With a weighty doom severe.
From her heart sharp cries he wringeth,
Dismal, deathful stratus she singeth,
And I wait the end in fear.
Cassandra.
No more my prophecy, like a young bride
Shall from a veil peep forth, but like a wind
Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face,[n79]
And curl high-crested surges of fierce woes,
That far outbillow mine. I’ll speak no more