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Act III
Cassandra with the Chorus.
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CASSANDRA:
Woe! woe! alas! alas! ye miseries!
Of faithful augury the direful toil
Racks me once more, with bodeful preludings
Vexing my soul.—Seated within these halls,
See, tender boys, like dreamy phantoms; children,
As by their dear ones done to death, their hands
Filled with their proper flesh, for nutriment;
Their heart and vitals,—loathsome, piteous, meal,—
Look, how they hold,—their sire has tasted, look!
For these, I say, vengeance devising, waits
A dastard lion, wallowing in bed;
House-warden, sooth, to him that's come, my master,
For the slave's yoke, alas! I needs must bear.
The naval leader, leveller of Troy,
He knows not that the fell she-dog, whose tongue
Spoke words of guileful welcome, long drawn out,
Like lurking Atè, will achieve his doom.
Such things she dares; the female slays the male!
Her,—what detested monster may I name
And hit the mark?—Some basilisk, or Scylla
Housing in rocks, deadly to mariners,
Infuriate dam of Hades, breathing forth,
Against her dearest, curse implacable?
What triumph-notes exultantly she raised,
All daring one, as in the turn of fight,
Feigning to gratulate his safe return!
What boots it whether I persuade or no?
The doomed must come; ere long to pity moved,
Me thou wilt own a prophet all too true.
