Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/422

404 Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives. And Hecuba, proud mother of a race Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia, Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form, Barks madly round the ruins of her home, Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself. Band: Why falls this sudden silence on her? See, Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise, And we can hear, though pent within her breast, The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart. Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon Her eyes seem backward turned into herself, Then fix again and harshly stare abroad. Now higher than her wont she lifts her head And walks with stately step; and now she strives To open her reluctant lips. At last, Though struggling still against th' inspiring god, The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words. Cassandra: Why prick me on with fury's goads anew, Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh? Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine. Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast. Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy? Now Troy is fallen—must I still rave on, And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I? The kindly light has fled, and deepest night Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun, The day shines forth again; and doubled homes In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits Amid those awful goddesses to judge (Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms. Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon Shall overthrow your house.