III.
Joyless, while they chant their praises—
None to soothe her, none to love—
Did Cassandra tread the mazes
Of Apollo's laurel grove;
To the wild wood's deepest shadow
Fled the mystic maiden now,
And she dashed the priestess-fillet
Wildly from her throbbing brow.
IV.
"Everywhere are sounds of gladness,
From each happy heart awoke;
I alone must rove in sadness,
I alone must grief invoke.
Joy illumes my father's features,
Garlanded my sisters stand—
Yet I hear the rushing pinions
Of Destruction o'er our land.
V.
"Wildly high a torch is flashing,
But 'tis not from Hymen's hand;
Upward see the red stream dashing,
But 'tis not an altar brand.
Costly viands, festal dances,
Wait the bridegroom and the bride—
Yet the Avenger's step advances,
Who will crush them in their pride.
VI.
"And they mock my prophet wailing,
And they scorn my words of woe;
Fatal gift and unavailing—
Still I've wandered to and fro,
Shunn'd by all the happy round me,
Scorned by all where'er I trod;
Heavily thou hast foredoomed me,
Oh! thou mighty Pythian God!