Thou-of a town of stranger-speech and styleDost truly speak as present here the while.

CASSANDRA.

Prophet Apollo for this end and purpose

Hath set me up.

CHORUS.

Apollo! prithee, what

Was he-and a God too-smitten with desire

Of thee?

CASSANDRA.

Nay, heretofore I had been abashed

To tell this tale.

CHORUS.

For then thou wast at ease:

And every one that well and happy is

Must needs wax delicate.

CASSANDRA.

Well, once he was

A mighty wrestler for my love, and breathed
Strong grace and favour o'er me.

CHORUS.

Did ye come

To wedlock and its way according to

The custom among men?

CASSANDRA.

I said him "Yea,"

And having said, I did deceive the God-208

Loxias Apollo.

CHORUS.

Now well fitted with

The art of Divination--?

CASSANDRA.

And foretelling

Their many miseries that should come on them

Unto the townsmen.

CHORUS.

Prithee how wast thou

Left scatheless by the wrath of Loxias?

CASSANDRA.

How! I could none persuade in any thing:
My forfeit for thus sinning.

CHORUS.

Yet to us

Thou seemest to divine trustworthily.

CASSANDRA.

[Again becoming frenzied, speaks impassionedly.]

Aha! aha! my sorrows! woe! woe! woe!
Again it wringeth me, it racketh me—
The fearful pang of my true prophecy--
-It troubleth me with warning preludes: see
These younglings; see where on the house they sit,
Like shapes of dreams, yet fade they not nor flit.
As children by the hands of friends that fell,
Their hands are full of meat; ye see them well,
Their own flesh holding, a foul load and dread,209
Entrails and hearts whereoff their father fed.
Wherefore I say that one doth vengeance plot,
A lady-lion,210 wallowing in his cot.
Forsooth, my coming Lord's house-sentinel !--
My Lord's!-ah! woe is me !-it fits me well
To feel the yoke of thraldom bearable :
But he-the Sea-King-Ilion's overthrower
Knows not the words that this curst evil-doer

Hath with her tongue been telling, and, with smile
So fawning fair, been eking out the while-

-The shameless hound!-that, like a Curse, will lurk, And work with fortune foul her evil work:

He knows it not, nor what her soul dares plan:

A woman is the murderer of a man!

Woman! nay, nay-what fouler name, I ween,
Fits the fierce brute, a snaky Amphisbene,
A Scylla, wont in rocky clefts to dwell,

The shipman's bane, the wild weird dam of hell.
On those she once had loved-that loved her well-
Breathing a truceless war, a curse implacable.211
O! how she howled above him, the All-bold!
As when the rush of battle back is rolled!
How seems to welcome his return with glee,
His home-return in safety!--but to me
'Tis all one, if my words avail with thee

Or not-for why?-what will be, will-and thou
Standing right soon where thou art standing now,
Shalt speak, and these thy pitying words shall be :
"Alas! too true!—a prophetess was she!" 212

CHORUS.

Thyestes' supper, off his children's flesh,
I learned and shuddered at-but fear afresh
Holds me when listening to thy tale, in sooth
Of deeds not limmed, but done in very truth.
Yet, when the rest I hear-I fall, like one
Out of his course, and all at random run.

CASSANDRA.

I say that thou shalt look upon the death
Of Agamemnon.

CHORUS.

Hush thee, hapless one!

And tune thy tongue to good words.

CASSANDRA.

Tell me not

Of good words-there is standing by to cheer

My speech no Healer.213

* Man's hand indeed-I have said nothing about a man. You miss the meaning of my oracular expressions because you will keep looking awry and not straight at them. You look aside and away from them, and out of the corners of your eyes, and then complain of not seeing them.

CHORUS.

Mayhap:

Pythian decretals are, I know, Greek-tongued,
Yet hard of understanding notwithstanding.

CASSANDRA.

Woe woe is me !-this Fire, how fierce its glow!
Again it comes upon me -woe woe! woe!
Wolf-god214 Apollo! woe is me!—is me!
This two-foot lioness lapp'd lovingly
With a gaunt wolf-her Lion Lord away,
Her noble Lion-me, lost me, will slay.
As one that mixeth damned poisons up,2
My price too216 will she mingle in her cup
Of wrath; and, while the fauchion for her Lord
She whets, is vaunting with that self-same sword,
In counter-vengeance for my carrying here,

215

My death to compass.--But why these things wear-
These mocks that make a laughing-stock of me,
These staves and neck-twined wreaths of prophecy?
Thee, ere myself I perish, will I rend-

[She here seizes, rends, and casts down some one particular fillet-wreath, staff, or portion of her vesture.]

Hence! hence !_217

[Tearing and trampling on it.]

Bear on!-I'll follow to the end.

Away! go seek ye now some other maid,
One in my stead with woeful wealth to lade.218
Lo! how he rends my prophet-garb away!
Apollo's self-who even in mine array
Bare to behold me-made the jest and jeer

Of friends and foes-a jest that costs them dear.219

E