seeing the Gods—­why chafe at them?—­
Have placed thee here, to share within these walls
Our lustral waters, ’mid a crowd of thralls
Who stand obedient round the altar-stone
Of our Possession.  Therefore come thou down,
And be not over-proud.  The tale is told
How once Alcmena’s son himself, being sold,
Was patient, though he liked not the slaves’ mess. 
  And more, if Fate must bring thee to this stress,
Praise God thou art come to a House of high report
And wealth from long ago.  The baser sort,
Who have reaped some sudden harvest unforeseen,
Are ever cruel to their slaves, and mean
In the measure.  We shall give whate’er is due.

  [CASSANDRA is silent.

LEADER.

To thee she speaks, and waits ... clear words and true! 
Oh, doom is all around thee like a net;
Yield, if thou canst....  Belike thou canst not yet.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Methinks, unless this wandering maid is one
Voiced like a swallow-bird, with tongue unknown
And barbarous, she can read my plain intent. 
I use but words, and ask for her consent.

LEADER.

Ah, come!  Tis best, as the world lies to-day. 
Leave this high-throned chariot, and obey!

CLYTEMNESTRA.

How long must I stand dallying at the Gate? 
Even now the beasts to Hestia consecrate
Wait by the midmost fire, since there is wrought
This high fulfilment for which no man thought. 
Wherefore, if ’tis thy pleasure to obey
Aught of my will, prithee, no more delay! 
If, dead to sense, thou wilt not understand... 
Thou show her, not with speech but with brute hand!

  [To the Leader of the CHORUS.

LEADER.

The strange maid needs a rare interpreter. 
She is trembling like a wild beast in a snare.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

’Fore God, she is mad, and heareth but her own
Folly!  A slave, her city all o’erthrown,
She needs must chafe her bridle, till this fret
Be foamed away in blood and bitter sweat. 
I waste no more speech, thus to be defied.

  [She goes back inside the Palace.

LEADER.

I pity thee so sore, no wrath nor pride
Is in me.—­Come, dismount!  Bend to the stroke
Fate lays on thee, and learn to feel thy yoke.

  [He lays his hand softly on CASSANDRA’S shoulder.

CASSANDRA (moaning to herself).

Otototoi ...  Dreams.  Dreams. 
  Apollo.  O Apollo!

SECOND ELDER.

Why sob’st thou for Apollo?  It is writ,
He loves not grief nor lendeth ear to it.

CASSANDRA.

Otototoi ...  Dreams.  Dreams. 
  Apollo.  O Apollo!

LEADER.

Still to that god she makes her sobbing cry
Who hath no place where men are sad, or die.

CASSANDRA.

Apollo, Apollo!  Light of the Ways of Men! 
  Mine enemy! 
Hast lighted me to darkness yet again?