Aulis & Argos Lines Flashcards
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Chorus Leader — … whom Paris carried off from the banks of reedy Eurotas.
I sped my course, in my eagerness to see the soldiers’ camp. Next I sought the countless fleet, a wonder to behold
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Chorus — … His brother bieng with him in command, as a friend with friend.
Some things I heard at home about the gathered host, whereof I still have a recollection.
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Agamemnon — … Alas! to what utter ruin Paris has brought me by his union with Helen!
I pity her myself
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Menelaus — … A natural course for me; affection for my brother caused the change
A generous speech, worthy of Tantalus, the son of Zeus! Thou dost not shame thy ancestry.
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Chorus — Happy they who find the goddess come in moderate might
Sharing with self-restraint in Aphrodite’s gift of marriage
Chorus — eager to take Helen and bear her back to Hellas
Dragging men’s heads backward to cut their throats, and sacking the citadel of Troy from roof to base.
Chorus — tightening the grasp on lovely tresses till the tears flow
Oh! ne’er may appear to me or to my children’s children the prospect which Illium will have
Clytaemnestra — and I, a woman, am come, as thou seest, to a camp of lawless sailor folk, wherefore if thou boldly stretch forth thine arm in my behalf, our safety is assured; but if thou withold it, we are lost.
A wonderous thing is motherhood, carrying with it a potent spell, wherein all share, so that for their children’s sake they will endure affliction.
And loudly cried the prophet Chiron, “Daugther of Nereus, thou shalt bear a son. A dazzling light to Thessaly; for he shall come with an army of spearmen to the far-famed land of Priam, his body cased in a suit of golden mail forged by Hephaestus”
Where now does the face of modesty or virtue avail,
and virtue is neglected by men and thrust behind them.
Thou art right; no fear that fame will e’er desert thee!
For thee fair streams of a father’s pouring and lustral waters are in store
And grant that Agamemnon may wreathe his head with deathless fame, a crown of fairest glory for the spearmen of Hellas.
Now things stand as they stand. What’s destined to come will be fulfilled
I proclaim that prophecy made to our kings, as they were setting on their way, They got a happy omen—two eagles, kings of birds, appeared before the kings of ships. in a place where everyone could see. The eagles were gorging themselves, devouring a pregnant hare.
But may no anger from the gods cast its dark shadow on our troops
It’s clear whatever is to happen will happen, like tomorrow’s dawn. So let it be.
We wait to hear your news, whether what you’ve heard is good or not.
But we won’t object if you stay silent
My queen, We’ll offer up to all the gods our prayers of thanks,
Can you tell the news once more?
The prophets in this house cried out, “Alas, alas for the house and home, Alas for the marriage bed, still holding traces of her body
And back from Troy he ships cremated bodies of the dead, sent home for loved ones to lament
Nonetheless, this sorrow spreads resentment against the leaders of the war. The sons of Atreus.
This welcome fiery message has spread fast
Who knows?
Old violent aggression loves to generate new troubles among evil men. New violence springs forth, dark ruin on the home, like the destructiveness from which it sprang
She turns her eyes away from gold-encrusted mansions where men’s hands are black
Righteousness leads all things to well-deserved fulfillment
Why does this sense of dread hover so around my heart with such foreboding?
My own eyes tell me Agamemnon has returned. For that I need no further witness. But still, deep in my heart the spontaneous song keeps up its tuneless dirge, surging back and forth in tides of grim foreboding.
It mutters in the dark, uneasy, holding little hope for any resolution.
Such ominous words.
We’ve hear about your fame in prophesy. But here in Argos no one wants a prophet.
What Fury do you now invoke to shriek throughout this house? What you’ve just said makes me afraid.
What good ever comes to men from prophecies? They talk of evil. All those skillful words ecourage men to be afraid of what the prophet chants.
These vain prophetic cries of woe you chant, where do they start? How do you set some limit to the path, where what you see so ominously leads?
What’s that? The words seem clear enough. You cruel fate strikes at me like a bloody fang. It hurts. My heart breaks to hear you chant your sorrows.
When we’re doing well we all have scruples.
You endure you suffering with courage I admire.
What mortal human being who hears all this can boast they live a life unscarred by fate.
I say we attack the house at once, catch them at it, swords still wet with blood
Before we act, we must have clearer evidence.
Woman, what Earth-grown poison have you eaten?
You cast him off.
So now you’ll be exiled from the city, a hateful thing to your own people.
Blood-drenched murder has made you mad. That’s plain. Your eyes are full of blood.
O spirit that falls upon this house, you overpower me through these two sisters, each with power like a man.
Stretched out on this bed of shame.
Struck down in treachery by the two-edged blade wielded by your wife.
One disgrace exchanged for yet another, the struggle to decide is hard.
Who can then cast from this house its self-perpetuating curse? This race is wedded to destruction.
Until the men came back.
You soiled a real man’s bed, then planned to kill our king
