Classical Athenian playwright
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Bakkhai: Might be a good idea, if it’s not too much bother, to show more respect for your old grandfather. Not to mention the gods. Teiresias: You’re bold and loud and glib, Pentheus, you should have been a lawyer. But you totally lack common sense. This “new invented daimon” you laugh at — take my word for it — he’s not one to laugh at. He’s going to be big.
IPH. Thus much at least, does the wife of the unhappy man live? OR. She is no more. The son she brought forth, he slew her. IPH. O house all troubled! with what intent, then? [71] OR. Taking satisfaction on her for the death of his father. IPH. Alas! how well he executed an evil act of justice. [72] OR. But, though just, he hath not good fortune from the Gods.
"P. 51, l. 915. The speech of the Muse seems like the writing of a poet who is, for the moment, tired of mere drama, and wishes to get back into his own element. Such passages are characteristic of Euripides. — The death of Rhesus seems to the Muse like an act of vengeance from the dead Thamyris, the Thracian bard who had blasphemed the Muses and challenged them to a contest of song. They conquered him and left him blind, but still a poet. The story in Homer is more terrible, though more civilised: "They in wrath made him a maimed man, they took away his heavenly song and made him forget his harping." Thamyris, the bard who defied Heaven; Orpheus, the bard, saint, lover, whose severed head still cried for his lost Eurydice; Musaeus, the bard of mystic wisdom and initiations — are the three great legendary figures of this Northern mountain minstrelsy."
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But in a horse-chariot they brought [38] me to the sands of Aulis, a bride, alas! unhappy bride to the son of Nereus' daughter, alas! And now a stranger I dwell in an unpleasant home on the inhospitable sea, unwedded, childless, without city, without a friend, not chanting Juno in Argos, nor in the sweetly humming loom adorning with the shuttle the image of Athenian Pallas [39] and of the Titans, but imbruing altars with the shed blood of strangers, a pest unsuited to the harp, [of strangers] sighing forth [40] a piteous cry, and shedding a piteous tear. And now indeed forgetfulness of these matters [comes upon] me, but now I mourn my brother dead in Argos, whom I left yet an infant at the breast, yet young, yet a germ in his mother's arms and on her bosom, Orestes [the future] holder of the sceptre in Argos.