I spake not of a man: thy thoughts shoot wide.
Chorus.
The deed I heard, but not whose hand should do it.
Cassandra.
And yet I spake good Greek with a good Greek tongue.
Chorus.
Thou speakest Apollo’s words: true, but obscure.
Cassandra.
Ah me! the god! like fire within my breast
Burns the Lycéan god.[f29] Ah me! pain! pain!