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Aeschylus, agamemnon<br />
Fast in her wake, a mighty throng-<br />
Athirst for blood, athirst for war,<br />
Forward in fell pursuit they sprung,<br />
Then leapt on Simois' bank ashore,<br />
The leafy coppices among-<br />
No rangers, they, of wood and field,<br />
But huntsmen of the sword and shield.<br />
antistrophe 1<br />
Heaven's jealousy, that works its will,<br />
Sped thus on Troy its destined ill,<br />
Well named, at once, the Bride and Bane;<br />
And loud rang out the bridal strain;<br />
But they to whom that song befell<br />
Did turn anon to tears again;<br />
Zeus tarries, but avenges still<br />
The husband's wrong, the household's stain!<br />
He, the hearth's lord, brooks not to see<br />
Its outraged hospitality.<br />
Even now, and in far other tone,<br />
Troy chants her dirge of mighty moan,<br />
Woe upon Paris, woe and hate!<br />
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