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Brian: Agamemnon: XI. O I Am Struck! Struck with a Mortal Blow! (Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Old...
Brian: Agamemnon: XI. O I Am Struck! Struck with a Mortal Blow! (Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Old... bekijken op YouTube

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Topsongs van John Findon

Credits

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
John Findon
John Findon
Tenor
Eleanor Dennis
Eleanor Dennis
Sopran
Clive Bayley
Clive Bayley
Bass
English National Opera Chorus
English National Opera Chorus
Chor
English National Opera Orchestra
English National Opera Orchestra
Orchester
Martyn Brabbins
Martyn Brabbins
Dirigent:in
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Havergal Brian
Havergal Brian
Komponist:in
Αισχύλοςx
Librettist:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Simon Perry
Simon Perry
Ausführende:r Produzent:in
Alexander Van Ingen
Alexander Van Ingen
Produzent:in
Dave Rowell
Dave Rowell
Aufnahmeingenieur:in

Songteksten

O I am struck! Struck with a mortal blow!
O struck again! Struck with a mortal blow!
Horror! Murder!
Horror! Murder!
I spoke to you before; and what I spoke
Suited the time; nor shames me now to speak
Mine own refutal. For how shall we entrap
Our foe, our seeming friend, in scapeless ruin,
Save that we fence him round with nets too high
For his o’erleaping? What I did, I did
Not with a random inconsiderate blow,
But from old Hate, and with maturing Time.
Woman! What food on wide earth growing
Hast thou eaten of? What draught
From the briny ocean quaffed,
That for such deed the popular breath
Of Argos should with curses crown thee,
As a victim crowned for death?
Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut off
Thine own husband: thou shalt be
From the city of the free
Thyself a cast-off: justly hated
With staunch hatred unabated.
My sentence thou hast spoken; shameful flight,
The citizens’ hate, the people’s vengeful curse:
For him thou hast no curse, the bloody man
Who sacrificed my child, my best-beloved,
To lull the Thracian blasts asleep.
Threats I repay with threats;
If that thou canst subdue me in fair fight,
Subdue me; but if Jove for me decide,
Thou shalt be wise, when wisdom comes too late.
Thou art high and haughty-hearted,
And from lofty thoughts within thee
Mighty words are brimming o’er:
For thy sober sense is madded
With purple-dripping gore;
And thine eyes with fatness swell
From bloody feasts: but mark me well,
Time shall come, avenging Time,
And hunt thee out, and track thy crime.
Written by: Havergal Brian, Αισχύλοςx
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