Can tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.
[Enter Calchas.]
Thou who from bonds didst loose the Grecian ships,
And bring to end the slow delays of war;
Who by thy mystic art canst open heaven,
And read with vision clear the awful truths
Which sacrificial viscera proclaim;
To whom the thunder's roll, the long, bright trail 355
Of stars that flash across the sky, reveal
The hidden things of fate; whose every word
Is uttered at a heavy cost to me:
What is the will of heaven, O Calchas; speak,
And rule us with the mastery of fate.
Calchas: The Greeks must pay th' accustomed price to death, 360
Ere on the homeward seas they take their way.
The maiden must be slaughtered on the tomb
Of great Achilles. Thus the rite perform:
As Grecian maidens are in marriage led
By other hands unto the bridegroom's home,
So Pyrrhus to his father's shade must lead
His promised bride. 365
But not this cause alone
Delays our ships: a nobler blood than thine,
Polyxena, is due unto the fates;
For from yon lofty tower must Hector's son,
Astyanax, be hurled to certain death.
Then shall our vessels hasten to the sea,
And fill the waters with their thousand sails. 370
[Exeunt.]
Chorus: When in the tomb the dead is laid,
When the last rites of love are paid;
When eyes no more behold the light,
Closed in the sleep of endless night;
Survives there aught, can we believe?
Or does an idle tale deceive? 375
What boots it, then, to yield the breath
A willing sacrifice to death,
If still we gain no dreamless peace,
And find from living no release?
