And these bones that know of Sin,
This tossed heart upon the spate
Of a whirpool that is Fate,
Surely these lie not. Yet deep
Beneath hope my prayer doth run,
All will die like dreams, and creep
To the unthought of and undone.
Strophe 2
—Surely of great Weal at the end of all
Comes not Content; so near doth Fever crawl,
Close neighbour, pressing hard the narrow wall.
—Woe to him who fears not fate!
’Tis the ship that forward straight
Sweepeth, strikes the reef below;
He who fears and lightens weight,
Casting forth, in measured throw,
From the wealth his hand hath got …
His whole ship shall founder not,
With abundance overfraught,
Nor deep seas above him flow.
—Lo, when famine stalketh near,
One good gift of Zeus again
From the furrows of one year
Endeth quick the starving pain;
Antistrophe 2
—But once the blood of death is fallen, black
And oozing at a slain man’s feet, alack!
By spell or singing who shall charm it back?
—One there was of old41 who showed
Man the path from death to day;
But Zeus, lifting up his rod,
Spared not, when he charged him stay.
—Save that every doom of God
Hath by other dooms its way
Crossed, that none may rule alone,
In one speech-outstripping groan
Forth had all this passion flown,
Which now murmuring hides away,
Full of pain, and hoping not
Ever one clear thread to unknot
From the tangle of my soul,
From a heart of burning coal. Suddenly Clytemnestra appears standing in the Doorway.
Thou likewise, come within! I speak thy name,
Cassandra; Cassandra trembles, but continues to stare in front of her, as though not hearing Clytemnestra. seeing the Gods—why chafe at them?—
Have placed thee here, to share within these walls
Our lustral waters, ’mid a crowd of thralls
Who stand obedient round the altar-stone
Of our Possession. Therefore come thou down,
And be not over-proud. The tale is told
How once Alcmêna’s son42 himself, being sold,
Was patient, though he liked not the slaves’ mess.
And more, if Fate must bring thee to this stress,
Praise God thou art come to a House of high report
And wealth from long ago. The baser sort,
Who have reaped some sudden harvest unforeseen,
Are ever cruel to their slaves, and mean
In the measure. We shall give whate’er is due. Cassandra is silent.
To thee she speaks, and waits … clear words and true!
Oh, doom is all around thee like a net;
Yield, if thou canst. … Belike thou canst not yet.43
Methinks, unless this wandering maid is one
Voiced like a swallow-bird, with tongue unknown
And barbarous, she can read my plain intent.
I use but words, and ask for her consent.
Ah, come! ’Tis best, as the world lies to-day.
Leave this high-throned chariot, and obey!
How long must I stand dallying at the Gate?
Even now the beasts to Hestia consecrate
Wait by the midmost fire, since there is wrought
This high fulfilment for which no man thought.
Wherefore, if ’tis thy pleasure to obey
Aught of my will, prithee, no more delay!
If, dead to sense, thou wilt not understand …
Thou show her,44 not with speech but with brute hand! To the Leader of the Chorus.
The strange maid needs a rare interpreter.
She is trembling like a wild beast in a snare.
’Fore God, she is mad, and heareth but her own
Folly! A slave, her city all o’erthrown,
She needs must chafe her bridle, till this fret
Be foamed away in blood and bitter sweat.
I waste no more speech, thus to be defied. She goes back inside the Palace.
I pity thee so sore, no wrath nor pride
Is in me.—Come, dismount! Bend to the stroke
Fate lays on thee, and learn to feel thy yoke. He lays his hand softly on Cassandra’s shoulder.
Moaning to herself.
Otototoi … Dreams. Dreams.
Apollo. O Apollo!
Why sob’st thou for Apollo? It is writ,
He loves not grief nor lendeth ear to it.
Otototoi … Dreams. Dreams.
Apollo. O Apollo!
Still to that god she makes her sobbing cry
Who hath no place where men are sad, or die.
Apollo, Apollo! Light of the Ways of Men!
Mine enemy!
Hast lighted me to darkness yet again?
How? Will she prophesy about her own
Sorrows? That power abides when all is gone!
Apollo, Apollo! Light of all that is!
Mine enemy!
Where hast thou led me? … Ha! What house is this?
The Atreidae’s castle. If thou knowest not, I
Am here to help thee, and help faithfully.
Whispering.
Nay, nay. This is the house that God hateth.
There be many things that know its secret; sore
And evil things; murders and strangling death.
’Tis here they slaughter men … A splashing floor.
Keen-sensed the strange maid seemeth, like a hound
For blood.—And what she seeks can sure be found!
The witnesses … I follow where they lead.
The crying … of little children … near the gate:
Crying for wounds that bleed:
And the smell of the baked meats their father ate.
Recognizing her vision, and repelled.
Word of thy mystic power had reached our ear
Long since. Howbeit we need no prophets here.
Ah, ah! What would they? A new dreadful thing.
A great great sin plots in the house this day;
Too strong for the faithful, beyond medicining …
And help stands far away.
This warning I can read not, though I knew
That other tale. It rings the city through.
O Woman, thou! The lord who lay with thee!
Wilt lave with water, and then … How speak the end?
It comes so quick. A hand … another hand …
That reach, reach gropingly. …
I see not yet. These riddles, pierced with blind
Gleams of foreboding, but bemuse my mind.
Ah, ah! What is it? There; it is
