Cassandra
They hurried to the feast,The warrior and the priest,And the gay maiden with her jewelled brow;The minstrel’s harp and voiceSaid “Triumph and rejoice!”--One only mourned!--many are mourning now!
“Peace! startle not the lightWith the wild dreams of night!”--So spake the Princes in their pride and joy,When I, in their dull ears,Shrieked forth my tale of tears,“Woe to the gorgeous city, woe to Troy!”
Ye watch the dim smoke riseUp to the lurid skies;Ye see the red light flickering on the stream;Ye listen to the fallOf gate, and tower, and wall;Sisters, the time is come!--alas, it is no dream!
Through hall, and court, and porch,Glides on the pitiless torchThe swift avengers faint not in their toil:Vain now the matron’s sighs,Vain now the infant’s cries;--Look, sisters, look! who leads them to the spoil?
Not Pyrrhus, though his handIs on his father’s brand;Not the fell framer of the accursèd steed;Not Nestor’s hoary head,Nor Teucer’s rapid tread,Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomede.
Visions of deeper fearTo-night are warring here;--I know them, sisters, the mysterious Three:Minerva’s lightning frown,And Juno’s golden crown,And him, the mighty Ruler of the sounding sea!
Through wailing and through woeSilent and stern they go;So have I ever seen them in my trance:Exultingly they guideDestruction’s fiery tide,And lift the dazzling shield, and point the deadly lance.
Lo, where the old man stands,Folding his palsied hands,And muttering, with white lips, his querulous prayer:“Where is my noble son,My best my bravest one--Troy’s hope and Priam’s--where is Hector, where?”
Why is thy falchion grasped?Why is thy helmet clasped?Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine!The altar reeks with gore;O sisters, look no more!It is our father’s blood upon the shrine!
And ye, alas! must roamFar from your desolate home,Far from lost Ilium, o’er the joyless wave;Ye may not from these bowersGather the trampled flowersTo wreath sad garlands for your brethren’s grave.
Away, away! the galeStirs the white-bosomed sail;Hence! look not back to freedom or to fame;Labour must be your doom,Night-watchings, days of gloom,The bitter bread of tears, the bridal couch of shame.
Even now some Grecian dameBeholds the signal flame,And waits, expectant, the returning fleet;“Why lingers yet my lord?Hath he not sheathed his sword?Will he not bring my handmaid to my feet?”
Me too, the dark Fates call:Their sway is over all,Captor and captive, prison-house and throne:--I tell of others’ lot;They hear me, heed me not!Hide, angry Phœbus, hide me from mine own!
Words in this poem
- gorgeous a.
- Imposing through splendid or various colors; showy; fine; magnificent. [OF. gorgias beautiful, glorious, vain, luxurious; cf. OF. gorgias ruff, neck handkerchief, and F. gorge throat, and se pengorger to assume airs. Cf. Gorge, n.]
- lurid a.
- Pale yellow; ghastly pale; wan; gloomy; dismal. [L. luridus.]
- framer n.
- One who frames; as, the framer of a building; the framers of the Constitution.
- steed n.
- A horse, especially a spirited horse for state of war; -- used chiefly in poetry or stately prose. [OE. stede, AS. steda a stud-horse, war horse, fr. stod a stud of breeding steeds; akin to G. stute a mare, Icel. stedda, sto, a stud. *163. See Stud of horses.]
- hoary a.
- White or whitish."The hoary willows."
- palsied a.
- Affected with palsy; paralyzed.
- querulous a.
- Given to quarreling; quarrelsome. land. [L. querulus and querulosus, fr. queri to complain. Cf. Cry, v., Quarrel a brawl, Quarrelous.]
- falchion n.
- A broad-bladed sword, slightly curved, shorter and lighter than the ordinary sword; -- used in the Middle Ages. [OE. fauchon, OF. fauchon, LL. fälcio, fr. L. falx, falcis, a sickle, cf. Gr. falcon; cf. It. falcione. Cf. Defalcation.]
- fitter n.
- A little piece; a flitter; a flinder.
- joyless a.
- Not having joy; not causing joy; unenjoyable.
- dame n.
- A mistress of a family, who is a lady; a womam in authority; especially, a lady. [F. dame, LL. domna, fr. L. domina mistress, lady, fem. of dominus master, ruler, lord; akin to domare to tame, subdue. See Tame, and cf. Dam mother, Dan, Danger]
- handmaid n.
- A maid that waits at hand; a female servant or attendant.
- captor n.
- One who captures any person or thing, as a prisoner or a prize. [L., a cather (of animals), fr. caper to take.]
- angry a.
- Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Cassandra is in the public domain. This text is taken from The poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed. [selected], Project Gutenberg ebook #71008; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Cassandra, in Poems (1820–1839), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71008, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/praed-poems/cassandra.html, id L10235.
Form and metre
Cassandra is 78 lines in 13 stanzas of 6 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABCCB. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.6 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 18% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABCCB feastA · priestA · browB · voiceC · rejoiceC · nowB
- 2 AABCCB lightA · nightA · joyB · earsC · tearsC · troyB
- 3 AABCCB riseA · skiesA · streamB · fallC · wallC · dreamB
- 4 AABCCB porchA · torchA · toilB · sighsC · criesC · spoilB
- 5 AABCCB handA · brandA · steedB · headC · treadC · diomedeB
- 6 AABCCB fearA · hereA · threeB · frownC · crownC · seaB
- 7 AABCCB woeA · goA · tranceB · guideC · tideC · lanceB
- 8 AABCCB standsA · handsA · prayerB · sonC · oneC · whereB
- 9 AABCCB graspedA · claspedA · thineB · goreC · moreC · shrineB
- 10 AABCCB roamA · homeA · waveB · bowersC · flowersC · graveB
- 11 AABCCB galeA · sailA · fameB · doomC · gloomC · shameB
- 12 AABCCB dameA · flameA · fleetB · lordC · swordC · feetB
- 13 AABCCB callA · allA · throneB · lotC · notC · ownB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| They hurried to the feast, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The warrior and the priest, | 7 | ·/˘˘··· |
| And the gay maiden with her jewelled brow; | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The minstrel’s harp and voice | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Said “Triumph and rejoice!”-- | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| One only mourned!--many are mourning now! | 9 | ·/˘·/·/˘· |
| “Peace! startle not the light | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| With the wild dreams of night!”-- | 6 | ······ |
| So spake the Princes in their pride and joy, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| When I, in their dull ears, | 6 | ······ |
| Shrieked forth my tale of tears, | 7 | ·˘····· |
| “Woe to the gorgeous city, woe to Troy!” | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Ye watch the dim smoke rise | 6 | ······ |
| Up to the lurid skies; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Ye see the red light flickering on the stream; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Ye listen to the fall | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Of gate, and tower, and wall; | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| Sisters, the time is come!--alas, it is no dream! | 12 | /˘····˘/···· |
| Through hall, and court, and porch, | 6 | ······ |
| Glides on the pitiless torch | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| The swift avengers faint not in their toil: | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Vain now the matron’s sighs, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Vain now the infant’s cries;-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Look, sisters, look! who leads them to the spoil? | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Not Pyrrhus, though his hand | 6 | ······ |
| Is on his father’s brand; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Not the fell framer of the accursèd steed; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Not Nestor’s hoary head, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Nor Teucer’s rapid tread, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomede. | 10 | ·····˘/˘·· |
| Visions of deeper fear | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| To-night are warring here;-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I know them, sisters, the mysterious Three: | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| Minerva’s lightning frown, | 6 | ˘/˘/˘· |
| And Juno’s golden crown, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| And him, the mighty Ruler of the sounding sea! | 12 | ···/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Through wailing and through woe | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Silent and stern they go; | 6 | /˘···· |
| So have I ever seen them in my trance: | 9 | ···/····· |
| Exultingly they guide | 6 | ······ |
| Destruction’s fiery tide, | 7 | ˘/˘/˘˘· |
| And lift the dazzling shield, and point the deadly lance. | 12 | ···/˘····/˘· |
| Lo, where the old man stands, | 6 | ······ |
| Folding his palsied hands, | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| And muttering, with white lips, his querulous prayer: | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| “Where is my noble son, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| My best my bravest one-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Troy’s hope and Priam’s--where is Hector, where?” | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| Why is thy falchion grasped? | 7 | ···/˘·˘ |
| Why is thy helmet clasped? | 7 | ···/˘·˘ |
| Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine! | 10 | /˘·˘/····· |
| The altar reeks with gore; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| O sisters, look no more! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| It is our father’s blood upon the shrine! | 10 | ··//˘····· |
| And ye, alas! must roam | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Far from your desolate home, | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| Far from lost Ilium, o’er the joyless wave; | 11 | ···/˘˘··/˘· |
| Ye may not from these bowers | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Gather the trampled flowers | 8 | /˘·/˘˘/˘ |
| To wreath sad garlands for your brethren’s grave. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Away, away! the gale | 6 | ˘/˘/·· |
| Stirs the white-bosomed sail; | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| Hence! look not back to freedom or to fame; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Labour must be your doom, | 6 | /····· |
| Night-watchings, days of gloom, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The bitter bread of tears, the bridal couch of shame. | 12 | ·/˘····/˘··· |
| Even now some Grecian dame | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| Beholds the signal flame, | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| And waits, expectant, the returning fleet; | 10 | ··˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| “Why lingers yet my lord? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Hath he not sheathed his sword? | 7 | ····˘·· |
| Will he not bring my handmaid to my feet?” | 10 | ·········· |
| Me too, the dark Fates call: | 6 | ······ |
| Their sway is over all, | 6 | ······ |
| Captor and captive, prison-house and throne:-- | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| I tell of others’ lot; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| They hear me, heed me not! | 6 | ······ |
| Hide, angry Phœbus, hide me from mine own! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
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