Aeschylus Agamemnon 404.app-404-1

CHOROS.

The stroke of Zeus — they have it, as men say!

This, at least, from the source track forth we may!

As he ordained, so has he done.

No — said someone —

The gods think fit to care

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Nowise for mortals, such

As those by whom the good and fair

Of things denied their touch

Is trampled! but he was profane.

That they do care, has been made plain

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To offspring of the over-bold,

Outbreathing Ares greater than is just —

Houses that spill with more than they can hold,

More than is best for man. Be man’s what must

Keep harm off, so that in himself he find

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Sufficiency — the well-endowed of mind!

For there’s no bulwark in man’s wealth to him

Who, through a surfeit, kicks — into the dim

And disappearing — Right’s great altar.

Yes —

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It urges him, the sad persuasiveness,

Até’s insufferable child that schemes

Treason beforehand: and all cure is vain.

It is not hidden: out it glares again,

A light dread-lamping-mischief, just as gleams

The badness of the bronze;

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Through rubbing, puttings to the touch,

Black-clotted is he, judged at once.

He seeks — the boy — a flying bird to clutch,

The insufferable brand

Setting upon the city of his land

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Whereof not any god hears prayer;

While him who brought about such evils there,

That unjust man, the god in grapple throws.

Such an one, Paris goes

Within the Atreidai’s house —

400

Shamed the guest’s board by robbery of the spouse.

And, leaving to her townsmen throngs a-spread

With shields, and spear-thrusts of sea-armament,

And bringing Ilion , in a dowry’s stead,

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Destruction — swiftly through the gates she went,

Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbroke

From prophets of the House as thus they spoke.

Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers, — woe

The marriage-bed and dints

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A husband’s love imprints!

There she stands silent! meets no honour — no

Shame — sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!

And, through desire of one across the main,

A ghost will seem within the house to reign.

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And hateful to the husband is the grace

Of well-shaped statues: from — in place of eyes

Those blanks — all Aphrodite dies.

But dream-appearing mournful fantasies —

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There they stand, bringing grace that’s vain.

For vain ’t is, when brave things one seems to view;

The fantasy has floated off, hands through;

Gone, that appearance, — nowise left to creep, —

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On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!

Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are such

As these—and woes surpassing these by much.

But not these only: everywhere —

For those who from the land

Of Hellas issued in a band,

Sorrow, the heart must bear,

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Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.

Many a circumstance, at least,

Touches the very breast.

For those

Whom any sent away, — he knows:

And in the live man’s stead,

Armour and ashes reach

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The house of each.

For Ares, gold-exchanger for the dead,

And balance-holder in the fight o’ the spear,

Due-weight from Ilion sends —

What moves the tear on tear —

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A charred scrap to the friends:

Filling with well-packed ashes every urn,

For man — that was — the sole return.

And they groan — praising much, the while,

Now this man as experienced in the strife,

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Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,

Because of — not his own — another’s wife.

But things there be, one barks,

When no man harks:

A surreptitious grief that’s grudge

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Against the Atreidai who first sought the judge.

But some there, round the rampart, have

In Ilian earth, each one his grave:

All fair-formed as at birth,

It hid them — what they have and hold — the hostile earth.

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And big with anger goes the city’s word,

And pays a debt by public curse incurred.

And ever with me— as about to hear

A something night-involved — remains my fear:

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Since of the many-slayers — not

Unwatching are the gods.

The black Erinues, at due periods —

Whoever gains the lot

Of fortune with no right —

Him, by life’s strain and stress

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Back-again-beaten from success,

They strike blind: and among the out-of-sight

For who has got to be, avails no might.

The being praised outrageously

Is grave, for at the eyes of such an one

Is launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.

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Therefore do I decide

For so much and no more prosperity

Than of his envy passes unespied.

Neither a city-sacker would I be,

Nor life, myself by others captive, see.

A swift report has gone our city through,

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From fire, the good-news messenger: if true,

Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie?

Who is so childish and deprived of sense

That, having, at announcements of the flame

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Thus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby,

He then shall at a change of evidence,

Be worsted just the same?

It is conspicuous in a woman’s nature,

Before its view to take a grace for granted:

Too trustful, — on her boundary, usurpature

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Is swiftly made;

But swiftly, too, decayed,

The glory perishes by woman vaunted.

LE CHŒUR

l'on a vus partir ;

CORIFEO

2

di scorgere t'illudi, la parvenza dileguasi

dalle man', rapidissima,

pei tramiti del sogno sovra penne leggere ».

Tale nei lari, tale nella reggia il cordoglio.

Ed altri puoi vederne anche piú miserevoli :

485

ché quanti dalla terra partian d'Ellade a schiere,

nelle lor case, duolo

che sopra i cuori aggravasi

omai domina solo.

Ché il novero ciascun fa dei suoi cari

490

che mossero alla gesta;

ma riede or la funesta

urna, ma riede cenere

d'uomini invece, ai lari.

3

Chor.

Missetat hat ihr eigen furchtbar Licht, das birgt man nicht.

390 An den Tag kommt sie, schwarz wie falsches Geld,

dem die Zeit den erlog'nen Silberschimmer abgerieben.

425

Eitel wie des Knaben Sprünge, der den flücht'gen Vogel hascht,

395 ist sein Ringen. Das Verderben wälzt er von den Seinen nicht.

Keinen Gott rührt sein Fleh'n.

400 Seine Taten seh'n sie an.

Ihr Gericht schlägt den Frevler nieder.

430

So kam Alexandros

ins Haus der Atreiden,

entweihte den Frieden des Gastrechts,

entführte die Herrin des Hauses.

435