To make them dare the more, a revelling rout
Is in the rooms, which no man shall cast out,
Of sister Furies.  And they weave to song,
Haunting the House, its first blind deed of wrong,
Spurning in turn that King’s bed desecrate,
Defiled, which paid a brother’s sin with hate.... 
  Hath it missed or struck, mine arrow?  Am I a poor
Dreamer, that begs and babbles at the door? 
Give first thine oath in witness, that I know
Of this great dome the sins wrought long ago.

ELDER.

And how should oath of mine, though bravely sworn,
Appease thee?  Yet I marvel that one born
Far over seas, of alien speech, should fall
So apt, as though she had lived here and seen all.

CASSANDRA.

The Seer Apollo made me too to see.

ELDER (in a low voice).

Was the God’s heart pierced with desire for thee?

CASSANDRA.

Time was, I held it shame hereof to speak.

ELDER.

Ah, shame is for the mighty, not the weak.

CASSANDRA.

We wrestled, and his breath to me was sweet.

ELDER.

Ye came to the getting of children, as is meet?

CASSANDRA.

I swore to Loxias, and I swore a lie.

ELDER.

Already thine the gift of prophecy?

CASSANDRA.

Already I showed my people all their path.

ELDER.

And Loxias did not smite thee in his wrath?

CASSANDRA.

After that sin ... no man believed me more.

ELDER.

Nay, then, to us thy wisdom seemeth sure.

CASSANDRA.

Oh, oh!  Agony, agony! 
Again the awful pains of prophecy
Are on me, maddening as they fall.... 
Ye see them there ... beating against the wall? 
So young ... like shapes that gather in a dream ... 
Slain by a hand they loved.  Children they seem,
Murdered ... and in their hands they bear baked meat: 
I think it is themselves.  Yea, flesh; I see it;
And inward parts....  Oh, what a horrible load
To carry!  And their father drank their blood.

From these, I warn ye, vengeance broodeth still,
A lion’s rage, which goes not forth to kill
But lurketh in his lair, watching the high
Hall of my war-gone master ...  Master?  Aye;
Mine, mine!  The yoke is nailed about my neck.... 
Oh, lord of ships and trampler on the wreck
Of Ilion, knows he not this she-wolf’s tongue,
Which licks and fawns, and laughs with ear up-sprung,
To bite in the end like secret death?—­And can
The woman?  Slay a strong and armed man? ... 
  What fanged reptile like to her doth creep? 
Some serpent amphisbene, some Skylla, deep
Housed in the rock, where sailors shriek and die,
Mother of Hell blood-raging, which doth cry
On her own flesh war, war without alloy ... 
God!  And she shouted in his face her joy,
Like men in battle when the foe doth break. 
And feigns thanksgiving for his safety’s sake! 
  What if no man believe me?  ’Tis all one. 
The thing which must be shall be; aye, and soon
Thou too shalt sorrow for these things, and here
Standing confess me all too true a seer.