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Aeschylus, agamemnon<br />
All this I bore, and now, released from woe,<br />
I hail my lord as watch-dog of a fold,<br />
As saving stay-rope of a storm-tossed ship,<br />
As column stout that holds the roof aloft,<br />
As only child unto a sire bereaved,<br />
As land beheld, past hope, by crews forlorn,<br />
As sunshine fair when tempest's wrath is past,<br />
As gushing spring to thirsty wayfarer.<br />
So sweet it is to 'scape the press of pain.<br />
With such salute I bid my husband hail<br />
Nor heaven be wroth therewith! for long and hard<br />
I bore that ire of old.<br />
Sweet lord, step forth,<br />
Step from thy car, I pray-nay, not on earth<br />
Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy!<br />
Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is<br />
To spread your monarch's path with tapestry?<br />
Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair,<br />
That justice lead him to a home, at last,<br />
He scarcely looked to see. The attendant women spread the tapestry. For<br />
what remains,<br />
Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand<br />
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