III.

The spear and death hence raged around, Hence were my mansions levelled with the ground; Staining with tears Eurotas’ tide, Too deeply grieved to share the victor’s pride, The Spartan virgin too in vain Bewails her favoured youth untimely slain, While, sprinkling ashes o’er their vest And hoary head, the matrons bend O’er their sons’ urns; their groans to Heaven ascend, They tear their cheeks, and beat their miserable breast.

ATTENDANT, CHORUS.

ATT. Where is the wretched Hecuba, my friends, Who in her woes surpasses all, or male, Or of the female race? her none can rob Of her just claim, pre-eminence in grief.

CHOR. With the harsh sounds of that ill-boding tongue, O wretch, what mean’st thou? wilt thou never cease To be th’ unwelcome herald of affliction?

ATT. Most grievous are the tidings which I bring To Hecuba, nor easy were the task In words auspicious to make known to mortals Such dire calamities.

CHOR. From her apartment She seasonably comes forth to give thee audience.

HECUBA, ATTENDANT, CHORUS.

ATT. O most unfortunate, whose woes exceed All that the power of language can express, My queen, you perish, doomed no more to view The blessed light; of children, husband, city, Bereft and ruined.

HEC. Nothing hast thou told But what I knew, thou only com’st t’ insult me: Yet wherefore dost thou bring to me this corse Of my Polyxena, o’er whom ’twas said The Grecian host with pious zeal all vied To heap a tomb?

ATT. She knows not, but laments For the deceased Polyxena alone, And to her recent woes is yet a stranger.

HEC. Ah, bring’st thou the inspired prophetic head, And the dishevelled tresses of Cassandra?

ATT. You speak of one yet living, but bewail not This the deceased: survey the naked corse Of him whose death to you will seem most strange And most unlocked for.

HEC. Ha, I see my son, My dearest Polydore, whom he of Thrace Beneath his roof protected. I am ruined; Now utterly I perish. O my son, For thee, for thee I wake the frantic dirge, By that malignant demon which assumed Thy voice, thy semblance, recently apprized Of this calamity.

ATT. O wretched mother, Know you then what was your son’s fate?

HEC. A sight Incredible and new to me is that Which I behold: for from my former woes Spring woes in long succession, and the day When I shall cease to weep, shall cease to groan, Will never come.

CHOR. The woes which we endure Alas! are dreadful.

HEC. O my son, thou son Of an ill fated mother, by what death Didst thou expire? through what disastrous cause Here liest thou prostrate? ah, what bloody hand——

ATT. I know not; on the shore his corse I found.

HEC. Cast up by the impetuous waves, or pierced With murderous spear?

ATT. The surges of the deep Had thrown it on the sand.

HEC. Alas! too well I comprehend the meaning of the dream Which to these eyes appeared: the spectre borne On sable pinions no illusion proved, When, O my son, thee, thee it represented No longer dwelling in the realms of light.

CHOR. Instructed by that vision, canst thou name The murderer?

HEC. ’Twas my friend, the Thracian king, With whom in secrecy his aged sire Had placed him.

CHOR. Ha! what mean’st thou? to possess That gold by slaying him?

HEC. O, ’twas a deed Unutterable, a deed without a name, Surpassing all astonishment, unholy, And not to be endured. Where now the laws Of hospitality? Accursed man, How cruelly hast thou with reeking sword Transpierced this unresisting boy, nor heard The gentle voice of pity!

CHOR. Hapless queen, How hath some demon, thy malignant foe, Rendered thee of all mortals the most wretched: But I behold great Agamemnon come, And therefore, O my friends, let us be silent.

AGAMEMNON, HECUBA, CHORUS.

AGA. Whence this delay? why go you not t’ inter, O Hecuba, your daughter, whom Talthybius Directed that no Greek might be allowed To touch? We therefore have with your request Complied, nor moved the corse. But you remain Inactive, which I wonder at, and come To fetch you, for each previous solemn rite That best might please, if aught such rites can please, Have we performed. But ah, what Trojan youth Do I behold lie breathless in the tent? For that he was no Greek, the garb informs me In which he’s clad.

HEC. Thou wretch, for of myself I speak, when thee, O Hecuba, I name; What shall I do, at Agamemnon’s knees Fall prostrate, or in silence bear my woes?

AGA. Why weep, with face averted, yet refuse T’ inform me what hath happened? who is he?

HEC. But from his knees, if, deeming me a slave And enemy, the monarch should repel me, This would but make my sorrows yet more poignant.

AGA. I am no seer, nor can I uninformed Trace out the secret purpose of your soul.

HEC. Am I mistaken then, while I suppose A foe in him who doth not mean me ill?

AGA. If ’tis your wish I should not be apprized, We both are of one mind; you will not speak, And I as little am disposed to hear.

HEC. Without his aid no vengeance for my child Can I obtain: yet why deliberate thus? Prosper or fail I must take courage now. O royal Agamemnon, by those knees A suppliant I conjure you, by that beard, And that right hand, victorious o’er your foes.

AGA. What do you wish for? To obtain your freedom? This were not difficult.

HEC. No, give me vengeance On yonder guilty wretch, and I am willing To linger out the remnant of my life In servitude.

AGA. Then why implore our aid?

HEC. For reasons you suspect not. Do you see That breathless corse o’er which my tears I shed?

AGA. The corse I see; but cannot comprehend What follows next.

HEC. Him erst I bore and nurtured.

AGA. Is the deceased, O miserable dame, One of your children?

HEC. Not of those who fell Beneath Troy’s walls.

AGA. What! had you other sons?

HEC. Yes, him you see, born in an evil hour.

AGA. But where was he when Ilion was destroyed?

HEC. His father, apprehensive of his death, Conveyed him thence.

AGA. From all the other children Which then he had, where placed he this apart?

HEC. In this same region where his corse was found.

AGA. With Polymestor, sovereign of the land?

HEC. He, to preserve that execrable gold, Was hither sent.

AGA. But, by what ruthless hand, And how, was he despatched?

HEC. By whom beside? The murderer was his friend, the Thracian king.

AGA. Was he thus eager? O abandoned wretch, To seize the gold!

HEC. E’en thus; soon as he knew Troy was o’erthrown.

AGA. But where did you discover The body, or who brought it?

HEC. On the shore This servant found it.

AGA. Or in quest of him Or other task then busied?

HEC. To fetch water To lave Polyxena’s remains she went.

AGA. When he had slain him, it appears, his friend Did cast him forth.

HEC. He to the waves consigned The stripling’s mangled corse.

AGA. O wretched woman, Surrounded by immeasurable woes.

HEC. I am undone; no farther ill remains For me t’ experience.

AGA. Ah! what woman e’er Was born to such calamities?

HEC. Not one Exists, whose sorrows equal mine, unless You of Calamity herself would speak. Yet hear the motive why I clasp your knees. If I appear to merit what I suffer, I must be patient; but if not, avenge My wrongs upon the man who ’gainst his guest Such treachery could commit, who, nor the gods Of Erebus beneath, nor those who rule In Heaven above regarding, this vile deed, Did perpetrate, e’en he with whom I oft Partook the feast, on whom I showered each bounty, Esteeming him the first of all my friends; Yet, when at Ilion’s palace with respect He had been treated, a deliberate scheme Of murder forming, he destroyed my son, On whom he deigned not to bestow a tomb, But threw his corse into the briny deep. Though I indeed am feeble, and a slave, Yet mighty are the gods, and by their law The world is ruled: for by that law we learn That there are gods, and can mark out the bounds Of justice and injustice; if such law To you transmitted, be infringed, if they Who kill their guests, or dare with impious hand To violate the altars of the gods, Unpunished ’scape, no equity is left Among mankind. Deeming such base connivance Unworthy of yourself, revere my woes, Have pity on me, like a painter take Your stand to view me, and observe the number Of my afflictions; once was I a queen, But now am I a slave; in many a son I once was rich, but now am I both old And of my children reft, without a city, Forlorn, and of all mortals the most wretched. But whither would you go? With you I seem To have no interest. Miserable me! Why do we mortals by assiduous toil, And such a painful search as their importance Makes requisite, all other arts attain, Yet not enough intent on the due knowledge Of that sole empress of the human soul Persuasion, no rewards bestow on those Who teach us by insinuating words How to procure our wishes? who can trust Hereafter in prosperity? That band Of my heroic sons is now no more, Myself a captive, am led forth to tasks Unseemly, and e’en now these eyes behold The air obscured by Ilion’s rising smoke. It might be vain perhaps, were I to found A claim to your assistance on your love: Yet must I speak: my daughter, who in Troy Was called Cassandra, the prophetic dame, Partakes your bed; and how those rapturous nights Will you acknowledge, or to her how show Your gratitude for all the fond embraces Which she bestows, O king, or in her stead To me her mother? In the soul of man Th’ endearments of the night, by darkness veiled, Create the strongest interest. To my tale Now listen: do you see that breathless corse? Each act of kindness which to him is shown, Upon a kinsman of the dame you love Will be conferred. But, in one point my speech Is yet deficient. By the wondrous arts Of Dædalus, or some benignant god, Could I give voice to each arm, hand, and hair, And each extremest joint, they round your knees Should cling together, and together weep, At once combining with a thousand tongues. O monarch, O thou light of Greece, comply, And stretch forth that avenging arm to aid An aged woman, though she be a thing Of nought, O succour: for the good man’s duty Is to obey the dread behests of justice, And ever punish those who act amiss.

CHOR. ’Tis wonderful, indeed, how all events Happen to mortals, and the dread behests Of fate, uncircumscribed by human laws, Constrain us to form amities with those To whom the most inveterate hate we bore, And into foes convert our former friends.

AGA. To you, O Hecuba, your son, your fortunes, And your entreaties, is my pity due. I in obedience to the gods and justice Wish to avenge you on this impious friend, Could I appear your interests to espouse, Without the troops suspecting that I slay The Thracian monarch for Cassandra’s sake: My terrors hence arise; the host esteem Him our ally, and the deceased a foe: What though you held him dear, his fate, the loss Of you alone, affects not the whole camp. Reflect too, that you find me well disposed To share your toils, and in your cause exert My utmost vigour; but, what makes me slow, Is a well-grounded fear of blame from Greece.

HEC. Alas! there’s no man free: for some are slaves To gold, to fortune others, and the rest, The multitude or written laws restrain From acting as their better judgment dictates. But since you are alarmed, and to the rabble Yield an implicit deference, from that fear I will release you; only to my schemes Be privy, if some mischief I contrive Against the murderer of my son: but take No active part. If, when the Thracian suffers, As he shall suffer, ’mongst the Greeks a tumult Break forth, or they attempt to succour him, Restrain them, without seeming to befriend My interests. As for what remains, rely On me, and I will manage all things well.

AGA. How then? what mean you? With that aged hand To wield a sword, and take away the life Of that barbarian, or by drugs endued With magic power? the help you need, what arts Can furnish? what strong arm have you to fight Your battles? whence will you procure allies?

HEC. These tents conceal a group of Trojan dames.

AGA. Mean you those captives whom the Greeks have seized.

HEC. With them I on the murderer will inflict Due punishment.

AGA. How can the female sex O’er men obtain a conquest?

HEC. Numbers strike A foe with terror, and the wiles of women Are hard to be withstood.

AGA. They may strike terror, But in their courage I no trust can place.

HEC. What? did not women slay Ægyptus’ sons, And in their rage exterminate each male From Lemnos? But leave me to find out means How to effect my purpose. Through the camp In safety this my faithful servant send; And thou, when to my Thracian friend thou com’st, Say, “Hecuba, erst Queen of Troy, invites Thee and thy children, on thy own account, No less than hers, because she to thy sons And thee the self-same message must deliver.” The newly slain Polyxena’s interment Defer, O Agamemnon; in one flame That when their kindred corses are consumed; The brother with the sister, who demand A twofold portion of their mother’s grief Together may be buried in one grave.

AGA. These rites shall be performed, which could the troops Set sail, I needs must have denied: but now, Since Neptune sends not an auspicious breeze, Expecting a more seasonable voyage, Here must we wait. But may success attend you; For ’tis the common interest of mankind, Of every individual, every state, That he who hath transgressed should suffer ill. And fortune crown the efforts of the virtuous.

[_Exit_ AGAMEMNON.

CHORUS.

I. 1.

No more, O Troy, thy dreaded name Conspicuous in the lists of fame, ’Midst fortresses impregnable shall stand, In such thick clouds an armed host Pours terrors from the Grecian coast. And wastes thy vanquished land: Shorn from thy rampired brow the crown Of turrets fell; thy palaces o’erspread With smoke lie waste, no more I tread Thy wonted streets, my native town.

I. 2.

I perished at the midnight hour, When, aided by the banquet’s power, Sleep o’er my eyes his earliest influence shed; Retiring from the choral song, The sacrifice and festive throng, Stretched on the downy bed The bridegroom indolently lay, His massive spear suspended on the beam, No more he saw the helmets gleam. Or nautic troops in dread array.

II. 1.

While me the golden mirror’s aid, My flowing tresses taught to braid In graceful ringlets with a fillet bound, Just as I cast my robe aside, And sought the couch; extending wide Through every street this sound Was heard; “O when, ye sons of Greece, This nest of robbers levelled with the plain, Will ye behold your homes again? When shall these tedious labours cease?”

II. 2.

Then from my couch up starting, drest Like Spartan nymph in zoneless vest, At Dian’s shrine an ineffectual prayer Did I address; for hither led, First having viewed my husband dead, Full oft I in despair, As the proud vessel sailed from land, Looked back, and saw my native walls laid low, Then fainting with excess of woe At length lost sight of Ilion’s strand.