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The Tragedies of Euripides, Volume I. by Euripides
page 14 of 595 (02%)
lady, a herald of woe. For it is said that it has been decreed in the full
council of the Greeks to make thy daughter a sacrifice to Achilles: for you
know how that having ascended o'er his tomb, he appeared in his golden arms
and restrained the fleet ships, as they were setting their sails with their
halliards, exclaiming in these words; "Where speed ye, Grecians, leaving my
tomb unhonored!" Then the waves of great contention clashed together, and a
divided opinion went forth through the army of the Greeks; to some it
appeared advisable to give a victim to his tomb, and to others it appeared
not. But Agamemnon was studious to advance your good, cherishing the love
of the infuriated prophetess. But the two sons of Theseus, scions of
Athens, were the proposers of different arguments, but in this one opinion
they coincided, to crown the tomb of Achilles with fresh blood; and
declared they would never prefer the bed of Cassandra before the spear of
Achilles. And the strength of the arguments urged on either side was in a
manner equal, till that subtle adviser, that babbling knave,[5] honeyed in
speech, pleasing to the populace, that son of Laertes, persuades the army,
not to reject the suit of the noblest of all the Greeks on account of a
captive victim, and not to put it in the power of any of the dead standing
near Proserpine to say that the Grecians departed from the plains of Troy
ungrateful to the heroes who died for the state of Greece. And Ulysses will
come only not now, to tear your child from your bosom, and to take her from
your aged arms. But go to the temples, speed to the altars, sit a suppliant
at the knees of Agamemnon, invoke the Gods, both those of heaven, and those
under the earth; for either thy prayers will prevent thy being deprived of
thy wretched daughter, or thou must behold the virgin falling before the
tomb, dyed in blood gushing forth in a dark stream from her neck adorned
with gold.[6]

HEC. Alas! wretched me! what shall I exclaim? what shriek shall I utter?
what lamentation? miserable through miserable age, and slavery not to be
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