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.

CASSANDRA (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 God'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 God's chosen!

[She clasps her hands to her brow and feels the wreaths.

     O, ye wreaths!
Ye garlands of my God, whose love yet breathes
About me, shapes of joyance mystical,
Begone! I have forgot the festival,
Forgot the joy. Begone! I tear ye, so,
From off me!… Out on the swift winds they go.
With flesh still clean I give them back to thee,
Still white, O God, O light that leadest me!

[_Turning upon the Herald.

Where lies the galley? Whither shall I tread?
See that your watch be set, your sail be spread
The wind comes quick[27]! Three Powers—mark me,
  thou!—
There be in Hell, and one walks with thee now!
  Mother, farewell, and weep not! O my sweet
City, my earth-clad brethren, and thou great
Sire that begat us, but a space, ye Dead,
And I am with you, yea, with crowned head
I come, and shining from the fires that feed
On these that slay us now, and all their seed!

[She goes out, followed by Talthybius and the Soldiers Hecuba, after waiting for an instant motionless, falls to the ground.

LEADER OF CHORUS.

The Queen, ye Watchers! See, she falls, she falls,
Rigid without a word! O sorry thralls,
Too late! And will ye leave her downstricken,
A woman, and so old? Raise her again!

[Some women go to HECUBA, but she refuses their aid and speaks without rising.

HECUBA.

Let lie … the love we seek not is no love….
This ruined body! Is the fall thereof
Too deep for all that now is over me
Of anguish, and hath been, and yet shall be?
Ye Gods…. Alas! Why call on things so weak
For aid? Yet there is something that doth seek,
Crying, for God, when one of us hath woe.
O, I will think of things gone long ago
And weave them to a song, like one more tear
In the heart of misery…. All kings we were;
And I must wed a king. And sons I brought
My lord King, many sons … nay, that were naught;
But high strong princes, of all Troy the best.
Hellas nor Troäs nor the garnered East
Held such a mother! And all these things beneath
The Argive spear I saw cast down in death,
And shore these tresses at the dead men's feet.
  Yea, and the gardener of my garden great,
It was not any noise of him nor tale
I wept for; these eyes saw him, when the pale
Was broke, and there at the altar Priam fell
Murdered, and round him all his citadel
Sacked. And my daughters, virgins of the fold,
Meet to be brides of mighty kings, behold,
'Twas for the Greek I bred them! All are gone;
And no hope left, that I shall look upon
Their faces any more, nor they on mine.
  And now my feet tread on the utmost line:
An old, old slave-woman, I pass below
Mine enemies' gates; and whatso task they know
For this age basest, shall be mine; the door,
Bowing, to shut and open…. I that bore
Hector!… and meal to grind, and this racked head
Bend to the stones after a royal bed;
Tom rags about me, aye, and under them
Tom flesh; 'twill make a woman sick for shame!
Woe's me; and all that one man's arms might hold
One woman, what long seas have o'er me rolled
And roll for ever!… O my child, whose white
Soul laughed amid the laughter of God's light,
Cassandra, what hands and how strange a day
Have loosed thy zone! And thou, Polyxena,
Where art thou? And my sons? Not any seed
Of man nor woman now shall help my need.
  Why raise me any more? What hope have I
To hold me? Take this slave that once trod high
In Ilion; cast her on her bed of clay
Rock-pillowed, to lie down, and pass away
Wasted with tears. And whatso man they call
Happy, believe not ere the last day fall!

* * * * *

CHORUS[28]. [Strophe.

  O Muse, be near me now, and make
  A strange song for Ilion's sake,
Till a tone of tears be about mine ears
  And out of my lips a music break
  For Troy, Troy, and the end of the years:
    When the wheels of the Greek above me pressed,
    And the mighty horse-hoofs beat my breast;
  And all around were the Argive spears
A towering Steed of golden rein—
  O gold without, dark steel within!—
Ramped in our gates; and all the plain
  Lay silent where the Greeks had been.
And a cry broke from all the folk
Gathered above on Ilion's rock:
"Up, up, O fear is over now!
  To Pallas, who hath saved us living,
To Pallas bear this victory-vow!"
Then rose the old man from his room,
The merry damsel left her loom,
And each bound death about his brow
  With minstrelsy and high thanksgiving!

[Antistrophe.

  O, swift were all in Troy that day,
  And girt them to the portal-way,
Marvelling at that mountain Thing
  Smooth-carven, where the Argives lay,
  And wrath, and Ilion's vanquishing:
    Meet gift for her that spareth not[29],
    Heaven's yokeless Rider. Up they brought
  Through the steep gates her offering:
  Like some dark ship that climbs the shore
    On straining cables, up, where stood
  Her marble throne, her hallowed floor,
    Who lusted for her people's blood.

A very weariness of joy
Fell with the evening over Troy:
And lutes of Afric mingled there
  With Phrygian songs: and many a maiden,
With white feet