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:
- E.P. Ode Pour L’election De Son Sepulchre poem – Ezra Pound poems
- To Be of Use by Marge Piercy
- The Shield of Achilles by W. H. Auden
- Off Mesolongi poem – Alfred Austin
- By Moschus by William Cowper
- An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize by Oliver Goldsmith
- The Call Of The Far — English Translation by Rabindranath Tagore
- Владимир Орлов – Добрый день
- The White Road Up Athirt The Hill by William Barnes
- A Parsonage In Oxfordshire by William Wordsworth
- The Settle An’ The Girt Wood Vire by William Barnes
- Владимир Высоцкий – В этом доме большом раньше пьянка была
- Николай Языков – Разбойники
- Watching Unto God In The Night Season (3) by William Cowper
- Виктор Гончаров – Прощайте, спасибо
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
- A Plain Life by William Henry Davies
- A Greeting by William Henry Davies
- A Great Time by William Henry Davies
- A Fleeting Passion by William Henry Davies
- Remorse For Intemperate Speech by William Butler Yeats
- Red Hanrahan’s Song About Ireland by William Butler Yeats
- Reconciliation by William Butler Yeats
- Quarrel In Old Age by William Butler Yeats
- Presences by William Butler Yeats
- Politics by William Butler Yeats
- Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves by William Butler Yeats
- Peace by William Butler Yeats
- Paudeen by William Butler Yeats
- Parting by William Butler Yeats
- Parnell’s Funeral by William Butler Yeats
- Parnell by William Butler Yeats
- Owen Aherne And His Dancers by William Butler Yeats
- On Woman by William Butler Yeats
- On Being Asked For A War Poem by William Butler Yeats
- On A Political Prisoner by William Butler Yeats
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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.