Home | Texts by category | | Quick Search:   
Works by Aeschylus
Pages of Agamemnon

Previous | Next


To one and all I cry, Receive again
With grace such Argives as the spear has spared.
Ah, home of royalty, beloved halls,
And solemn shrines, and gods that front the morn!
Benign as erst, with sun-flushed aspect greet
The king returning after many days.
For as from night flash out the beams of day,
So out of darkness dawns a light, a king,
On you, on Argos-Agamemnon comes.
Then hail and greet him well I such meed befits
Him whose right hand hewed down the towers of Troy
With the great axe of Zeus who righteth wrong-
And smote the plain, smote down to nothingness
Each altar, every shrine; and far and wide
Dies from the whole land's face its offspring fair.
Such mighty yoke of fate he set on Troy-
Our lord and monarch, Atreus' elder son,
And comes at last with blissful honour home;
Highest of all who walk on earth to-day-
Not Paris nor the city's self that paid
Sin's price with him, can boast, Whate'er befall,
The guerdon we have won outweighs it all.
But at Fate's judgment-seat the robber stands
Condemned of rapine, and his prey is torn
Forth from his hands, and by his deed is reaped
A bloody harvest of his home and land
Gone down to death, and for his guilt and lust
His father's race pays double in the dust.
Hail, herald of the Greeks, new-come from war.

All hail! not death itself can fright me now.

Was thine heart wrung with longing for thy land?

So that this joy doth brim mine eyes with tears.

On you too then this sweet distress did fall-

How say'st thou? make me master of thy word.

You longed for us who pined for you again.

Craved the land us who craved it, love for love?

Yea, till my brooding heart moaned out with pain.

Whence thy despair, that mars the army's joy?

Sole cure of wrong is silence, saith the saw.

Thy kings afar, couldst thou fear other men?

Previous | Next
Site Search