Part 9 (1/2)

A tangle of raiment, see; A black horn, and a blow, and he falleth, full In the marble amid the water. I counsel ye.

I speak plain ... Blood in the bath and treachery!

LEADER.

No great interpreter of oracles Am I; but this, I think, some mischief spells.

What spring of good hath seercraft ever made Up from the dark to flow?

'Tis but a weaving of words, a craft of woe, To make mankind afraid.

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Poor woman! Poor dead woman! ... Yea, it is I, Poured out like water among them. Weep for me....

Ah! What is this place? Why must I come with thee....

To die, only to die?

LEADER.

Thou art borne on the breath of G.o.d, thou spirit wild, For thine own weird to wail, Like to that winged voice, that heart so sore Which, crying alway, hungereth to cry more, ”Itylus, Itylus,” till it sing her child Back to the nightingale.

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Oh, happy Singing Bird, so sweet, so clear!

Soft wings for her G.o.d made, And an easy pa.s.sing, without pain or tear ...

For me 'twill be torn flesh and rending blade.

SECOND ELDER.

Whence is it sprung, whence wafted on G.o.d's breath, This anguish reasonless?

This throbbing of terror shaped to melody, Moaning of evil blent with music high?

Who hath marked out for thee that mystic path Through thy woe's wilderness?

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Alas for the kiss, the kiss of Paris, his people's bane!

Alas for Scamander Water, the water my fathers drank!

Long, long ago, I played about thy bank, And was cherished and grew strong; Now by a River of Wailing, by sh.o.r.es of Pain, Soon shall I make my song.

LEADER.

How sayst thou? All too clear, This ill word thou hast laid upon thy mouth!

A babe could read thee plain.

It stabs within me like a serpent's tooth, The bitter thrilling music of her pain: I marvel as I hear.

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Alas for the toil, the toil of a City, worn unto death!

Alas for my father's wors.h.i.+p before the citadel, The flocks that bled and the tumult of their breath!