Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/113

Rh Leaving behind the lagging tongue,

My heart its bodeful strain had sung.

But now it raves; no cheering rays

My anguished spirit knows,

And hopeless to unravel Fate's dark maze

With fiery ardour glows.

Come thou too in, Cassandra, thee I mean;

For not in wrath Zeus placed thee in our house

A sharer in our lustral rites to stand,

With many slaves beside his household altar.

Now from this car descend; be not too proud,

For e'en Alcmena's son,—so runs the tale,—

Sold as a slave, endured the forceful yoke;

But if such fate befal thee, great the boon

Heirs of ancestral wealth to own as lords;

For upstarts, beyond hope who fortune reap,—

These reckless are and cruel to their slaves.

From us thou hast what usuage warranteth.

Thee in clear words she hath addressed, and thou,

Meshed as thou art within the toils of Fate,

Yield if thou canst; mayhap thou wilt not yield.

Nay, an she be not, swallow-like, possessed

Of an unknown, barbaric tongue, my words,

Beaching her mind, must move her to comply.