The House of Atreus Part 8

CHORUS

Distraught thou art, divinely stirred, And wailest for thyself a tuneless lay, As piteous as the ceaseless tale Wherewith the brown melodious bird Doth ever Itys! Itys! wail, Deep-bowered in sorrow, all its little life-time's day!

Ca.s.sANDRA

Ah for thy fate, O shrill-voiced nightingale!

Some solace for thy woes did Heaven afford, Clothed thee with soft brown plumes, and life apart from wail?

But for my death is edged the double-biting sword!

CHORUS

What pangs are these, what fruitless pain, Sent on thee from on high?

Thou chantest terror's frantic strain, Yet in shrill measured melody.

How thus unerring canst thou sweep along The prophet's path of boding song?

Ca.s.sANDRA

Woe, Paris, woe on thee! thy bridal joy Was death and fire upon thy race and Troy!

And woe for thee, Scamander's flood!

Beside thy banks, O river fair, I grew in tender nursing care From childhood unto maidenhood!

Now not by thine, but by Cocytus' stream And Acheron's banks shall ring my boding scream.

CHORUS

Too plain is all, too plain!

A child might read aright thy fateful strain.

Deep in my heart their piercing fang Terror and sorrow set, the while I heard That piteous, low, tender word, Yet to mine ear and heart a crus.h.i.+ng pang.

Ca.s.sANDRA Woe for my city, woe for Ilion's fall!

Father, how oft with sanguine stain Streamed on thine altar-stone the blood of cattle, slain That heaven might guard our wall!

But all was shed in vain.

Low lie the shattered towers whereas they fell, And I--ah burning heart!--shall soon lie low as well.

CHORUS

Of sorrow is thy song, of sorrow still!

Alas, what power of ill Sits heavy on thy heart and bids thee tell In tears of perfect moan thy deadly tale?

Some woe--I know not what--must close thy piteous wail.

Ca.s.sANDRA

List! for no more the presage of my soul, Bride-like, shall peer from its secluding veil; But as the morning wind blows clear the east, More bright shall blow the wind of prophecy, And as against the low bright line of dawn Heaves high and higher yet the rolling wave, So in the clearing skies of prescience Dawns on my soul a further, deadlier woe, And I will speak, but in dark speech no more.

Bear witness, ye, and follow at my side-- I scent the trail of blood, shed long ago.

Within this house a choir abidingly Chants in harsh unison the chant of ill; Yea, and they drink, for more enhardened joy, Man's blood for wine, and revel in the halls, Departing never, Furies of the home.

They sit within, they chant the primal curse, Each spitting hatred on that crime of old, The brother's couch, the love incestuous That brought forth hatred to the ravisher.

Say, is my speech or wild and erring now, Or doth its arrow cleave the mark indeed?

They called me once, _The prophetess of lies, The wandering hag, the pest of every door--_ Attest ye now, She knows in very sooth _The house's curse, the storied infamy._

CHORUS

Yet how should oath--how loyally soe'er I swear it--aught avail thee? In good sooth,

AGAMEMNON

My wonder meets thy claim: I stand amazed That thou, a maiden born beyond the seas, Dost as a native know and tell aright Tales of a city of an alien tongue.

Ca.s.sANDRA

That is my power--a boon Apollo gave.

CHORUS

G.o.d though he were, yearning for mortal maid?

Ca.s.sANDRA

Ay! what seemed shame of old is shame no more.

CHORUS

Such finer sense suits not with slavery.

Ca.s.sANDRA

He strove to win me, panting for my love.

CHORUS

Came ye by compact unto bridal joys?

Ca.s.sANDRA

Nay--for I plighted troth, then foiled the G.o.d.

CHORUS

Wert thou already dowered with prescience?

Ca.s.sANDRA

Yea--prophetess to Troy of all her doom.

CHORUS

How left thee then Apollo's wrath unscathed?

Ca.s.sANDRA