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I, false to him, seemed prophet false to all.
CHORUS
Not so--to us at least thy words seem sooth.
Ca.s.sANDRA
Woe for me, woe! Again the agony-- Dread pain that sees the future all too well With ghastly preludes whirls and racks my soul.
Behold ye--yonder on the palace roof The spectre-children sitting--look, such things As dreams are made on, phantoms as of babes, Horrible shadows, that a kinsman's hand Hath marked with murder, and their arms are full-- A rueful burden--see, they hold them up, The entrails upon which their father fed!
For this, for this, I say there plots revenge A coward lion, couching in the lair-- Guarding the gate against my master's foot-- My master--mine--I bear the slave's yoke now, And he, the lord of s.h.i.+ps, who trod down Troy, Knows not the fawning treachery of tongue Of this thing false and dog-like--how her speech Glozes and sleeks her purpose, till she win By ill fate's favour the desired chance, Moving like Ate to a secret end.
O aweless soul! the woman slays her lord-- Woman? what loathsome monster of the earth Were fit comparison? The double snake-- Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman's bane, Girt round about with rocks? some hag of h.e.l.l, Raving a truceless curse upon her kin?
Hark--even now she cries exultingly The vengeful cry that tells of battle turned-- How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief restored!
Nay then, believe me not: what skills belief Or disbelief? Fate works its will--and thou Wilt see and say in ruth, _Her tale was true._
CHORUS
Ah--'tis Thyestes' feast on kindred flesh-- I guess her meaning and with horror thrill, Hearing no shadow'd hint of th' o'er-true tale, But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest, Far from the track I roam, and know no more.
Ca.s.sANDRA
'Tis Agamemnon's doom thou shalt behold.
CHORUS
Peace, hapless woman, to thy boding words!
Ca.s.sANDRA
Far from my speech stands he who sains and saves.
CHORUS
Ay--were such doom at hand--which G.o.d forbid!
Ca.s.sANDRA
Thou prayest idly--these move swift to slay.
CHORUS
What man prepares a deed of such despite?
Ca.s.sANDRA
Fool! thus to read amiss mine oracles.
CHORUS
Deviser and device are dark to me.
Ca.s.sANDRA
Dark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue.
CHORUS
Ay--but in thine, as in Apollo's strains, Familiar is the tongue, but dark the thought.
Ca.s.sANDRA
Ah ah the fire! it waxes, nears me now-- Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!
Lo, how the woman-thing, the lioness Couched with the wolf--her n.o.ble mate afar-- Will slay me, slave forlorn! Yea, like some witch She drugs the cup of wrath, that slays her lord With double death--his recompense for me!
Ay, 'tis for me, the prey he bore from Troy, That she hath sworn his death, and edged the steel!
Ye wands, ye wreaths that cling around my neck, Ye showed me prophetess yet scorned of all-- I stamp you into death, or e'er I die-- Down, to destruction!
Thus I stand revenged-- Go, crown some other with a prophet's woe.
Look! it is he, it is Apollo's self Rending from me the prophet-robe he gave G.o.d! while I wore it yet, thou saw'st me mocked There at my home by each malicious mouth-- To all and each, an undivided scorn.
The name alike and fate of witch and cheat-- Woe, poverty, and famine--all I bore; And at this last the G.o.d hath brought me here Into death's toils, and what his love had made His hate unmakes me now: and I shall stand Not now before the altar of my home, But me a slaughter-house and block of blood Shall see hewn down, a reeking sacrifice.
Yet shall the G.o.ds have heed of me who die, For by their will shall one requite my doom.
He, to avenge his father's blood outpoured, Shall smite and slay with matricidal hand.
Ay, he shall come--tho' far away he roam, A banished wanderer in a stranger's land-- To crown his kindred's edifice of ill, Called home to vengeance by his father's fall: Thus have the high G.o.ds sworn, and shall fulfil.
And now why mourn I, tarrying on earth, Since first mine Ilion has found its fate And I beheld, and those who won the wall Pa.s.s to such issue as the G.o.ds ordain?
I too will pa.s.s and like them dare to die!
[_Turns and looks upon the palace door._
Portal of Hades, thus I bid thee hail!
Grant me one boon--a swift and mortal stroke, That all unwrung by pain, with ebbing blood Shed forth in quiet death, I close mine eyes.
CHORUS
Maid of mysterious woes, mysterious lore, Long was thy prophecy: but if aright Thou readest all thy fate, how, thus unscared, Dost thou approach the altar of thy doom, As fronts the knife some victim, heaven-controlled?
Ca.s.sANDRA
Friends, there is no avoidance in delay.
CHORUS
Yet who delays the longest, his the gain.
Ca.s.sANDRA
The day is come--flight were small gain to me!
CHORUS
