ANTISTROPHE II. But, oh! when black blood stains the ground, And the mortal mortal lies, Shall the dead hear when thou chauntest? To thy charming shall he rise? Once there was a leech so wise Could raise the dead,[f20] but, from the skies, Struck by Jove, he ceased. But cease my song. Were link with link In the chain of things not bound together[n69] That each event must wait its time, Nor one dare trip the other, My tongue had played the prophet's part, And rolled the burden from my heart; But now, to doubt resigned, With smothered fears, all dumb I wait The unravelling hour; while sparks of fate Flit through my darksome mind. [_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA. CLYTEMNESTRA. Come thou, too, in; this maid, I mean; Cassandra! For not in wrath Jove sent thee here to share Our family lustrations, and to stand, With many slaves, beside the household altar.[n70] Step from this car, nor bear thy spirit proudly Above thy fate, for even Alcmena's son, To slavery sold, once bore the hated yoke. What must be, must be; rather thank the chance That gave thee to an old and wealthy house; For they who reap an unexpected growth Of wealth, are harsh to slaves beyond the line Of a well-tempered rule. Here thou shalt find The common use of bondage. CHORUS. Plainly she speaks; And thou within Fate's iron toils once caught Wert wise to go--if go thou wilt--but, soothly, Thou hast no willing look. CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay! an' she be not Barbarian to the bone, and speaking nought {72} Save swallow jabber,[f21] she shall hear my voice. I'll pierce her marrow with it. CHORUS. Captive maid, Obey! thou shouldst; 'tis best; be thou persuaded To leave thy chariot-seat and follow her. CLYTEMNESTRA. No time have I to stand without the gate Prating with her. Within, on the central hearth, The fire burns bright, the sheep's fat slaughter waiting, To furnish forth a banquet that transcends The topmost of our hopes. Wilt thou obey, Obey me quickly! If with stubborn sense Thou hast nor ear to hear, nor voice to speak, Answer my sign with thy barbarian hand. CHORUS. A wise interpreter the maid demands; Like a wild beast new caught, even so she stands. CLYTEMNESTRA. Ay! she is mad; her wit to sober counsels Is deaf; she comes from the new-captured city, Untaught to bear the Argive bit with patience, But foams and dashes bloody froth. I will not Make myself base by wasting words on her. [_Exit_. CHORUS. Poor maid, I may not blame; I pity thee. Come, leave thy seat; for, though the yoke be strange, Necessity compels, and thou must bear it. STROPHE I. CASSANDRA. Ah! ah! woe's me! woe! woe! Apollo! O Apollo! CHORUS. Why dost thou waft to Loxias?[f22] is he A gloomy god that he should list sad tales? ANTISTROPHE I. CASSANDRA. Ah! ah! woe's me! woe! woe! Apollo! O Apollo!