To melodize thy sorrows — else, in singing,Calamitous, death-bringing!And of all this the endI am without resource to apprehend

KASSANDRA.Well then, the oracle from veils no longerShall be outlooking, like a bride new-married:But bright it seems, against the sun’s uprisingsBreathing, to penetrate thee: so as, wave-like,To wash against the rays a woe much greaterThan this. I will no longer teach by riddles.And witness, running with me, that of evilsDone long ago, I nosing track the footstep!For, this same roof here — never quits a ChorosOne-voiced, not well-tuned since no well it utters:And truly having drunk, to get more courage,Man’s blood — the Komos keeps within the household— Hard to be sent outside — of sister Furies:They hymn their hymn — within the house close sitting —The first beginning curse: in turn spit forth atThe Brother’s bed, to him who spurned it hostile.Have I missed aught, or hit I like a bowman?False prophet am I, — knock at doors, a babbler?Henceforward witness, swearing now, I know notBy other’s word the old sins of this household!CHOROS.And how should oath, bond honourably binding,Become thy cure? No less I wonder at thee— That thou, beyond sea reared, a strange-tongued cityShouldst hit in speaking, just as if thou stood’st by! KASSANDRA.Prophet Apollon put me in this office.CHOROS.What, even though a god, with longing smitten?