ELECTRA
ANTISTROPHE VII.
440
Our Father's lot thy words proclaim;
While I, despised, a thing of nought,
Shut out like vicious cur with shame,
Forgot to smile; alone, I sought
Solace in weeping,-anguish-fraught.
Hearing the tale my lips impart,
Grave it, my brother, on thy inmost heart.
Libation Bearers. Aeschylus. Anna Swanwick (Translator). London. 1886.
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Funding provided by European Social Fund Saxony.