A poem by Aeschylus (c. 525 – c. 456 Before Christ )
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!
CASSANDRA
Hither, whither, Phoebus? And with whom,
Leading me, lighting me–
CHORUS
I can answer that–
CASSANDRA
Down to what slaughter-house!
Foh! the smell of carnage through the door
Scares me from it–drags me toward it–
Phoebus Apollo! Apollo!
CHORUS
One of the dismal prophet-pack, it seems,
That hunt the trail of blood. But here at fault–
This is no den of slaughter, but the house
Of Agamemnon.
CASSANDRA
Down upon the towers,
Phantoms of two mangled children hover–and a famished man,
At an empty table glaring, seizes and devours!
CHORUS
Thyestes and his children! Strange enough
For any maiden from abroad to know,
Or, knowing–
CASSANDRA
And look! in the chamber below
The terrible Woman, listening, watching,
Under a mask, preparing the blow
In the fold of her robe–
CHORUS
Nay, but again at fault:
For in the tragic story of this House–
Unless, indeed the fatal Helen–No
woman–
CASSANDRA
No Woman–Tisiphone! Daughter
Of Tartarus–love-grinning Woman above,
Dragon-tailed under–honey-tongued, Harpy-clawed,
Into the glittering meshes of slaughter
She wheedles, entices him into the poisonous
Fold of the serpent–
CHORUS
Peace, mad woman, peace!
Whose stony lips once open vomit out
Such uncouth horrors.
CASSANDRA
I tell you the lioness
Slaughters the Lion asleep; and lifting
Her blood-dripping fangs buried deep in his mane,
Glaring about her insatiable, bellowing,
Bounds hither–Phoebus Apollo, Apollo, Apollo!
Whither have you led me, under night alive with fire,
Through the trampled ashes of the city of my sire,
From my slaughtered kinsmen, fallen throne, insulted shrine,
Slave-like to be butchered, the daughter of a royal line!
A few random poems:
- Николай Карамзин – К версальским садам
- Robert Burns: The Libeller’s Self-Reproof:
- Алексей Плещеев – Когда твой кроткий, ясный взор
- The Wanderer
- Владимир Маяковский – Офицер! Смотри на эту саблю (РОСТА)
- Николай Гумилев – Как труп, бессилен небосклон
- Омар Хайям – О, если б, захватив с собой стихов диван
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка-представление орлёнком Эдом Атаки Гризли
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Калиф и раб
- “‘Tis because, though in dusky bower” poem – Alfred Austin
- Upside Down
- When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d. by Walt Whitman
- Иван Мятлев – Фонарики
- Time by Vladimir Marku
- Владимир Орлов – Добрый день
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Sonnet 94: They that have power to hurt and will do none by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 93: So shall I live, supposing thou art true by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 92: But do thy worst to steal thy self away by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 91: Some glory in their birth, some in their skill by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 90: Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 89: Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 88: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 82: I grant thou wert not married to my Muse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 80: O, how I faint when I of you do write by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 7: Lo, in the orient when the gracious light by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear by William Shakespeare
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Aeschylus (525 Before Christ to 456 B.C.) was an ancient Greek author of Greek tragedy, and is often described as the father of tragedy. Academics’ knowledge of the genre begins with his work, and understanding of earlier Greek tragedy is largely based on inferences made from reading his surviving plays. According to Aristotle, he expanded the number of characters in the theatre and allowed conflict among them.