Her,—what detested monster may I name
And hit the mark?—Some basilisk, or Scylla
Housing in rocks, deadly to mariners,
Infuriate dam of Hades, breathing forth,
Against her dearest, curse implacable?
What triumph-notes exultantly she raised,
All daring one, as in the turn of fight,
Feigning to gratulate his safe return!
What boots it whether I persuade or no? 1210
The doomed must come; ere long to pity moved,
Me thou wilt own a prophet all too true.
Chorus.
Thyestes' banquet of his children's flesh
I knew and shudder at; fear takes my soul,
Hearing the truth, no imaged counterfeit.
The rest I heard, but follow not the track.
Cassandra.
On Agamemnon dead, I say, thou'lt look.
Chorus.
Lull, poor forlorn one, thy ill-omened tongue.
Cassandra.
Yet o'er this speech no healing god presides.
Chorus.
If be it must; but may it never be; 1220
Cassandra.
The while thou prayest, theirs it is to slay.
