Rather than sail with us! How savagely In days like these a free neck chafes beneath Its burden!... Open! Open quick! Such death Were bliss to them, it may be: but 'twill bring Much wrath, and leave me shamed before the King!

HECUBA.

There is no fire, no peril: 'tis my child, Ca.s.sandra, by the breath of G.o.d made wild.

[_The door opens from within and_ Ca.s.sANDRA _enters, white-robed and wreathed like a Priestess, a great torch in her hand. She is singing softly to herself and does not see the Herald or the scene before her._

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Lift, lift it high: [_Strophe_.

Give it to mine hand!

Lo, I bear a flame Unto G.o.d! I praise his name.

I light with a burning brand This sanctuary.

Blessed is he that shall wed, And blessed, blessed am I In Argos: a bride to lie With a king in a king's bed.

Hail, O Hymen[19] red, O Torch that makest one!

Weepest thou, Mother mine own?

Surely thy cheek is pale With tears, tears that wail For a land and a father dead.

But I go garlanded: I am the Bride of Desire: Therefore my torch is borne-- Lo, the lifting of morn, Lo, the leaping of fire!--

For thee, O Hymen bright, For thee, O Moon of the Deep, So Law hath charged, for the light Of a maid's last sleep.

Awake, O my feet, awake: [_Antistrophe_.

Our father's hope is won!

Dance as the dancing skies Over him, where he lies Happy beneath the sun!...

Lo, the Ring that I make....

[_She makes a circle round her with a torch, and visions appear to her_.

Apollo!... Ah, is it thou?

O shrine in the laurels cold, I bear thee still, as of old, Mine incense! Be near to me now.

[_She waves the torch as though bearing incense_.

O Hymen, Hymen fleet: Quick torch that makest one!...

How? Am I still alone?

Laugh as I laugh, and twine In the dance, O Mother mine: Dear feet, be near my feet!

Come, greet ye Hymen, greet Hymen with songs of pride: Sing to him loud and long, Cry, cry, when the song Faileth, for joy of the bride!

O Damsels girt in the gold Of Ilion, cry, cry ye, For him that is doomed of old To be lord of me!

LEADER.

O hold the damsel, lest her tranced feet Lift her afar, Queen, toward the h.e.l.lene fleet!

HECUBA.

O Fire, Fire, where men make marriages Surely thou hast thy lot; but what are these Thou bringest flashing? Torches savage-wild And far from mine old dreams.--Alas, my child, How little dreamed I then of wars or red Spears of the Greek to lay thy bridal bed!

Give me thy brand; it hath no holy blaze Thus in thy frenzy flung. Nor all thy days Nor all thy griefs have changed them yet, nor learned Wisdom.--Ye women, bear the pine half burned To the chamber back; and let your drowned eyes Answer the music of these bridal cries!

[_She takes the torch and gives it to one of the women_.

Ca.s.sANDRA.

O Mother, fill mine hair with happy flowers, And speed me forth. Yea, if my spirit cowers, Drive me with wrath! So liveth Loxias[20], A bloodier bride than ever Helen was Go I to Agamemnon, Lord most high Of h.e.l.las!... I shall kill him, mother; I Shall kill him, and lay waste his house with fire As he laid ours. My brethren and my sire Shall win again....[21]

(_Checking herself_) But part I must let be, And speak not. Not the axe that craveth me, And more than me; not the dark wanderings Of mother-murder that my bridal brings, And all the House of Atreus down, down, down....

Nay, I will show thee. Even now this town Is happier than the Greeks. I know the power Of G.o.d is on me: but this little hour, Wilt thou but listen, I will hold him back!

One love, one woman's beauty, o'er the track Of hunted Helen, made their myriads fall.

And this their King so wise[22], who ruleth all, What wrought he? Cast out Love that Hate might feed: Gave to his brother his own child, his seed Of gladness, that a woman fled, and fain To fly for ever, should be turned again!

So the days waned, and armies on the sh.o.r.e Of Simois stood and strove and died. Wherefore?

No man had moved their landmarks; none had shook Their walled towns.--And they whom Ares took, Had never seen their children: no wife came With gentle arms to shroud the limbs of them For burial, in a strange and angry earth Laid dead. And there at home, the same long dearth: Women that lonely died, and aged men Waiting for sons that ne'er should turn again, Nor know their graves, nor pour drink-offerings, To still the unslaked dust. These be the things The conquering Greek hath won!

But we--what pride, What praise of men were sweeter?--fighting died To save our people. And when war was red Around us, friends upbore the gentle dead Home, and dear women's heads about them wound White shrouds, and here they sleep in the old ground Beloved. And the rest long days fought on, Dwelling with wives and children, not alone And joyless, like these Greeks.

And Hector's woe, What is it? He is gone, and all men know His glory, and how true a heart he bore.

It is the gift the Greek hath brought! Of yore Men saw him not, nor knew him. Yea, and even Paris[23] hath loved withal a child of heaven: Else had his love but been as others are.

Would ye be wise, ye Cities, fly from war!

Yet if war come, there is a crown in death For her that striveth well and perisheth Unstained: to die in evil were the stain!

Therefore, O Mother, pity not thy slain, Nor Troy, nor me, the bride. Thy direst foe And mine by this my wooing is brought low.

TALTHYBIUS (_at last breaking through the spell that has held him_).

I swear, had not Apollo made thee mad, Not lightly hadst thou flung this shower of bad Bodings, to speed my General o'er the seas!

'Fore G.o.d, the wisdoms and the greatnesses Of seeming, are they hollow all, as things Of naught? This son of Atreus, of all kings Most mighty, hath so bowed him to the love Of this mad maid, and chooseth her above All women! By the G.o.ds, rude though I be, I would not touch her hand!

Look thou; I see Thy lips are blind, and whatso words they speak, Praises of Troy or shamings of the Greek, I cast to the four winds! Walk at my side In peace!... And heaven content him of his bride!

[_He moves as though to go, but turns to_ HECUBA, _and speaks more gently_.

And thou shalt follow to Odysseus' host When the word comes. 'Tis a wise queen[24] thou go'st To serve, and gentle: so the Ithacans say.

Ca.s.sANDRA (_seeing for the first time the Herald and all the scene_).

How fierce a slave!... O Heralds, Heralds!

Yea, Voices of Death[25]; and mists are over them Of dead men's anguish, like a diadem, These weak abhorred things that serve the hate Of kings and peoples!...

To Odysseus' gate My mother goeth, say'st thou? Is G.o.d's word As naught, to me in silence ministered, That in this place she dies?[26]... (_To herself_) No more; no more!

Why should I speak the shame of them, before They come?... Little he knows, that hard-beset Spirit, what deeps of woe await him yet; Till all these tears of ours and harrowings Of Troy, by his, shall be as golden things.

Ten years behind ten years athwart his way Waiting: and home, lost and unfriended....

Nay: Why should Odysseus' labours vex my breath?

On; hasten; guide me to the house of Death, To lie beside my bridegroom!...

Thou Greek King, Who deem'st thy fortune now so high a thing, Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see, In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee: And with thee, with thee ... there, where yawneth plain A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain, Dead ... and out-cast ... and naked.... It is I Beside my bridegroom: and the wild beasts cry, And ravin on G.o.d's chosen!