II.

On him your tenfold vengeance shed From Oeneus who derives his birth, Smite base Ulysses’ perjured head, Ye fiends who desolate the earth; Through them with agonizing pain I mourn my valiant offspring slain; May Helen too partake their doom, Who from her bridal mansions fled, And sought th’ adulterer’s Phrygian bed; For thou in Troy art to the tomb By her consigned; and many a state Bewails its bravest warriors’ fate.

Much while on earth, and since thy murmuring ghost Was plunged in Orcus’ dreary mansions more, O offspring of Philammon, didst thou wound My soul: that arrogance which caused thy ruin, That contest with Pieria’s choir, gave birth To this unhappy youth: for having passed The rapid current, with incautious step Approaching Strymon’s genial bed, we mounted Pangæum’s summit, for its golden mines Distinguished; each melodious instrument Around us in full concert breathed; our strife Was there decided with the Thracian minstrel; That Thamyris who dared blaspheme our art, We of his eyes deprived. But since I bore Thee, O my son, through deference for my sisters, And for my own reputed chastity, Thee to the watery mansions of thy sire I sent; and Strymon, to no human care, But to the nymphs who haunt his limpid founts, For nurture did consign thee; from those virgins When, O my dearest son, thou hadst received The best of educations, thou becam’st Monarch of Thrace, the first of men. I felt No boding apprehensions of thy death; By thee, while marshalled on thy native ground, Athirst for blood the dauntless squadrons moved. But thee I cautioned, for I knew thy fate, That thou to Troy shouldst never go; but thee Th’ ambassadors of Hector and the Senate, By oft repeated messages, persuaded To come to the assistance of thy friends. Yet think not, O Minerva, thou sole cause Of my son’s fate, that thou these watchful eyes Hast ’scaped; Ulysses and the son of Tydeus Were not the authors of this bloody deed, Although they gave the wound. We sister Muses Honour thy city, in thy land we dwell. Orpheus, the kinsman of this hapless youth Whom thou hast slain, dark mysteries did unfold; And by Apollo, and our sister choir, Thy venerable citizen Musæus Was taught to soar beyond each warbled strain Of pristine melody: but in return For all these favours, bearing in my arms My son, I utter this funereal dirge; But I no other minstrel will employ.

CHOR. Falsely the wounded Thracian charioteer Charged us with a conspiracy to slay him.

HEC. Full well I knew, there needed not a seer T’ inform me, that he perished by the arts Of Ithacus. But was it not my duty When I my country saw by Grecian troops Besieged, to send forth heralds to my friends, Requesting them to aid us? I did send, And Rhesus came, by gratitude constrained, Illustrious partner of my toils. His death Lamenting, will I raise a tomb to grace The corse of my ally, and o’er the flame Strew tissued vests: for with confederate arms Dauntless he came, though piteous was his death.

MUSE. They shall not plunge him in the yawning grave, Such vows will I address to Pluto’s bride, Daughter of fruitful Ceres, to release His ghost from the drear shades beneath: she owes To Orpheus’ friends such honours. But henceforth, Dead as it were to me, will he no more Behold the sun, we ne’er must meet again, Nor shall he see his mother, but shall lie Concealed beneath the caverns of that land With silver mines abounding, from a man Exalted to a god, restored to life, The priest of Bacchus, and of him who dwells Beneath Pangeum’s rock, a god adored By those who haunt his orgies. But ere long To yonder goddess of the briny waves Shall I bear doleful tidings: for by fate It is decreed, her offspring too shall die; But first our sisterhood, in choral plaints, Will sing of thee, O Rhesus, and hereafter Achilles, son of Thetis, shall demand Our elegiac strains, not she who slew Thee, hapless youth, Minerva, can redeem him; Such an inevitable shaft is stored In Phœbus’ quiver. O ye pangs that rend A mother’s breast, ye toils the lot of man; They who behold you in your real light Will live without a progeny, nor mourn With hopeless anguish o’er their children’s tomb.

[_Exit the_ MUSE.

CHOR. To bury the deceased with honours due, Will be his mother’s care: but if, O Hector, Thou mean’st to execute some great emprise, ’Tis now the time: for morn already dawns.

HEC. Go, and this instant bid our comrades arm, Harness the steeds: but while ye in these toils Are busied, ye the signal must await, Th’ Etrurian trumpet’s clangour; for I trust I first shall o’er the Grecian host prevail, Shall storm their ramparts, and then burn their fleet, And that Hyperion’s orient beams will bring A day of freedom to Troy’s valiant race.

CHOR. Obey the monarch: clad in glittering mail Let us go forth, and his behests proclaim To our associates; for that god who fights Our battles, haply will bestow success.

THE TROJAN CAPTIVES.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

NEPTUNE. MINERVA. HECUBA. CHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN DAMES. TALTHYBIUS. CASSANDRA. ANDROMACHE. MENELAUS. HELEN.

SCENE.—BEFORE THE ENTRANCE OF AGAMEMNON’S TENT IN THE GRECIAN CAMP NEAR TROY.

NEPTUNE.

From the Ægean deep, in mazy dance Where Nereus’ daughters glide with agile feet, I Neptune hither come. For round the fields Of Ilion, since Apollo and myself With symmetry exact reared many a tower Hewn from the solid rock; the love I bore The city where my Phrygian votaries dwelt, Laid waste by Greece, where smoke e’en now ascends The heavens, hath ne’er been rooted from this breast, For on Parnassus bred, the Phocian chief Epeus, by Minerva’s arts inspired, Framed with a skilful hand, and through the gates Sent that accursed machine, the horse which teemed With ambushed javelins. Through forsaken groves, Through the polluted temples of the gods, Flow tides of crimson slaughter; at the base Of altars sacred to Hercæan Jove, Fell hoary Priam. But huge heaps of gold And Phrygian plunder, to the fleet of Greece Are sent: the leaders of the host that sacked This city, wait but for a prosperous breeze, That after ten years absence they their wives And children may with joy behold. Subdued By Juno, Argive goddess, and Minerva, Who leagued in Phrygia’s overthrow, I leave Troy the renowned, and my demolished shrines. For when pernicious solitude extends O’er cities her inexorable sway, Abandoned are the temples of the gods, None comes to worship there. Scamander’s banks Re-echo many a shriek of captive dames Distributed by lot; th’ Arcadians, some, Some the Thessalians gain, and some the sons Of Theseus leaders of th’ Athenian troops: But they whom chance distributes not, remain Beneath yon roof selected by the chiefs Of the confederate army. Justly deemed A captive, among them is Spartan Helen: And if the stranger wishes to behold That wretched woman, Hecuba lies stretched Before the gate, full many are her tears, And her afflictions many: at the tomb Of stern Achilles her unhappy daughter Polyxena died wretchedly, her lord The royal Priam, and her sons are slain, That spotless virgin too whom from his shrine Apollo with prophetic gifts inspired, Cassandra, spurning every sacred rite, Did Agamemnon violently drag To his adulterous bed. But, O farewell, Thou city prosperous once; ye splendid towers, Had not Minerva’s self ordained your fall, Ye still on your firm basis might remain.

MINERVA, NEPTUNE.

MIN. May I accost the god who to my sire In blood is nearest, mighty, through high Heaven Revered, and lay aside our ancient hate?

NEP. ’Tis well, thou royal maid: an interview ’Twixt those of the same house, is to the soul An efficacious philtre.

MIN. I applaud Those who are temperate in their wrath, and bring Such arguments, O monarch, as affect Both you and me.

NEP. From all th’ assembled gods Some new commission bear’st thou, or from Jove, Or what celestial power?

MIN. From none of these. But in the cause of Troy, whose fields we tread, I to your aid betake me, and would join Our common strength.

NEP. Hast thou then laid aside Thy former hate, to pity Troy, consumed By the relentless flames?

MIN. First, thither turn Your views: to me will you unfold your counsels, And aid the schemes I would effect?

NEP. With joy: But I meanwhile would thy designs explore, Whether thou com’st on the behalf of Greece, Or Troy.

MIN. The Trojans, erst my foes, I wish To cheer, and to embitter the return Of the victorious Grecian host.

NEP. What means This change of temper? to excess thou hat’st And lov’st at random.

MIN. Know you not the insult Which hath been shown to me, and to my temple?

NEP. I know that Ajax violently tore Cassandra thence.

MIN. Yet by the Greeks unpunished He ’scaped, and e’en uncensured.

NEP. Though the Greeks O’erthrew Troy’s walls through thy auxiliar might——

MIN. And for this very cause will I conspire With you to punish them.

NEP. I am prepared For any enterprise thou wilt. What mean’st thou?

MIN. Their journey home I am resolved to make Most inauspicious.

NEP. While they yet remain Upon the shore, or ’midst the briny waves?

MIN. As to their homes from Ilion’s coast they sail. For Jove will send down rain, immoderate hail, And pitchy blasts of air: he promises To give me too his thunderbolts to smite The Greeks and fire their ships; but join your aid, Cause the Ægean deep with threefold waves, And ocean’s whirlpools horribly to rage, Fill with their courses the unfathomed caves Beneath Eubœa’s rocks, that Greece may learn My shrines to reverence, nor provoke the gods.

NEP. It shall be done: there need not many words To recommend thy suit. My storms shall rouse Th’ Ægean deep; the shores of Myconè, Scyros with Lemnos, all the Delian rocks, And steep Caphareus with full many a corse Will I o’erspread. But mount Olympus’ height, And from the Thunderer’s hand his flaming shafts Receiving, mark when the devoted host Of Greece weigh anchor. Frantic is the man Who dares to lay the peopled city waste, Temples with tombs profaning, and bereaves Of their inhabitants those sacred vaults Where sleep the dead; at length shall vengeance smite That hardened miscreant in his bold career.

[_Exeunt._

_The Scene opens, and discovers_ HECUBA _on a couch_.

HEC. Arise, thou wretch, and from the dust uplift Thy drooping head; though Ilion be no more, And thou a queen no longer, yet endure With patience Fortune’s change, and as the tide Or as capricious Fortune wills, direct Thy sails, nor turn against the dashing wave Life’s stubborn prow, for chance must guide thy voyage. Alas! for what but groans belongs to me Whose country, children, husband, are no more? Oh, mighty splendour of my sires, now pent In a small tomb, how art thou found a thing Of no account! What portion of my woes Shall I suppress, or what describe, how frame A plaintive strain? Now fixed on this hard couch, Wretch that I am, are my unwieldy limbs. Ah me! my head, my temples, ah, my side! Oh, how I wish to turn, and to stretch forth These joints! My tears shall never cease to flow, For like the Muse’s lyre, th’ affecting tale Of their calamities consoles the wretched. Ye prows of those swift barks which to the coast Of fated Ilion, from the Grecian ports Adventurous launched amid the purple wave, Accompanied by inauspicious pæans From pipes, and the shrill flute’s enlivening voice, While from the mast devolved the twisted cordage By Egypt first devised, ye to the bay Of Troy did follow Menelaus’ wife, Helen, abhorred adult’ress, who disgraced Castor her brother, and Eurotas’ stream: She murdered Priam, sire of fifty sons, And me the wretched Hecuba hath plunged Into this misery. Here, alas! I sit In my loathed prison, Agamemnon’s tent; From princely mansions dragged, an aged slave, My hoary tresses shorn, this head deformed With baldness. But, alas! ye hapless wives Of Ilion’s dauntless warriors, blooming maids, And brides affianced in an evil hour, Together let us weep, for Ilion’s smoke Ascends the skies. Like the maternal bird, Who wails her callow brood, I now commence A strain far different from what erst was heard When I on mighty Priam’s sceptred state Proudly relying, led the Phrygian dance Before the hallowed temples of the gods.

[_She rises, and comes forth from the tent._

SEMICHORUS, HECUBA.

SEMICHOR. O Hecuba, what mean these clamorous notes, These shrieks of woe? for from the vaulted roof Thy plaints re-echoing smite my distant ear, And fresh alarms seize every Phrygian dame Who in these tents enslaved deplores her fate.

HEC. E’en now, my daughter, at the Grecian fleet Th’ exulting sailors ply their oars.

SEMICHOR. Ah me! What mean they? will they instantly convey me Far from my ruined country?

HEC. By conjecture Alone am I acquainted with our doom.

SEMICHOR. Soon shall we hear this sentence: “From these doors Come forth ye Trojan captives, for the Greeks Are now preparing to return.”

HEC. O cease, My friends, nor from her chambers hither bring Cassandra, frantic prophetess, defiled By Argive ruffians, for the sight of her Would but increase my griefs.

SEMICHOR. Troy, wretched Troy, Thou art no more, they to whom fate ordains No longer on thy fostering soil to dwell Are wretched, both the living and the slain.

CHORUS, HECUBA.

CHOR. Trembling I come from Agamemnon’s tent, Of thee my royal mistress to inquire Whether the Greeks have doomed me to be slain, And whether yet along the poop arranged The mariners prepare to ply their oars.

HEC. Deprived of sleep through horror, O my daughter, I hither came: but on the road I see A Grecian herald.

CHOR. Tell me to what lord Am wretched I consigned.

HEC. E’en now the lot Is casting to decide your fate.

CHOR. What chief To Argos, or to Phthia, me shall bear, Or to some island, sorrowing, far from Troy?

HEC. To whom shall wretched I, and in what land Become a slave, decrepit like the drone Through age, mere semblance of a pallid corse, Or flitting spectre from the realms beneath? Shall I be stationed or to watch the door, Or tend the children of a haughty lord, Erst placed at Troy in rank supreme?

CHOR. Alas!

HEC. With what loud plaints dost thou revive thy woes!

CHOR. I never more through Ida’s loom shall dart The shuttle, nor behold a blooming race Of children, in those lighter tasks employed Which suit the young and beauteous, to the couch Of some illustrious Greek conveyed, the joys Which night and fortune yields are lost to me; Or filled with water, from Pirene’s spring Shall I be doomed to bear the ponderous urn.

HEC. O could we reach the famed and happy realm Of Theseus, distant from Eurotas’ tide, And curst Therapne’s gates, where I should meet Perfidious Helen, and remain a slave To Menelaus, who demolished Troy.

CHOR. By fame’s loud voice I am informed, the vale Of Peneus, at Olympus base, abounds With wealth and plenteous fruitage.

HEC. This I make My second option, next the blest domain Of Theseus.

CHOR. I am told that Vulcan’s realm Of Ætna, opposite Phœnicia’s coast The mother of Sicilian hills, is famed For palms obtained by valour. Through the realm Adjacent, bordering on th’ Ionian deep, Crathis the bright, for auburn hair renowned, The tribute of its holy current pours, And scatters blessings o’er a martial land. But lo, with hasty step a herald comes Bearing some message from the Grecian host! What is his errand? for we now are slaves To yon proud rulers of the Doric realm.

TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

TAL. O Hecuba, full oft, you know, to Troy I, as their herald, by the Grecian host Have been despatched; you cannot be a stranger To me, Talthybius, who to you, and all, One message bring.

HEC. This, this, my dearest friends, Is what I long have feared.

TAL. The lots are cast Already, if your terrors thence arose.

HEC. Alas, to what Thessalian city saidst thou, Or to the Phthian, or the Theban realm Shall we be carried?

TAL. To a separate lord Hath each of you distinctly been assigned.

HEC. To whom, alas, to whom am I allotted? What Phrygian dames do happier fortunes wait?

TAL. I know; but be distinct in your inquiries, Nor ask at once a multitude of questions.

HEC. Say who by lot hath gained my wretched daughter Cassandra?

TAL. Her the royal Agamemnon His chosen prize hath taken.

HEC. As a slave To tend his Spartan wife? ah, me!

TAL. No slave, But concubine.

HEC. What, Phœbus’ votive maid, To whom the god with golden tresses gave This privilege, that she should pass her life In celibacy?

TAL. With the shafts of love Hath the prophetic nymph transpierced his breast.

HEC. My daughter, cast the sacred keys away, And rend the garlands thou with pride didst wear.

TAL. Is it not great for captives to ascend The regal couch?

HEC. But where is she whom late Ye took away, and whither have ye borne That daughter?

TAL. Speak you of Polyxena, Or for whom else would you inquire?

HEC. On whom Hath chance bestowed her?

TAL. At Achilles’ tomb It is decreed that she shall minister.

HEC. Wretch that I am! for his sepulchral rites Have I then borne a priestess? but what law Is this, what Grecian usage, O my friend?

TAL. Esteem your daughter happy; for with her All now is well.

HEC. What saidst thou? doth she live?

TAL. ’Tis her peculiar fate to be released From all affliction.

HEC. But, alas! what fortune Attends the warlike Hector’s captive wife, How fares it with the lost Andromache?

TAL. Her to Achilles’ son hath from the band Of captives chosen.

HEC. As to me who need For a third foot, the staff which in these hands I hold, whose head is whitened o’er with age, To whom am I a slave?

TAL. By lot the king Of Ithaca Ulysses hath obtained you.

HEC. Alas! alas! let your shorn temples feel The frequent blow; rend your discoloured cheeks. Ah me! I am allotted for a slave To a detestable and treacherous man, Sworn foe of justice, to that lawless viper, With double tongue confounding all, ’twixt friends Exciting bitter hate. Ye Trojan dames, O shed the sympathizing tear: I sink Beneath the pressure of relentless fate.

CHOR. Thy doom, O queen, thou know’st: but to what chief, Hellenian or Achaian, I belong Inform me.

TAL. Peace! Conduct Cassandra hither With speed, ye guards, into our general’s hands When I his captive have delivered up, That we the rest may portion out. Why gleams That blazing torch within? would Ilion’s dames Their chambers fire? what mean they? doomed to leave This land, and to be borne to Argive shores, Are they resolved to perish in the flames? The soul, inspired with an unbounded love Of freedom, ill sustains such woes. Burst open The doors, lest, to their honour and the shame Of Greece, on me the censure fall.

HEC. They kindle No conflagration, but, with frantic step, My daughter, lo! Cassandra rushes hither.

CASSANDRA, TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

CAS. Avaunt! the sacred flame I bring With reverential awe profound, And wave the kindled torch around, O Hymen, thou benignant king. The bridegroom comes with jocund pride, I too am styled a happy bride, My name through Argos’ streets shall ring, O Hymen, thou benignant king! While thou attend’st my father’s bier, O Hecuba, with many a tear, While Ilion’s ramparts overthrown From thee demand th’ incessant groan, Ere the bright sun withhold his ray, E’en in the glaring front of day, I bid the nuptial incense blaze To thee, O Hymen, thee whose power Invoking at her bridal hour The bashful virgin comes. Yon maze Encircling, ’mid the choral dance, As ancient usage bids, advance, And in thy hand a flaming pine, O mother, brandish. God of wine, Thy shouting votaries hither bring, As if in Ilion thou hadst found Old Priam still a happy king. Range that holy group around, O Phœbus, in thy laureate mead, Thy temple, shall the victim bleed. Let Hymen, Hymen, Hymen, sound. My mother, for the dance prepare, Vault nimbly, and our revels share. At Hymen’s shrine, my friends, prolong Your vows, awake th’ ecstatic song; In honour of my bridal day, Chant, Phrygian nymphs, the choral lay, And celebrate the chief whom fate Ordains to be Cassandra’s mate.

CHOR. Wilt thou not stop the princess, lest she rush With frantic step amid the Grecian host?

HEC. O Vulcan, wont to light the bridal torch, Now dost thou brandish an accursed flame; My soul foresaw not this. Alas! my daughter, I little thought, that ’midst the din of arms, Or while we crouch beneath the Argive spear, Thou couldst have celebrated such espousals. Give me the torch, for while with frantic speed Thou rushest on, it trembles in thy hand. Nor yet have thy afflictions, O my daughter, Brought back thy wandering reason, thou remain’st Disordered as before. Ye Trojan dames, Remove yon blazing pines, and in the stead Of these her bridal songs let tears express The anguish of your souls.

CAS. O mother, place A laureate wreath on my victorious brow, Exulting lead me to the monarch’s bed. And if for thee too slowly I advance, Drag me along by force; for I am now No more the spouse of Phœbus; but that king Of Greece, famed Agamemnon, shall in me Take to his arms a bride more inauspicious Than even Helen’s self: him will I smite, And lay his palace waste, in great revenge For my slain sire and brothers. But I cease These menaces, and speak not of the axe Which shall smite me and others, or the conflict My wedlock shall produce, whence by the hands Of her own son a mother shall be slain, And th’ overthrow of Atreus’ guilty house. This city will I prove to have been happier Than the victorious Greeks (for though the gods Inspire, I curb the transports of my soul), Who for one single woman, to regain The beauteous Helen only, wasted lives Unnumbered. Their wise leader, in the cause Of those he hated, slew whom most he loved; He to his brother yielded up his daughter, Joy of his house, for that vile woman’s sake, Who with her own consent, and not by force, Was borne away. But at Scamander’s banks When they arrived, they died, though not by exile Torn from their country, or their native towers: But them who in embattled fields were slain Their children saw not, nor in decent shroud Were they enwrapped by their loved consorts’ hands, But lie deserted on a foreign coast: Their sorrows also who remained at home Are similar; in widowhood forlorn Some die; and others, of their own brave sons Deprived, breed up the children of a stranger; Nor at their slighted tombs is blood poured forth To drench the thirsty ground. Their host deserves Praises like these. ’Tis better not to speak Of what is infamous, nor shall my Muse Record the shameful tale. But, first and greatest Of glories, in their country’s cause expired The Trojans; the remains of those who fell In battle, by their friends borne home, obtained Sepulchral honours in their native soil, That duteous office kindred hands performed: While every Phrygian who escaped the sword Still with his wife and children did reside, Joy to the Greeks unknown. Now hear the fate Of Hector, him whom thou bewail’st, esteemed The bravest of our heroes, by the Greeks Landing on Ilion’s coast the warrior fell; In their own country had the foe remained, His valour ne’er had been displayed: but Paris Wedded the daughter of imperial Jove, In her possessing an illustrious bride. It is the wise man’s duty to avoid Perilous war. After the die is cast, He who undaunted meets the fatal stroke, Adds to his native city fair renown; But the last moments of a coward shame The land which gave him birth. Forbear to weep, My mother, for thy ruined country’s fate; Weep not because thou seest thy daughter borne To Agamemnon’s bed, for by these spousals Our most inveterate foes shall I destroy.

CHOR. How sweetly ’midst the sorrows of thy house Thou smil’st! ere long perchance wilt thou afford A melancholy instance that thy strains Are void of truth.

TAL. Had not Apollo fired E’en to distraction thy perverted soul, Thou on my honoured leader, ere he quit The shores of Ilion, shouldst not unavenged Pour forth these omens. But, alas! the great, And they who in th’ opinion of mankind Are wise, in no respect excel the vulgar. For the dread chieftain of the Grecian host, The son of Atreus, loves with boundless passion This damsel frantic as the Mænades. Myself am poor, yet would not I accept A wife like her. Since thou hast lost thy reason, I to the winds consign thy bitter taunts ’Gainst Argos, with the praises thou bestow’st On Troy. Thou bride of Agamemnon, come, Follow me to the fleet. But when Ulysses Would bear you hence, O Hecuba, obey The summons, you are destined to attend A queen called virtuous by all those who come To Ilion.

CAS. Arrogant, detested slave! All heralds are like thee, the public scorn, Crouching with abject deference to some king Or city. Say’st thou, “To Ulysses’ house My mother shall be borne?” Of what account Were then the oracles Apollo gave Uttered by me his priestess, which declare, “She here shall die?” I spare the shameful tale. He knows not, the unhappy Ithacus, What evils yet await him, in the tears Of me and every captive Phrygian maid, While he exults, and deems our misery gain. Ten more long years elapsed beyond the term Spent in besieging Ilion, he alone Shall reach his country; witness thou who dwell’st ’Midst ocean’s straits tempestuous, dire Charybdis, Ye mountains where on human victims feast The Cyclops, with Ligurian Circe’s isle, Whose wand transforms to swine, the billowy deep, Covered with shipwrecks, the bewitching Lotus, The sacred Oxen of the Sun, whose flesh Destined to utter a tremendous voice The banquet shall embitter: he at length, In a few words his history to comprise, Alive must travel to the shades beneath, And hardly ’scaping from a watery grave In his own house find evils numberless. But why do I recount Ulysses’ toils? Lead on, that I the sooner in the realms Of Pluto, with that bridegroom may consummate My nuptials. Ruthless miscreant as thou art, Thou in the tomb ignobly shalt be plunged At midnight; nor shall the auspicious beams Of day illumine thy funereal rites, O leader of the Grecian host, who deem’st That thou a mighty conquest hast achieved. Near to my lord’s remains, and in that vale, Where down a precipice the torrent foams, My corse shall to the hungry wolves be thrown, The corse of Phœbus’ priestess. O ye wreaths Of him whom best of all the gods I loved, Adieu, ye symbols of my holy office, I leave those feasts the scenes of past delight, Torn from my brows avaunt, for I retain My chastity unsullied still; the winds To thee shall waft them, O prophetic king. Where is your general’s bark, which I am doomed T’ ascend? the rising breezes shall unfurl Your sails this instant; for in me ye bear One of the three Eumenides from Troy. Farewell, my mother, weep not for my fate, O my dear country, my heroic brothers, And aged father, in the realms beneath, Ere long shall ye receive me: but victorious Will I descend among the mighty dead, When I have laid th’ accursed mansions waste Of our destroyers, Atreus’ impious sons.

[_Exeunt_ CASSANDRA _and_ TALTHYBIUS.

CHOR. Attendants of the aged Hecuba, Behold ye not your mistress, how she falls Upon the pavement speechless? Why neglect To prop her sinking frame! Ye slothful nymphs, Raise up this woman, whom a weight of years Bows to the dust.

HEC. Away, and on this spot Allow me, courteous damsels, to remain: No longer welcome as in happier days Are your kind offices; this humble posture, This fall best suits my present lowly state, Best suits what I already have endured And still am doomed to suffer. O ye gods, In you I call upon no firm allies, Yet sure ’tis decent to invoke the gods When we by adverse fortune are opprest. First, therefore, all the blessings I enjoyed Would I recount, hence shall my woes demand The greater pity. Born to regal state, And with a mighty king in wedlock joined, A race of valiant sons did I produce; I speak not of their numbers, but the noblest Among the Phrygian youths, such as no Trojan, Nor Grecian, nor barbarian dame could boast: Them saw I fall beneath the hostile spear, And at their tomb these tresses cut: their sire, The venerable Priam, I bewailed not, From being told of his calamitous fate By others, but these eyes beheld him slain, E’en at the altar of Hercæan Jove, And Ilion taken. I those blooming maids Have also lost, whom with maternal love I nurtured for some noble husband’s bed; They from these arms are torn: nor can I hope Or to be seen by them, or e’er to see My children more. But last of all, to crown My woes, an aged slave, shall I be borne To Greece; and in such tasks will they employ me As are most grievous in the wane of life; Me, who am Hector’s mother, at the door Stationed to keep the keys, or knead the bread, And on the pavement stretch my withered limbs, Which erst reposed upon a regal couch, And in such tattered vestments, as belie My former rank, enwrap my wasted frame. Wretch that I am, who, through one woman’s nuptials, Have borne, and am hereafter doomed to bear, Such dreadful ills. O my unhappy daughter, Cassandra, whom the gods have rendered frantic, With what sad omens hath thy virgin zone Been loosed! and where, Polyxena, art thou, O virgin most unfortunate? but none Of all my numerous progeny, or male Or female, comes to aid their wretched mother. Why, therefore, would ye lift me up? what room Is there for hope? me who with tender foot Paced through the streets of Troy, but now a slave, Drag from the palace to the rushy mat And stony pillow, that where’er I fall There may I die, through many, many tears Exhausted. Of the prosperous and the great Pronounce none happy till the hour of death.

CHORUS.

ODE.