The Trojan Women [6]
Ah, woe is me! and this is what I bear and am to bear for one weak woman's wooing! O my daughter, O Cassandra! whom gods have summoned to their frenzied train, how cruel the lot that ends thy virgin days! And thou, Polyxena! my child of sorrow, where, oh! where art thou? None of all the many sons and daughters have I born comes to aid a wretched mother. Why then raise me up? What hope is left us? Guide me, who erst trod so daintily the streets of Troy, but now am but a slave, to a bed upon the ground, nigh some rocky ridge, that thence I may cast me down and perish, after I have wasted my body with weeping. Of all the prosperous crowd, count none a happy man before he die. CHORUS Sing me, Muse, a tale of Troy, a funeral dirge in strains unheard as yet, with tears the while; for now will I uplift for Troy a piteous chant, telling how I met my doom and fell a wretched captive to the Argives by reason of a four-footed beast that moved on wheels, in the hour that Achaea's sons left at our gates that horse, loud rumbling on its way, with its trappings of gold and its freight of warriors; and our folk cried out as they stood upon the rocky citadel, "Up now ye whose toil is o'er, and drag this sacred image to the shrine of the Zeus-born maiden, goddess of our Ilium!" Forth from his house came every youth and every grey-head too; and with songs of joy they took the fatal snare within. Then hastened all the race of Phrygia to the gates, to make the goddess a present of an Argive band ambushed in the polished mountain-pine, Dardania's ruin, a welcome gift to be to her, the virgin queen of deathless steeds; and with nooses of cord they dragged it, as it had been a ship's dark hull, to the stone-built fane of the goddess Pallas, and set it on that floor so soon to drink our country's blood. But, as they laboured and made merry, came on the pitchy night; loud the Libyan flute was sounding, and Phrygian songs awoke, while maidens beat the ground with airy foot, uplifting their gladsome song; and in the halls a blaze of torchlight shed its flickering shadows on sleeping eyes. In that hour around the house was I singing as I danced to that maiden of the hills, the child of Zeus; when lo! there rang along the town a cry of death which filled the homes of Troy, and little babes in terror clung about their mothers' skirts, as forth from their ambush came the warrior-band, the handiwork of maiden Pallas. Anon the altars ran with Phrygian blood, and desolation reigned o'er every bed where young men lay beheaded, a glorious crown for Hellas won, ay, for her, the nurse of youth, but for our Phrygian fatherland a bitter grief. Look, Hecuba! dost see Andromache advancing hither on a foreign car? and with her, clasped to her throbbing breast, is her dear Astyanax, Hector's child.
Enter ANDROMACHE.
HECUBA Whither art thou borne, unhappy wife, mounted on that car, side by side with Hector's brazen arms and Phrygian spoils of war, with which Achilles' son will deck the shrines of Phthia on his return from Troy? ANDROMACHE My Achaean masters drag me hence. HECUBA Woe is thee! ANDROMACHE Why dost thou in note of woe utter the dirge that is mine? HECUBA Ah me! ANDROMACHE For these sorrows. HECUBA O Zeus! ANDROMACHE And for this calamity. HECUBA O my children! ANDROMACHE Our day is past. HECUBA Joy is fled, and Troy o'erthrown. ANDROMACHE Woe is me! HECUBA Dead too all my gallant sons! ANDROMACHE Alack and well-a-day! HECUBA Ah me for my- ANDROMACHE Misery! HECUBA Piteous the fate- ANDROMACHE Of our city, HECUBA Smouldering in the smoke. ANDROMACHE Come, my husband, come to me! HECUBA Ah hapless wife! thou callest on my son who lieth in the tomb. ANDROMACHE Thy wife's defender, come! HECUBA Do thou, who erst didst make the Achaeans grieve, eldest of the sons I bare to Priam in the days gone by, take me to thy rest in Hades' halls! ANDROMACHE Bitter are these regrets, unhappy
Enter ANDROMACHE.
HECUBA Whither art thou borne, unhappy wife, mounted on that car, side by side with Hector's brazen arms and Phrygian spoils of war, with which Achilles' son will deck the shrines of Phthia on his return from Troy? ANDROMACHE My Achaean masters drag me hence. HECUBA Woe is thee! ANDROMACHE Why dost thou in note of woe utter the dirge that is mine? HECUBA Ah me! ANDROMACHE For these sorrows. HECUBA O Zeus! ANDROMACHE And for this calamity. HECUBA O my children! ANDROMACHE Our day is past. HECUBA Joy is fled, and Troy o'erthrown. ANDROMACHE Woe is me! HECUBA Dead too all my gallant sons! ANDROMACHE Alack and well-a-day! HECUBA Ah me for my- ANDROMACHE Misery! HECUBA Piteous the fate- ANDROMACHE Of our city, HECUBA Smouldering in the smoke. ANDROMACHE Come, my husband, come to me! HECUBA Ah hapless wife! thou callest on my son who lieth in the tomb. ANDROMACHE Thy wife's defender, come! HECUBA Do thou, who erst didst make the Achaeans grieve, eldest of the sons I bare to Priam in the days gone by, take me to thy rest in Hades' halls! ANDROMACHE Bitter are these regrets, unhappy