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Aeschylus, agamemnon<br />
CASSANDRA chanting<br />
Woe for my city, woe for Ilion's fall!<br />
Father, how oft with sanguine stain<br />
Streamed on thine altar-stone the blood of cattle, slain<br />
That heaven might guard our wall!<br />
But all was shed in vain.<br />
Low lie the shattered towers whereas they fell,<br />
And I--ah burning heart!--shall soon lie low as well.<br />
CHORUS chanting<br />
Of sorrow is thy song, of sorrow still!<br />
Alas, what power of ill<br />
Sits heavy on thy heart and bids thee tell<br />
In tears of perfect moan thy deadly tale?<br />
Some woe--I know not what--must close thy pious wail.<br />
CASSANDRA more calmly<br />
List! for no more the presage of my soul,<br />
Bride-like, shall peer from its secluding veil;<br />
But as the morning wind blows clear the east,<br />
More bright shall blow the wind of prophecy,<br />
And as against the low bright line of dawn<br />
Heaves high and higher yet the rolling wave,<br />
So in the clearing skies of prescience<br />
Dawns on my soul a further, deadlier woe,<br />
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