For this, for this, I say there plots revenge A coward lion, couching in the lair— Guarding the gate against my master’s foot— My master—mine—I bear the slave’s yoke now, And he, the lord of ships, who trod down Troy, Knows not the fawning treachery of tongue Of this thing false and dog-like—how her speech Glozes and sleeks her purpose, till she win By ill fate’s favour the desired chance, Moving like Atè to a secret end. O aweless soul! the woman slays her lord— Woman? what loathsome monster of the earth Were fit comparison? The double snake— Or Scylla, where she dwells, the seaman’s bane, Girt round about with rocks? some hag of hell, Raving a truceless curse upon her kin? Hark—even now she cries exultingly The vengeful cry that tells of battle turned— How fain, forsooth, to greet her chief restored! Nay then, believe me not: what skills belief Or disbelief? Fate works its will—and thou Wilt see and say in ruth, _Her tale was true._ CHORUS Ah—’tis Thyestes’ feast on kindred flesh— I guess her meaning and with horror thrill, Hearing no shadow’d hint of th’ o’er-true tale, But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest, Far from the track I roam, and know no more. CASSANDRA ’Tis Agamemnon’s doom thou shalt behold. CHORUS Peace, hapless woman, to thy boding words! CASSANDRA Far from my speech stands he who sains and saves. CHORUS Ay—were such doom at hand—which God forbid! CASSANDRA Thou prayest idly—these move swift to slay. CHORUS What man prepares a deed of such despite? CASSANDRA Fool! thus to read amiss mine oracles. CHORUS Deviser and device are dark to me. CASSANDRA Dark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue. CHORUS Ay—but in thine, as in Apollo’s strains, Familiar is the tongue, but dark the thought. CASSANDRA Ah ah the fire! it waxes, nears me now— Woe, woe for me, Apollo of the dawn!