And for me,
Since Argive Hera conquereth, and she
Who wrought with Hera to the Phrygians’ woe,
Pallas, behold, I bow mine head and go
Forth from great Ilion[3] and mine altars old. 
When a still city lieth in the hold
Of Desolation, all God’s spirit there
Is sick and turns from worship.—­Hearken where
The ancient River waileth with a voice
Of many women, portioned by the choice
Of war amid new lords, as the lots leap
For Thessaly, or Argos, or the steep
Of Theseus’ Rock.  And others yet there are,
High women, chosen from the waste of war
For the great kings, behind these portals hid;
And with them that Laconian Tyndarid[4],
Helen, like them a prisoner and a prize. 
  And this unhappy one—­would any eyes
Gaze now on Hecuba?  Here at the Gates
She lies ’mid many tears for many fates
Of wrong.  One child beside Achilles’ grave
In secret slain[5], Polyxena the brave,
Lies bleeding.  Priam and his sons are gone;
And, lo, Cassandra[6], she the Chosen One,
Whom Lord Apollo spared to walk her way
A swift and virgin spirit, on this day
Lust hath her, and she goeth garlanded
A bride of wrath to Agamemnon’s bed.

[He turns to go; and another divine Presence becomes visible in the dusk.  It is the goddess PALLAS ATHENA.

O happy long ago, farewell, farewell,
Ye shining towers and mine old citadel;
Broken by Pallas[7], Child of God, or still
Thy roots had held thee true.

PALLAS.

Is it the will
Of God’s high Brother, to whose hand is given
Great power of old, and worship of all Heaven,
To suffer speech from one whose enmities
This day are cast aside?

POSEIDON.

His will it is: 
Kindred and long companionship withal,
Most high Athena, are things magical.

PALLAS.

Blest be thy gentle mood!—­Methinks I see
A road of comfort here, for thee and me.

POSEIDON.

Thou hast some counsel of the Gods, or word
Spoken of Zeus?  Or is it tidings heard
From some far Spirit?

PALLAS.

For this Ilion’s sake,
Whereon we tread, I seek thee, and would make
My hand as thine.

POSEIDON.

Hath that old hate and deep
Failed, where she lieth in her ashen sleep? 
Thou pitiest her?

PALLAS.

Speak first; wilt thou be one
In heart with me and hand till all be done?

POSEIDON.

Yea; but lay bare thy heart.  For this land’s sake
Thou comest, not for Hellas?

PALLAS.

I would make
Mine ancient enemies laugh for joy, and bring
On these Greek ships a bitter homecoming.

POSEIDON.

Swift is thy spirit’s path, and strange withal,
And hot thy love and hate, where’er they fall.

PALLAS.

A deadly wrong they did me, yea within
Mine holy place:  thou knowest?