Stasimon 4
KASSANDRA.
Ah me, ah me —
Of me unhappy, evil-destined fortunes!
For I bewail my proper woe
As, mine with his, all into one I throw.
Why hast thou hither me unhappy brought?
— Unless that I should die with him — for nought!
CHOROS.
Thou art some mind-mazed creature, god-possessed:
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And all about thyself dost wail
Like some brown nightingale
Insatiable of noise, who — well-away! —
Keeps moaning Itus, Itus, and his life
With evils, flourishing on each side, rife.
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The fate o’ the nightingale, the clear resounder!
For a body wing-borne have the gods cast round her,
And sweet existence, from misfortunes free:
But for myself remains a sundering
