Ajax
There stands the slaughtering sword, and bears its point
In readiness to wound, as one would judge
At leisure viewing it. This was the gift
Of Hector; never stranger to my soul
Like him was hateful, never to my eyes
Was one so odious. In the hostile ground
Of Troy fix'd firm it rears its sharpen'd point.
I fix'd it deep, that friendly it might give
A speedy death: this well I have prepared.
And now thy grace, O Jove, I first implore,
(So right requires) I shall not ask the grant
Of ample honours; send some messenger,
Fraught with the mour 'u tidings of my death,
To Teucer, that he first may bear me hence
Fallen on this sword fresh-dropping with my blood;
Nor let me by my foes first seen be cast
To birds obscene and hungry dogs a prey:
This I implore of thee, O Jove.
Hermes, thou guide to the infernal realms,
Thee I invoke; he no fierce writhings mine
Of lingering and convulsive agonies;
But lead me gently to the shades below,
Soon as this sword shall pierce my side. And you,
For ever virgins, and for ever prompt
To aid, for ever viewing all the ills
Of suffering mortals, in pursuit untired,
On you, ye awful goddesses, I call;
Mark how I perish, wretched in my fate,
Crush'd by the sons of Atreus; their base hearts
May basest miseries rend; as they destroy,
Be they destroy'd; my blood as they behold
By mine own hand thus shed, be their blood shed
With rage remorseless by the hands of those
Whom with parental love they hold most dear:
Go then, ye swift-avenging Furies, go, .....
Lap their vile blood, of all the Grecian host
Spare not a man. And thou, O Sun, who rollest
Through yon ethereal height thy radiant car,
My country when thou seest, thy golden rein
Draw back, and to my aged father tell,
Tell the unhappy queen that gave me birth,
My miseries and my death the cries of grief,
When she shall hear these tidings, she will raise
Through all the city. But lamenting strains
Have hear no place: the deed must now be dared.
O Death, O Death, advance; behold me now;
Soon in thy mansions shall I dwell, and there
Hold converse with thee. To the golden beams
Of this bright day; to thee, resplendent Sun,
Rolling on high, I make my last address,
Henceforth I never shall address you more.
O light of heav'n; and O thou sacred soil
Of Salamis, my country; O ye gods,
That guard my hearth; thou, Athens, high in fame,
And you, her sons, with whom my youth was train'd;
Ye fountains here, ye rivers, and ye fields
Of Troy, by you I long have been sustain'd;
You I address, to you I bid farewell;
Ajax to you speaks his last words; henceforth
My converse will be in the realms beneath....
