Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/421

Rh Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand. Cassandra: Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits, Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. Let each bewail her several woes; but I For my own heavy grief have tears enough.

Band: Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know That our own tears with others' flow; More sharply gnaws the hidden care Which we with others may not share:

And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief, Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.

Though Philomel for Itys sing Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring; Though Procne, with insistent din, Bewail her husband's hidden sin;

Not these, with all their passionate lament, Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.

Let Cycnus raise his dying song, And its soft, plaintive strains prolong; Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, A-flutter o'er the tossing wave; Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele Their tears for Attis share with thee:

Still would our tears in no such measure flow, For sufferings like these no limits know. [Cassandra lays aside her fillets.] But why dost lay aside the sacred wool? Most by the wretched should the gods be feared. Cassandra: But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear. I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more, For now am I beyond their power to harm, And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate. No country have I left, no sister, sire; For tombs and altars have my blood consumed. Where is that happy throng of brothers now? Departed all! And only weak old men Remain within the lonely palace walls To serve the wretched king; and these, alas, Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,