ÆSCHYLUS. ESCHYLUS, the greatest of the Greek dramatists; born at Eleusis, Attica, 525 B.C.; died at Gela, Sicily, 456 B.C. Of his very numerous works (72 or even 90 dramas), seven tragedies only remain: "The Suppliants," one of his earliest productions; "The Persians," founded on the contemporary triumph of Greece over the invading Persian hosts; "The Seven against Thebes," the only extant member of a tetralogy, the other members of which were "Laius," "Edipus," and "The Sphinx." The grand tragedy, "Prometheus Bound," is the sole survivor of a trilogy. The other three extant-"Agamemnon," "The Choëphori," and " "Eumenides" -form a trilogy. THE BINDING OF PROMETHEUS. (From "Prometheus Bound," Translation of Plumptre.) PROMETHEUS is led in by HEPHÆSTOS and others: HEPHÆSTOS speaks :] O THOU, of Themis, wise in Counsel, son, I fetter thee against thy will with bonds Of bronze that none can loose, to this lone height Who shall release thee: this the fate thou gain'st For thou, a god, not fearing wrath of gods, In thy transgression gav'st their power to men; THE WARNING OF HERMES TO PROMETHEUS. (From "Prometheus Bound," Translation of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.) I HAVE, methinks, said much in vain; For still thy heart, beneath my shower of prayers, Must sweep persuasion through thee! For at first With the great thunder and the bolted flame, And hide thy body where a hinge of stone Shall catch it like an arm; and when thou hast passed For any end moreover to this curse, Or ere some God appear, to accept thy pangs Then ponder this! this threat is not a growth King Zeus's mouth is impotent to lie Consummating the utterance by the act: - THE COMPLAINT OF PROMETHEUS. From "Prometheus Bound," Translation of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.) PROMETHEUS (alone). O HOLY Æther, and swift-winged Winds, And River-wells, and laughter innumerous Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all, And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you, Behold me a god, what I endure from gods! How, wasted by this woe, I wrestle down the myriad years of Time! The new King of the happy ones sublime Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me! Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's I cover with one groan. And where is found me A limit to these sorrows? And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky. What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between, Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound, To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain! As The god Zeus hateth sore, And his gods hate again, many as tread on his glorified floor, Because I loved mortals too much evermore. Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear, As of birds flying near! And the air undersings The light stroke of their wings And all life that approaches I wait for in fear. A PRAYER TO ARTEMIS. (From Miss Swanwick's Translation of "The Suppliants.") STROPHE IV. THOUGH Zeus plan all things right, Yet is his heart's desire full hard to trace ; Nathless in every place Brightly it gleameth, e'en in darkest night, Fraught with black fate to man's speech-gifted race. ANTISTROPHE IV. Steadfast, ne'er thrown in fight, Tangled, unscanned by mortal sight, STROPHE V. From towering hopes mortals he hurleth prone No force arrayeth he; for all That gods devise is without effort wrought. A mindful Spirit aloft on holy throne By inborn energy achieves his thought. ANTISTROPHE V. But let him mortal insolence behold: STROPHE VI. Thus I complain, in piteous strain, Dirge-like it sounds; mine own death-trill Hear, hill-crowned Apia, hear my prayer! |