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Aeschylus, agamemnon<br />
Lookl it is he, it is Apollo's self<br />
Rending from me the prophet-robe he gave.<br />
God! while I wore it yet, thou saw'st me mocked<br />
There at my home by each malicious mouth--<br />
To all and each, an undivided scorn.<br />
The name alike and fate of witch and cheat--<br />
Woe, poverty, and famine--all I bore;<br />
And at this last the god hath brought me here<br />
Into death's toils, and what his love had made,<br />
His hate unmakes me now: and I shall stand<br />
Not now before the altar of my home,<br />
But me a slaughter-house and block of blood<br />
Shall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice.<br />
Yet shall the gods have heed of me who die,<br />
For by their will shall one requite my doom.<br />
He, to avenge his father's blood outpoured,<br />
Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand.<br />
Ay, he shall come--tho' far away he roam,<br />
A banished wanderer in a stranger's land--<br />
To crown his kindred's edifice of ill,<br />
Called home to vengeance by his father's fall:<br />
Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall fulfil.<br />
And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth,<br />
Since first mine Ilion has found its fate<br />
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