POSEIDON.

I know the sin
Of Ajax[8], when he cast Cassandra down....

PALLAS.

And no man rose and smote him; not a frown
Nor word from all the Greeks!

POSEIDON.

And ’twas thine hand
That gave them Troy!

PALLAS.

Therefore with thee I stand
To smite them.

POSEIDON.

All thou cravest, even now
Is ready in mine heart.  What seekest thou?

PALLAS.

An homecoming that striveth ever more
And cometh to no home.

POSEIDON.

Here on the shore
Wouldst hold them or amid mine own salt foam?

PALLAS.

When the last ship hath bared her sail for home! 
  Zeus shall send rain, long rain and flaw of driven
Hail, and a whirling darkness blown from heaven;
To me his levin-light he promiseth
O’er ships and men, for scourging and hot death: 
Do thou make wild the roads of the sea, and steep
With war of waves and yawning of the deep,
Till dead men choke Euboea’s curling bay. 
So Greece shall dread even in an after day
My house, nor scorn the Watchers of strange lands!

POSEIDON.

I give thy boon unbartered.  These mine hands
Shall stir the waste Aegean; reefs that cross
The Delian pathways, jag-torn Myconos,
Scyros and Lemnos, yea, and storm-driven
Caphereus with the bones of drowned men
Shall glut him.—­Go thy ways, and bid the Sire
Yield to thine hand the arrows of his fire. 
Then wait thine hour, when the last ship shall wind
Her cable coil for home! [Exit PALLAS.

How are ye blind,
Ye treaders down of cities, ye that cast
Temples to desolation, and lay waste
Tombs, the untrodden sanctuaries where lie
The ancient dead; yourselves so soon to die!

[Exit POSEIDON.

* * * * *

The day slowly dawns:  HECUBA wakes.

HECUBA.

Up from the earth, O weary head! 
   This is not Troy, about, above—­
   Not Troy, nor we the lords thereof. 
Thou breaking neck, be strengthened! 
Endure and chafe not.  The winds rave
  And falter.  Down the world’s wide road,
  Float, float where streams the breath of God;
Nor turn thy prow to breast the wave.

Ah woe!...  For what woe lacketh here? 
  My children lost, my land, my lord. 
  O thou great wealth of glory, stored
Of old in Ilion, year by year

We watched ... and wert thou nothingness? 
  What is there that I fear to say? 
  And yet, what help?...  Ah, well-a-day,
This ache of lying, comfortless

And haunted!  Ah, my side, my brow
  And temples!  All with changeful pain
  My body rocketh, and would fain
Move to the tune of tears that flow: 
For tears are music too, and keep
A song unheard in hearts that weep.
  [She rises and gazes towards the Greek ships far off on the shore.