Little theater classics . bA {clinging to her) Ay me, —Alas for thy life, my own! POLYXENA Say out — keep it not from me long,{withdrawing from her clasp, slow, big-eyed with fear)For I dread, mother, I dread the wrongThat makes thee moan. [With a sympathetic return to her. HEKABi My baby! Child of a mother stricken![Fondling her with tense hands. POLTXENA What would you tell me? My terrors quicken![Standing free (J/ike a bell-strohe)Death. For the Argive throngAre of one mind, thy blood to shedIn sacrifice to Peleus son.[Polyxenasface is horror-stmck. POLYXENA Ah me, my mother, h

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Little theater classics . bA {clinging to her) Ay me, —Alas for thy life, my own! POLYXENA Say out — keep it not from me long,{withdrawing from her clasp, slow, big-eyed with fear)For I dread, mother, I dread the wrongThat makes thee moan. [With a sympathetic return to her. HEKABi My baby! Child of a mother stricken![Fondling her with tense hands. POLTXENA What would you tell me? My terrors quicken![Standing free (J/ike a bell-strohe)Death. For the Argive throngAre of one mind, thy blood to shedIn sacrifice to Peleus son.[Polyxenasface is horror-stmck. POLYXENA Ah me, my mother, how can thy tongue Speak out the horror? — But be it said. {She masters herself) Mother, say {spasmodically) Little one, I hear — the hideous wrong — The Argive vote, — the doom forthsped, — The hope of thy life — gone — gone!POLYXENA {listening, and looking at her, is overcome with pity, and breaks out, gestureless, with tear-fUeM eyes on her mother) I O stricken with anguish beyond all other!. J o A< ^ 9 (U 5 w °s B 2 g 1 Eh n 05 a S , K > &s H o g-a Ej ^ <j s ^1 P h-1 Boa P^ Pn-a ». c 1 2=8 o ?^ 5 g ^5 ^ H ^ ?Si H a O B, 3 s H Ph P^ laq 5 3 o 00 POLYXENA 31 0 fiUd with affliction of desolate days! What tempest, what tempest of outrage whirld, Loathly to look on, cruel-curld. Hath a fiend up-roused and upon thee hurld, — That never, never by wretched mother A wretched child shall learn slave ways! For me like a youngling mountain-pastured,Like a lamb of a herd, thou shalt see men scar, —Snatchd from thine anguishd clasp in anguish,Shorn with the steel of the altar, to languishJn the darkness beneath us of Death, overmasterdOf misery, down where the dead things are! For thee, mother, for the dark days round uttermost agonized wailings I cry;But for my life — for the ruin and wrack — 1 do not wail, nor the forward black;No; but a happier lot hath found m

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectdrama, booksubjecteng