University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Agamemnon, Melisander, Cassandra attended by Trojan Captives.
Cassandra
, entering.
O hostile Roofs! O Ilium! O my Country!

Agamemnon.
I cannot blame your Grief, unhappy Princess!
But, if it can relieve you, here be sure
Of an Asylum, safe as Priam's Palace.

Cassandra.
O sweet Abode! O Palace of my Fathers!
My Heart bleeds Transport while I think of Thee;
Think of the Days of Innocence and Joy,
That shone upon me there. How chang'd, alas!
Ah! what a Scene, when I beheld thee last!
Rage, Blood, and Flames, and Shrieks of Murder round me!
The Sword of Pyrrhus, and a feeble Father!
Where was you Hector then? Where all his Sons?
O Priam's numerous Race! what are you now
Become? Ah me! the desolating Gods
Have laid their Hands, their iron Hands, upon us.

Agamemnon.
From past Misfortunes, Princess, turn your Eye—

Cassandra.
'Tis true, the future may full well suffice.
Th'avenging Sisters trace my Footsteps still,
The Hunters still pursue the trembling Doe.
Where am I?—Gods!—Black heavy Drops of Blood
Run down the guilty Walls—With the dun Shades
Of Night ascending, lo! successive Troops
Of Trojan Ghosts are flocking to the Banquet:
Permitted by th'infernal Gods, they come,
To feast them with the Horrors of this Night,
To snuff the Blood of Victims—Ha! the Car,
The gay triumphal Car, is turn'd, at once,
Into a mournful Bier, that nods along,
Solemn and slow—Yes, Troy shall be aveng'd:
I shall the Vengeance see; and yet not see
Thy Light, returning Phœbus.

Agamemnon.
Fair Cassandra,
Indulge no more these melancholy Views,
These Visions form'd by gloomy-minded Grief.
We will each Art each tender Art employ,
To sooth your Sorrows, to restore your Peace.
You come not to the proud unfeeling Race
Of Yesterday: we know the Turns of Fortune;
Have drank the Cup, the wholesome Cup, of Sufferings,
That not inflames but moderates the Mind.
Then fear not, Princess; let me call you Daughter!
Your Treatment shall be such as well becomes
The Dignity of Woe, becomes the great
The fair Unhappy. Nought shall touch your Honour.
I know, I feel your Beauty: but here dwell
The Gods of Hospitality and Faith;
The Hymeneal Powers are honour'd here.
Yes, I will shield Thee, equal with Electra,
With my lov'd Daughter, in thy Friendship blest.

Cassandra.
In spite of swelling Tears that choak the Way,
Of bitter Tears by big Remembrance shed,
I own thy Goodness, thank Thee, Agamemnon.
Mean time, in vain, are all thy generous Cares,
On my account. The Gods of Death will, soon,
Extend o'er me their all-protecting Wing.
I shall not long, I shall not want Protection:
But, who, devoted Prince, will give it Thee?
Even while we talk the secret Wheels are turning,
That lift the Vile, and lay the Mighty low.
I pity Thee, the House of Pelops pity:
Forgive me, Troy: I pity thy Destroyers.

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
A Messenger from Arcas, Sir—

Agamemnon.
'Tis well.
To my Apartment lead him—You, mean while,
[To Melisander.
Attend the Princess; grace her with such Honours,
As suits Her to receive, and Me to give.