But let him mortal insolence behold:-
How with proud contumacy rife,
Wantons the stem in lusty life

My marriage craving;-frenzy over-boid,
Spur ever-pricking, goads them on to iate,
By ruin taught their folly all too late.

STROPHE VI.

Thus I complain, in piteous strain,
Grief-laden, tear-evoking, shrill;
Ah woe is me! woe! woe!

Dirge-like it sounds; mine own death-trill
I pour, yet breathing vital air.

Hear, hill-crowned Apia, hear my prayer!
Full well, O land,

My voice barbaric thou canst understand;
While oft with rendings I assail
My byssine vesture and Sidonian veil.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

My nuptial right in Heaven's pure sight
Pollution were, death-laden, rude;
Ah woe is me! woe! woe!

Alas for sorrow's murky brood!
Where will this billow hurl me? Where?
Hear, hill-crowned Apia, hear my prayer!`
Full well, O land,

'My voice barbaric thou canst understand;
While oft with rendings I assail
My byssine vesture and Sidonian veil.

STROPHE VII.

The oar indeed and home with sails
Flax-tissued, swelled with favoring gales,
Stanch to the wave, from spear-storm free
Have to this shore escorted me,
Not so far blame I destiny.
But may the all-seeing Father send
In fitting time propitious end;

So our dread Mother's mighty brood
The lordly couch may 'scape, ah me,
Unwedded, unsubdued!

ANTISTROPHE VII.

Meeting my will with will divine,
Daughter of Zeus, who here dost hold
Steadfast thy sacred shrine

Me, Artemis unstained, behold.

Do thou, who sovereign might dost wield,
Virgin thyself, a virgin shield;

So our dread Mother's mighty brood
The lordly couch may 'scape, ah me,

Unwedded, unsubdued!

THE VISION OF CASSANDRA
(From Edward Fitzgerald's Version of "Agamemnon ")

CASSANDRA.

Phoebus Apollo !

CHORUS.

Hark!

The lips at last unlocking.

CASSANDRA,

Phoebus! Phoebus!

CHORUS.

Well, what of Phoebus, maiden? though a name "Tis but disparagement to call upon

In misery.

CASSANDRA,

Apollo! Apollo! Again!

Oh, the burning arrow through the brain!

Phoebus Apollo! Apollo!

CHORUS.

Seemingly

Possessed indeed-whether by

CASSANDRA.

Phoebus!

Phoebus! Through trampled ashes, blood, and fiery rain, Over water seething, and behind the breathing War-horse in the darkness-till you rose again, Took the helm-took the rein-

CHORUS.

As one that half asleep at dawn recalls
A night of Horror!