Chapter III

Then o’er the genial board, to her who reigns
In woodland heights, Diana, child of Jove,
I waked the choral strains.
But soon there flew a dismal sound
Pergamus’ wide streets around:
The shrieking infant fondly strove
To grasp the border of a mother’s vest,
And with uplifted hands its little fears expressed:
Mars from his ambush by Minerva’s aid
Conspicuous issued and the fray began,
Thick gore adown our altars ran,
And many a slaughtered youth was laid
A headless trunk on the disfigured bed,
That Greece might shine with laureate wreaths arrayed,
By Troy while fruitless tears are shed.

ANDROMACHE, HECUBA, CHORUS.

CHOR. Seest thou, Andromache, O queen, this way
Advancing, wafted in a foreign car?
Eager to cling to the maternal breast
Close follows her beloved Astyanax,
The son of Hector.

HEC. Whither art thou borne,
O wretched woman, on a chariot placed
’Midst Hector’s brazen armour, and those spoils
From captive Phrygian chiefs in combat torn,
With which Achilles’ son from Ilion’s siege
Triumphant, will the Phthian temples grace?

AND. Our Grecian masters drag me hence.

HEC. Alas!

AND. Why with your groans my anguish strive t’ assuage?

HEC. Oh!

AND. I by griefs am compassed——

HEC. Mighty Jove!

AND. And dread vicissitudes of fate.

HEC. My children.

AND. We once were blest.

HEC. Now are those prosperous days
No more; and Ilion is no more.

AND. Most wretched!

HEC. My noble sons.

AND. Alas!

HEC. Alas my——

AND. Woes.

HEC. O piteous fortune——

AND. Of the city——

HEC. Wrapt
In smoke.

AND. Return, my husband, O return.

HEC. In clamorous accents thou invok’st my son,
Whom Pluto’s realms detain, unhappy woman.

AND. Thy consort’s tutelary power.

HEC. And thou,
Whose courage long withstood the Grecian host,
Thou aged father of our numerous race,
Lead me, O Priam, to the shades beneath.

AND. Presumptuous are such wishes.

HEC. We endure
These grievous woes.

CHOR. While ruin overwhelms
Our city, for on sorrows have been heaped
Fresh sorrows, through the will of angry Heaven,
Since in an evil hour thy son was snatched
From Pluto, who, determined to avenge
Those execrable nuptials, with the ground
Hath levelled Pergamus’ beleaguered towers.
Near Pallas’ shrine the corses of the slain
Weltering in gore to vultures lie exposed,
And Ilion droops beneath the servile yoke.
Thee, O my wretched country, I with tears
Forsake: e’en now thou view’st the piteous end
Of all thy woes, and my loved native house.

HEC. My children! O my desolated city!
Your mother is bereft of every joy.

CHOR. What shrieks, what plaints resound! what floods of tears
Stream in our houses! but the dead forget
Their sorrows, and for ever cease to weep.

HEC. To those who suffer, what a sweet relief
Do tears afford! the sympathetic Muse
Inspires their plaints.

AND. O mother of that chief,
Whose forceful javelin thinned the ranks of Greece,
Illustrious Hector, seest thou this?

HEC. I see
The gods delight in raising up the low,
And ruining the great.

AND. Hence with my son,
A captive am I hurried; noble birth
Subject to these vicissitudes now sinks
Into degrading slavery.

HEC. Uncontrolled
The power of fate: Cassandra from these arms
But now with brutal violence was torn!

AND. A second Ajax to thy daughter seems
To have appeared. Yet hast thou other griefs.

HEC. All bounds, all numbers they exceed; with ills
Fresh ills as for pre-eminence contend.

AND. Polyxena, thy daughter, at the tomb
Of Peleus’ son hath breathed her last, a gift
To the deceased.

HEC. Wretch that I am, alas!
Too clearly now I understand the riddle
Which in obscurer terms Talthybius uttered.

AND. I saw her bleed, and lighting from this car
Covered her with the decent shroud and wailed
O’er her remains.

HEC. Alas! alas! my child
To bloody altars dragged by impious hands,
Alas! alas! how basely wert thou slain!

AND. Most dreadfully she perished; yet her lot
Who perished is more enviable than mine.

HEC. Far different, O my daughter, is the state
Of them who live, from them who breathe no more:
For the deceased are nothing: but fair hope,
While life remains, can never be extinct.

AND. Thou whom, although I sprung not from thy womb,
I deem a mother, to my cheering words
With patience listen, they will yield delight
To thy afflicted soul. ’Tis the same thing
Ne’er to be born, or die; but better far
To die, than to live wretched: for no sorrow
Affects th’ unconscious tenant of the grave.
But he who once was happy, he who falls
From fortune’s summit down the vale of woe,
With an afflicted spirit wanders o’er
The scenes of past delight. In the cold grave,
Like one who never saw the blessed sun,
Polyxena remembers not her woes.
But I who aimed the dextrous shaft, and gained
An ample portion of renown, have missed
The mark of happiness. In Hector’s house
I acted as behoves each virtuous dame.
First, whether sland’rous tongues assail or spare
The matron’s chastity, an evil name,
Her who remains not at her home, pursues:
Such vain desires I therefore quelled, I stayed
In my own chamber, a domestic life
Preferring, and forbore to introduce
Vain sentimental language, such as gains
Too oft the ear of woman: ’twas enough
For me to yield obedience to the voice
Of virtue, that best monitor. My lord
With placid aspect and a silent tongue
I still received, for I that province knew
In which I ought to rule, and when to yield
Submission to a husband’s will. The fame
This conduct gained me, reached the Grecian camp,
And proved my ruin: for when I became
A captive, Neoptolemus resolved
To take me to his bed, and in the house
Of murderers I to slavery am consigned.
If shaking off my Hector’s loved remembrance
To this new husband I my soul incline,
I shall appear perfidious to the dead;
Or, if I hate Achilles’ son, become
Obnoxious to my lords; though some assert
That one short night can reconcile th’ aversion
Of any woman to the nuptial couch;
I scorn that widow, reft of her first lord,
Who listens to the voice of love, and weds
Another. From her comrade torn, the mare
Sustains the yoke reluctant, though a brute
Dumb and irrational, by nature formed
Subordinate to man: but I in thee
Possessed a husband, O my dearest Hector,
In wisdom, fortune, and illustrious birth,
For me sufficient, great in martial deeds:
A spotless virgin-bride, me from the house
Of my great father, didst thou first receive;
But thou art slain, and I to Greece must sail
A captive, and endure the servile yoke!
Is not the death of that Polyxena,
Whom thou, O Hecuba, bewail’st, an ill
More tolerable than those which I endure?
For hope, who visits every wretch beside,
To me ne’er comes; to me no promised joys
Afford a flattering prospect to deceive
This anxious bosom; for ’tis sweet to think
E’en of ideal bliss.

CHOR. Thou art involved
In the same sufferings, and in plaintive notes
Bewailing thy calamity, inform’st me
What treatment to expect.

HEC. I ne’er did mount
A ship, yet I from pictures and report
These matters know: amidst a moderate storm,
Such as they hope to weather out, the sailors
To save themselves, exert a cheerful toil:
This to the rudder, to the shattered sails
That goes, a third laborious at the pump
Draws off the rising waters; but if vanquished
By the tempestuous ocean’s rage, they yield
To fortune, and consigning to the waves
Their vessel, are at random driven along.
Thus I am mute beneath unnumbered woes,
Nor can this tongue expatiate, for the gods
Such torrents pour as drown my feeble voice!
But, O my daughter, cease to name the fate
Of slaughtered Hector, whom no tears can save.
Pay due attention to thy present lord,
With amorous glances and a fond compliance
Receiving him; act thus, and thou wilt cheer
Our friends, and this my grandson educate
A bulwark to fallen Ilion, that his race
The city may rebuild, and dwell in Troy.
But a fresh topic of discourse ensues.
What servant of the Greeks do I behold
Again draw near, t’ announce some new design?

TALTHYBIUS, ANDROMACHE, HECUBA, CHORUS.

TAL. O thou who erst wert Hector’s wife, that bravest
Of Phrygians, hate me not; for with reluctance
Will I the general sentence of the Greeks
And Pelops’ progeny, announce.

AND. What means
This evil prelude.

TAL. ’Tis decreed thy son—
How shall I speak it?

AND. To a separate lord
Shall be consigned?

TAL. None of the Grecian chiefs
Shall ever o’er Astyanax bear rule.

AND. Must I leave here, him who alone remains
Of all that erst was dear to me in Troy?

TAL. Alas! I know not in what terms t’ express
The miseries that await thee?

AND. I commend
Such modesty, provided thou canst speak
Aught to afford me comfort.

TAL. They resolve
To slay thy son; thou hear’st my dismal errand.

AND. Ah me! thou hast unfolded to these ears
An evil, greater than my menaced spousals.

TAL. By his harangues to the assembled Greeks,
Ulysses hath prevailed.

AND. Alas! alas!
Immoderate are the sorrows I endure.

TAL. Saying they ought not to train up the son
Of that heroic sire.

AND. May he obtain
O’er his own children triumphs great as these!

TAL. He from the towers of Ilion must be thrown:
But I entreat thee, and thou hence shall seem
More prudent, strive not to withhold thy son,
But bear thy woes with firmness; nor, though weak,
Deem thyself strong; for thou hast no support,
And therefore must consider that thy city
Is overthrown, thy husband is no more,
Thou art reduced to servitude; and we
Are strong enough to combat with one woman:
O therefore brave not this unequal strife,
Stoop not to aught that’s base, nor yet revile,
Nor idly scatter curses on thy foes;
For if thou utter aught that may provoke
The anger of the host, thy son will bleed
Unburied and unwept: but if thou bear
With silence and composure thy misfortunes,
Funereal honours shall adorn his grave,
And Greece to thee her lenity extend.

AND. Thee, O my dearest son, thy foes will slay;
Soon art thou doomed to leave thy wretched mother.
What saves the lives of others, the renown
Of an illustrious sire, to thee will prove
The cause of death: by this paternal fame
Art thou attended in an evil hour.
To me how luckless proved the genial bed,
And those espousals, that to Hector’s house
First brought me, when I trusted I should bear
A son, no victim to the ruthless Greeks,
But an illustrious Asiatic king.
Weep’st thou, my son? dost thou perceive thy woes?
Why cling to me with timid hands? Why seize
My garment? thus beneath its mother’s wings
The callow bird is sheltered. From the tomb,
No Hector brandishing his massive spear
Rushes to saves thee; no intrepid kinsman
Of thy departed father, nor the might
Of Phrygian hosts is here: but from aloof
Borne headlong by a miserable leap,
Shalt thou pour forth thy latest gasp of life
Unpitied. Tender burden in the arms
Of thy fond mother! what ambrosial odours
Breathed from thy lips? I swathed thee to my breast
In vain, I toiled in vain, and wore away
My strength with fruitless labours. Yet embrace
Thy mother once again; around my neck
Entwine thine arms, and give one parting kiss.
Ye Greeks, who studiously invent new modes
Of unexampled cruelty, why slay
This guiltless infant? Helen, O thou daughter
Of Tyndarus, never didst thou spring from Jove,
But I pronounce thee born of many sires,
An evil Genius, Envy, Slaughter, Death,
And every evil that from Earth receives
Its nourishment; nor dare I to assert
That Jove himself begot a pest like thee,
Fatal to Greece and each barbarian chief.
Perdition overtake thee! for those eyes
By their seducing glances have o’erthrown
The Phrygian empire. Bear this child away,
And cast him from the turrets if ye list,
Then banquet on his quivering flesh: the gods
Ordain that I shall perish: nor from him
Can I repel the stroke of death. Conceal
This wretched form from public view, and plunge me
In the ship’s hold; for I have lost my son,
Such the blest prelude to my nuptial rite.

CHOR. Thy myriads, hapless Ilion, did expire
In combat for one woman, to maintain
Paris’ accursed espousals.

AND. Cease, my child,
Fondly to lisp thy wretched mother’s name,
Ascend the height of thy paternal towers,
Whence ’tis by Greece decreed thy parting breath
Shall issue. Take him hence. Aloud proclaim
This deed ye merciless: that wretch alone
Who never knew the blush of virtuous shame,
Your sentence can applaud.

[_Exeunt_ ANDROMACHE _and_ TALTHYBIUS.

HEC. O child, thou son
Of my unhappy Hector, from thy mother
And me thou unexpectedly art torn.
What can I do, what help afford? for thee
I smite this head, this miserable breast;
Thus far my power extends. Alas! thou city,
And, O my grandson! is there yet a curse
Beyond what we have felt? remains there aught
To save us from the yawning gulf of ruin?

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

In Salamis’ profound retreat
Famed for the luscious treasures of the bee,
High raised above th’ encircling sea
Thou, Telamon, didst fix thy regal seat;
Near to those sacred hills, where spread
The olive first its fragrant sprays,
To form a garland for Minerva’s head,
And the Athenian splendor raise:
With the famed archer, with Alcmena’s son
Thou cam’st exulting with vindictive joy;
By your confederate arms was Ilion won,
When from thy Greece thou cam’st our city to destroy.

I. 2.

Repining for the promised steeds,
From Greece Alcides led a chosen band,
With hostile prows th’ indented strand
He reached, and anchored near fair Simois’ meads;
Selected from each ship, he led
Those who with dextrous hand could wing
Th’ unerring shaft, till slaughter reached thy head,
Laomedon, thou perjured king:
Those battlements which Phœbus’ self did rear
The victor wasted with devouring flame;
Twice o’er Troy’s walls hath waved the hostile spear,
Twice have insulting shouts announced Dardania’s shame.

II. 1.

Thou bear’st the sparkling wine in vain
With step effeminate, O Phrygian boy,
Erewhile didst thou approach with joy
To fill the goblet of imperial Jove;
For now thy Troy lies levelled with the plain,
And its thick smoke ascends the realms above.
On th’ echoing coast our plaints we vent,
As feathered songsters o’er their young bewail,
A child or husband these lament,
And those behold their captive mothers sail:
The founts where thou didst bathe, th’ athletic sports,
Are now no more. Each blooming grace
Sheds charms unheeded o’er thy placid face,
And thou frequent’st Heaven’s splendid courts.
Triumphant Greece hath levelled in the dust
The throne where Priam ruled the virtuous and the just.

II. 2.

With happier auspices, O love.
Erst didst thou hover o’er this fruitful plain,
Hence caught the gods thy thrilling pain;
By thee embellished, Troy’s resplendent towers
Reared their proud summits blest by thundering Jove,
For our allies were the celestial powers.
But I no longer will betray
Heaven’s ruler to reproach and biting shame.
The white-winged morn, blest source of day,
Who cheers the nations with her kindling flame,
Beheld these walls demolished, and th’ abode
Of that dear prince who shared her bed
In fragments o’er the wasted champaign spread:
While swift along the starry road,
Her golden car his country’s guardian bore:
False was each amorous god, and Ilion is no more.

MENELAUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

MEN. Hail, O ye solar beams, who on this day,
When I my consort Helen shall regain
Your radiance shed. For I am he who long
Endured the toils of battle, Menelaus,
Attended by the Grecian host. To Troy,
Not in a woman’s cause, as many deem,
I came, but came to punish him who broke
The laws of hospitality, and ravished
My consort from my palace. He hath suffered
As he deserved, such was the will of Heaven,
He and his country by the spear of Greece
Have been destroyed. But I am come to bear
That Spartan dame away, whom with regret
I term my consort, though she once was mine.
But she beneath these tents is with the rest
Of Phrygia’s captives numbered: for the troops
Whose arms redeemed her, have to me consigned
That I might either take away, or spare
Her life, and waft her to the Argive coast.
I am resolved that Helen shall not bleed
In Troy, but o’er the foaming waves to Greece
Will I convey her, and to them whose friends
Before yon walls were slain, surrender up
To perish by their vengeance. But with speed
Enter the tent, thence by that hair defiled
With murder, O my followers, drag her forth,
And hither bring: for when a prosperous breeze
Arises, her will I to Greece convey.

HEC. O thou who mov’st the world, and in this earth
Hast fixed thy station, whosoe’er thou art,
Impervious to our reason, whether thou,
O Jove, art dread necessity which rules
All nature, or that soul which animates
The breasts of mortals, thee do I adore,
For in a silent path thou tread’st and guid’st
With justice the affairs of man.

MEN. What means
This innovation in the solemn prayer
You to the gods address?

HEC. I shall applaud
The stroke, O Menelaus, if thou slay
Thy wife; but soon as thou behold’st her, fly,
Lest she with love ensnare thee. For the eyes
Of men she captivates, o’erturns whole cities,
And fires the roofs of lofty palaces,
She is possessed of such resistless charms;
Both I and thou and thousands to their cost,
Alas! are sensible how great her power.

HELEN, MENELAUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

HEL. O Menelaus, this is sure a prelude
To greater horrors. For with brutal hands
I by your servants from these tents am dragged?
Too well I know you hate me, yet would learn,
How you and Greece have of my life disposed.

MEN. Thou by the utmost rigour of the laws
Hast not been sentenced; but the host, to me
Whom thou hast wronged, consign thee to be slain.

HEL. May not I answer to these harsh resolves,
That if I bleed, unjustly shall I bleed?

MEN. I came not hither to debate, but slay thee?

HEC. Hear her, nor let her die, O Menelaus,
Without this privilege. Me too allow
To make reply to her defence; for nought
Of the foul deeds, which she in Troy committed
Yet know’st thou: if united, the whole tale
Must force thee to destroy her, and preclude
All means of her escaping.

MEN. An indulgence
Like this supposes leisure to attend;
However, if she have a wish to speak,
She may: but be assured, that my compliance
To your request is owing, for such favour
To her I would not grant.

HEL. Perhaps with me
Whom you account a foe, you will not deign,
Whether I seem to utter truth or falsehood,
To parley. But to each malignant charge
With which, O Hecuba, I know thou com’st
Prepared against me, will I make reply,
And to o’erbalance all that thou canst urge
Produce recriminations. First, she bore
Paris, the author of these mischiefs, next
Did aged Priam ruin Troy and me,
When erst that infant he forbore to slay,
That baleful semblance of a flaming torch!
Hear what ensued; by Paris were the claims
Of the three rival goddesses decided.
The gift Minerva proffered; that commanding
The Phrygians, he should conquer Greece; while Juno
Promised, that he his empire should extend
From Asia to remotest Europe’s bounds,
If he to her adjudged the golden prize;
But Venus, who in rapturous terms extolled
My charms, engaged that as the great reward
She would on him bestow me; to her beauty
If o’er each goddess he the preference gave.
Observe the sequel: Venus, o’er Minerva
And Juno, gained the triumph; and my nuptials
Thus far have been a benefit to Greece;
Ye are not subject to barbarian lords,
Crushed by invasion, or tyrannic power.
But I my ruin owe to what my country
Hath found thus advantageous, for my charms
To Paris sold, and branded with disgrace,
E’en for such deeds as merited a wreath
To crown these brows. But you may urge, that all
I have alleged is of no real weight,
Because by stealth I from your palace fled.
Accompanied by no mean goddess, came
That evil genius, sprung from Hecuba,
Distinguish him by either name you list,
Paris or Alexander, in your house,
Whom, O delirious, you behind you left,
And sailed from Sparta to the Cretan isle.
Well, be it so. Of my own heart, not you
I in regard to all that hence ensued
Will ask the question. What could have induced me,
Following that stranger, to forsake my home,
False to my native land? impute the guilt
To Venus, and assume a power, beyond
E’en that of Jove, who rules th’ inferior gods
But yields to her behests. My crime was venial;
Yet hence you may allege a specious charge
Against me; since to earth’s dark vaults the corse
Of Paris was consigned, no longer bound
Through Heaven’s supreme decree in nuptial chains,
I to the Grecian fleet should have escaped
From Ilion’s palace; such was my design:
This can the guards of Troy’s beleaguered towers,
And sentinels who on the walls were stationed,
Attest, that oft they caught me, as with ropes
By stealth I strove to light upon the ground;
But a new husband, fierce Deiphobus,
Obtained me for a wife by brutal force,
Though every Phrygian disapproved. What law
Can sentence me, whom ’gainst my will he wedded,
By you, my lord, with justice to be slain?
But for the benefits through me derived
To Greece, I in the stead of laureate wreaths
With slavery am requited. If you wish
To overcome the gods’ supreme behests,
That very wish were folly.

CHOR. O my Queen,
Assert thy children’s and thy country’s cause,
’Gainst her persuasive language, for she speaks
With eloquence, though guilty: curst imposture!

HEC. I those three goddesses will first defend,
And prove that she has uttered vile untruths:
For of such madness ne’er can I suspect
Juno and Pallas that immortal maid,
As that the first should to barbarian tribes
Propose to sell her Argos, or Minerva
To make her Athens subject to the Phrygians:
Seeking in sportive strife the palm of beauty
They came to Ida’s mount. For through what motive
Could Juno with such eagerness have wished
Her charms might triumph? to obtain a husband
Greater than Jove? could Pallas, who besought
Her sire she ever might remain a virgin,
Propose to wed some deity? Forbear
To represent these goddesses as foolish,
That thy transgressions may by their example
Be justified: thou never canst persuade
The wise. Thou hast presumed t’ assert (but this
Was a ridiculous pretence) that Venus
Came with my son to Menelaus’ house.
Could she not calmly have abode in Heaven,
Yet wafted thee and all Amycla’s city
To Ilion? but the beauty of my son
Was great, and thy own heart, when thou beheld’st him
Became thy Venus: for whatever folly
Prevails, is th’ Aphrodite of mankind:
That of Love’s goddess, justly doth commence
With the same letters as an idiot’s name.
Him didst thou see in a barbaric vest
With gold refulgent, and thy wanton heart
Was thence inflamed with love, for thou wert poor
While yet thou didst reside in Greece; but leaving
The Spartan regions, thou didst hope, the city
Of Troy, with gold o’erflowing, could support
Thy prodigality; for the revenues
Of Menelaus far too scanty proved
For thy luxuriant appetites: but sayst thou
That Paris bore thee thence by force? what Spartan
Saw this? or, with what cries didst thou invoke
Castor or Pollux, thy immortal brothers,
Who yet on earth remained, nor had ascended
The starry height? But since thou cam’st to Troy,
And hither the confederate troops of Greece
Tracing thy steps, began the bloody strife,
Whene’er thou heard’st that Menelaus prospered
Him didst thou praise, and make my son to grieve
That such a mighty rival shared thy love:
But if the Trojan army proved victorious,
He shrunk into a thing of nought. On Fortune
Still didst thou look, still deaf to Virtue’s call
Follow her banners: yet dost thou assert
That thou by cords hast from the lofty towers
In secrecy attempted to descend,
As if thou here hadst been constrained to stay?
Where then wert thou surprised, or sharpened sword,
Or ropes preparing, as each generous dame
Who sought her former husband would have done?
Oft have I counselled thee in many words:
“Depart, O daughter, that my sons may take
Brides less obnoxious: thee aboard the ships
Of Greece, assisting in thy secret flight,
Will I convey. O end the war ’twixt Greece
And Ilion.” But to thee was such advice
Unwelcome; for with pride thou in the house
Of Paris didst behave thyself, and claim
The adoration of barbaric tribes,
For this was thy great object. But e’en now
Thy charms displaying, clad in gorgeous vest
Dost thou go forth, still daring to behold
That canopy of Heaven which o’erhangs
Thy injured husband; thou detested woman!
Whom it had suited, if in tattered vest
Shivering, with tresses shorn, in Scythian guise
Thou hadst appeared, and for transgressions past
Deep smitten with remorse, assumed the blush
Of virtuous matrons, not that frontless air.
O Menelaus! I will now conclude;
By slaying her, prepare for Greece the wreaths
It merits, and extend to the whole sex
This law, that every woman who betrays
Her lord shall die.

CHOR. As that illustrious stem
Whence thou deriv’st thy birth, and as thy rank
Demand, on thy adulterous wife inflict
Just punishment, and purge this foul reproach,
This instance of a woman’s lust, from Greece:
So shall thy very enemies perceive
Thou art magnanimous.

MEN. Your thoughts concur
With mine, that she a willing fugitive
My palace left and sought a foreign bed;
But speaks of Venus merely to disguise
Her infamy!—Away! thou shalt be stoned,
And in one instant for the tedious woes
Of Greece make full atonement; I will teach thee
That thou didst shame me in an evil hour.

HEL. I by those knees entreat you, O forbear
To slay me, that distraction sent by Heaven
To me imputing: but forgive me.

HEC. Wrong not
Thy partners in the war, whom she hath slain;
In theirs, and in my children’s cause, I sue.

MEN. Desist, thou hoary matron: her entreaties
Move not this steadfast bosom. O my followers
Attend her, I command you, to the ships
Which shall convey her hence.

HEC. Let her not enter
Thy ship.

MEN. Is she grown heavier than before?

HEC. He never loved who doth not always love,
Howe’er the inclinations of the dame
He loves may fluctuate.

MEN. All shall be performed
According to thy wish; she shall not enter
My bark: for thou hast uttered wholesome counsels:
But soon as she in Argos’ lands, with shame,
As she deserves, shall she be slain, and warn
All women to be chaste. No easy task:
Yet shall her ruin startle every child
Of folly, though more vicious still than Helen.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

E’en thus by too severe a doom,
To Greece, O Jove, hast thou betrayed
Our shrines, our altars, dropping rich perfume,
The lambent flame that round the victims played,
Myrrh’s odorous smoke that mounts the skies,
Yon holy citadel, with Ida’s grove
Around whose oaks the clasping ivy plies,
Where rivulets meandering rove
Cold and translucent from the drifted snows;
On that high ridge with orient blaze
The sun first scatters his enlivening rays,
And with celestial flame th’ ecstatic priestess glows.

I. 2.

Each sacrifice, each pious rite,
Hence vanished, with th’ harmonious choirs
Whose accents soothed the languid ear of night,
While to the gods we waked our sounding lyres;
Their golden images no more
Twelve times each year, on that revolving eve
When shines the full-orbed moon, do we adore.
Harassed by anxious fears, I grieve,
Oft thinking whether thou, O Jove, wilt deign
To listen to our piteous moan,
High as thou sitt’st on thy celestial throne;
For Troy, by fire consumed, lies level with the plain.

II. 1.

Thou, O my husband, roam’st a flitting shade,
To thee are all funereal rites denied,
To thee no lustral drops supplied:
But I by the swift bark shall be conveyed
Where Argos’ cloud-capped fortress stands,
Erected by the Cyclops’ skilful hands.
Before our doors assembling children groan,
And oft repeat with clamorous moan
A mother’s name. Alone shall I be borne
Far from thy sight, by the victorious host
Of Greece, and leaving Ilion’s coast,
O’er ocean’s azure billows sail forlorn,
Either to Salamis, that sacred land,
Or where the Isthmian summit o’er two seas
A wide extended prospect doth command,
Seated in Pelops’ straits where Greece the prize decrees.

II. 2.

Its arduous voyage more than half complete,
In the Ægean deep, and near the land,
May the red lightning by Jove’s hand
Winged from the skies with tenfold ruin, meet
The bark that wafts me o’er the wave
From Troy to Greece a miserable slave.
Before the golden mirror wont to braid
Her tresses, like a sportive maid,
May Helen never reach the Spartan shore,
Those household gods to whom she proved untrue,
Nor her paternal mansions view,
Enter the streets of Pitane no more,
Nor Pallas’ temple with its brazen gate;
Because her nuptials teemed with foul disgrace
To mighty Greece through each confederate state;
And hence on Simois’ banks were slain Troy’s guiltless race.

But ha! on this devoted realm are hurled
Successive woes. Ye hapless Phrygian dames,
Behold the slain Astyanax, whom Greece
With rage inhuman from yon towers hath thrown.

TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

_The Body of_ ASTYANAX _borne in upon a Shield_.

TAL. O Hecuba, one ship is left behind
To carry the remainder of the spoils
Which to Achilles’ son have been adjudged,
To Phthia’s coast. For Neoptolemus,
Hearing that recent evils hath befall’n
His grandsire Peleus, and that Pelias’ son
Acastus hath expelled him from his realm,
Already hath departed with such speed
As would admit of no delay: with him
Andromache is gone, for whom I shed
A stream of tears, when from the land she went
Wailing her country, and to Hector’s tomb
Her plaints addressing: the victorious chief
Hath she entreated, to allow the corse
Of your unhappy Hector’s son, who perished
From Ilion’s ramparts thrown, to be interred,
Nor bear this shield, the terror of the Greeks,
With brass refulgent, which his father placed
Before his flank in battle, to the house
Of Peleus; nor to that ill-omened chamber
Where spousals dire on her arrival wait
The mother of the slain; for such an object
Must grieve her to behold: but in the stead
Of cedar and the monumental stone,
Bury the child in this: for she the corse
Hath to your arms consigned, that you may grace it
With many a fragrant garland, and with vests
Such as your present fortunes will afford.
For she has sailed, and through his haste her lord
Prevented her from lodging in the grave
Her son. While thus you his remains adorn
We will mark out the spot, and with our spears
Dig up the ground. Without delay perform
These duties: I one task to you most irksome
Have rendered needless: for I laved the body,
And cleansed the wounds as o’er Scamander’s stream
I passed. But to prepare for the deceased
A tomb, I go, that with united toil
When this we have accomplished, they may steer
Our vessel homeward.

[_Exit_ TALTHYBIUS.

HEC. Place that orbed shield
Of Hector on the ground, a spectacle
Most piteous, and unwelcome to these eyes.
How, O ye Greeks, whose abject souls belie
Your brave achievements, trembling at a child,
Could ye commit this unexampled murder,
Lest at some future time he should rebuild
The walls of Ilion? Ye inhuman cowards!
Our ruin from that fatal hour we date
When Hector with unnumbered heroes fell.
But having sacked our city, and destroyed
Each Phrygian warrior, feared ye such an infant
The dastard I abhor who meanly shrinks
Through groundless panic. O for ever loved,
By what a piteous fate didst thou expire!
Hadst thou, the champion of thy country, died,
In riper years, when married, and endued
With power scarce second to th’ immortal gods,
Thou hadst been blest, if aught on earth deserves
The name of bliss. But thou, my son, beheld’st
And hadst a distant knowledge of these joys,
Which thou didst ne’er experience: for to thee
The treasures which the palaces of Troy
Contained, proved useless. O unhappy youth,
How wert thou hurled from thy paternal walls
Reared by Apollo’s hand; and through those ringlets,
Which oft thy mother smoothed and kissed, the gore
Bursts from thy fractured skull: but let me waive
So horrid a description. O ye hands,
How in your fingers do ye still retain
A pleasing sad remembrance of your sire,
Or why do ye lie motionless before me?
Dear mouth, full many a babbling accent wont
To utter, art thou closed by death? Thy voice
Deceived me erst, when clinging to these garments,
“O mother,” oft didst thou exclaim, “the hair
Shorn from my brows to thee I will devote,
Lead round thy tomb my comrades, and address
Thy hovering ghost in many a plaintive strain.”
Now not to me, alas! dost thou perform
These duteous offices, but I, bowed down
With age, an exile, of my children reft,
Must bury the disfigured corse of thee
A tender infant. These unnumbered kisses,
My cares in nurturing thee, and broken sleep,
Proved fruitless. What inscription can the bard
Place o’er thy sepulchre? “The Greeks who feared
This infant, slew him!” Such an epitaph
Would shame them. As for thee who hast obtained
Nought of thy wealth paternal, yet this shield
In which thou shalt be buried will be thine.
O brazen orb, which erst wert wont to guard
The nervous arm of Hector, thou hast lost
Thy best possessor: in thy concave circle
How is that hero’s shape impressed; it bears
Marks of that sweat which dropped from Hector’s brow,
Wearied with toil, when ’gainst thy edge he leaned
His cheek. Hence carry, to adorn the corse,
Whate’er our present station will afford,
For such the fortunes which Jove grants us now
As splendour suits not: yet accept these gifts
Out of the little I possess. An idiot
Is he, who thinking himself blest, exults
As if his joys were stable: like a man
Smitten with frenzy, changeful fortune bounds
Inconstant in her course, now here, now there,
Nor is there any one who leads a life
Of bliss uninterrupted.

CHOR. All is ready:
For from the spoils yon Phrygian matrons bear
Trappings to grace the dead.

HEC. On thee, my son,
Not as a victor who with rapid steeds
Didst ever reach the goal, or wing the shaft
With surer aim, an exercise revered
By each unwearied Phrygian youth, thy grandame
Places these ornaments which erst were thine:
But now hath Helen, by the gods abhorred,
Stripped thee of all thou didst possess, and caused
Thy murder, and the ruin of our house.

CHOR. Alas! thou hast transpierced my inmost soul,
O thou, whom I expected to have seen
Troy’s mighty ruler.

HEC. But I now enwrap
Thy body with the vest thou shouldst have worn
At Hymen’s festive rites, in wedlock joined
With Asia’s noblest princess. But, O source
Of triumphs numberless, dear shield of Hector,
Accept these laureate wreaths: for though by death
Thou canst not be affected, thou shalt lie
Joined with this corse in death; since thou deserv’st
More honourable treatment, than the arms
Of crafty and malignant Ithacus.

CHOR. Thee, much lamented youth, shall earth receive.
Now groan, thou wretched mother.

HEC. Oh!

CHOR. Commence
Those wailings which are uttered o’er the dead.

HEC. Ah me!

CHOR. Alas! too grievous are thy woes
To be endured.

HEC. These fillets o’er thy wounds
I bind, and exercise the healing art
In name and semblance only, but, alas!
Not in reality. Whate’er remains
Unfinished, ’mid the shades beneath, to thee
With tender care thy father will supply.

CHOR. Smite with thy hand thy miserable head
Till it resound. Alas!

HEC. My dearest comrades.

CHOR. Speak to thy friends; O Hecuba, what plaints
Hast thou to utter?

HEC. Nought but woe for me
Was by the gods reserved; beyond all cities
To them hath Troy been odious. We in vain
Have offered sacrifice. But had not Jove
O’erthrown and plunged us in the shades beneath,
We had remained obscure, we by the Muse
Had ne’er been sung, nor ever furnished themes
To future bards. But for this hapless youth
Go and prepare a grave; for the deceased
Is with funereal wreaths already crowned:
Although these pomps, I deem, are to the dead
Of little consequence; an empty pride
They in the living serve but to display.

CHOR. Thy wretched mother on thy vital thread
Had stretched forth mighty hopes: though styled most happy
From thy illustrious birth, thou by a death
Most horrid didst expire.

HEC. Ha! who are these
Whom I behold, in their victorious hands
Waving those torches o’er the roofs of Troy?
E’en now o’er Ilion some fresh woes impend.

TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

TAL. To you I speak, O leaders of the troops
Who are ordained to burn this town of Priam.
No longer in your hands without effect
Reserve those blazing torches: but hurl flames
On this devoted city, for when Troy
Is utterly demolished, we shall leave
Its hated shores, exulting. But to you,
O Phrygians, I the same behests address;
When the shrill trumpet of our chief resounds,
Ye to the Grecian navy must repair
And from these regions sail. But as for thee,
Thou aged and most miserable dame,
Follow their steps who from Ulysses come.
To whom thy fate consigns thee for a slave
Far from thy country in a foreign land.

HEC. Ah, wretched me! this surely is the last,
The dire completion this, of all my woes.
I leave my country: Ilion’s bulwarks flame.
Yet, O decrepit feet, with painful haste
Bear me along, that I may bid adieu
To my unhappy city. Thou, O Troy,
Distinguished erst among barbarian tribes
By thy superior prowess, soon shalt lose
The most illustrious name thou didst acquire:
Thee will the flames consume, and us our foes
Drag from our home to slavery. O ye gods!
Upon the gods yet wherefore should I call?
For when we erst invoked them oft, they heard not.
Come on, and let us rush amid the flames:
For in the ruins of my blazing country
’Twill be to me most glorious to expire.

TAL. Thy griefs, O wretched woman, make thee frantic.
But lead her hence, neglect not. For Ulysses
Obtained this prize, and she to him must go.

HEC. O dread Saturnian king, from whom the Phrygians
Derive their origin, dost thou behold
Our sufferings, most unworthy of the race
Of Dardanus?

CHOR. He surely doth behold:
But this great city, city now no more,
Is ruined: nought remains of Troy.

HEC. The blaze
Of Ilion glares, the fire hath caught the roofs,
The streets of Pergamus, and crashing towers.

CHOR. As the light smoke on rapid wing ascends
To heaven, how swiftly vanishes fallen Troy!
Torrents of flame have laid the palace waste,
And o’er its summit waves the hostile spear.

HEC. O fostering soil, that gave my children birth.

CHOR. Alas! alas!

HEC. Yet hear me, O my sons,
Your mother’s voice distinguish.

CHOR. With loud plaints
Thou call’st upon the dead, those aged limbs
Stretched on the ground, and scraping up the dust
With either hand. I follow thy example
Kneeling on earth’s cold bosom, and invoke
My wretched husband in the shades beneath.

HEC. We forcibly are borne——

CHOR. Most doleful sound!

HEC. To servile roofs.

CHOR. From my dear native land.

HEC. Slain, uninterred, abandoned by thy friends,
Thou sure, O Priam, know’st not what I suffer.
For sable death hath closed thine eyes for ever;
Though pious, thou by impious hands wert murdered.
O ye polluted temples of the gods,
And thou my dearest city.

CHOR. Ye, alas!
Are by the deadly flame and pointed spear
Now occupied, on this beloved soil
Soon shall you lie a heap of nameless ruins:
For dust, which mixed with smoke, to Heaven ascends,
No longer will permit me to discern
Where erst my habitation stood: the land
Loses its very name, and each memorial
Of pristine grandeur; wretched Troy’s no more.

HEC. Ye know the fatal truth, ye heard the crash
Of falling towers. Our city to its basis
Is shaken. O ye trembling, trembling limbs,
Support my steps!

TAL. Depart to end thy days
In servitude. Alas! thou wretched city!
Yet to the navy of the Greeks proceed.

THE CYCLOPS.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

SILENUS.
CHORUS OF SATYRS.
ULYSSES.
POLYPHEME THE CYCLOPS.

SCENE.—THE MOUNTAIN OF ÆTNA IN SICILY.

SILENUS.

O Bacchus, for thy sake have I endured
Unnumbered toils, both at the present hour,
And when these nerves by vigorous youth were strung:
By Juno first with wild distraction fired,
Thou didst forsake the mountain nymphs whose care
Nurtured thy infancy. Next in that war
With the gigantic progeny of earth,
Stationed beside thee to sustain thy shield,
Piercing the buckler of Enceladus,
I slew him with my lance. Is this a dream?
By Jove it is not: for I showed his spoils
To Bacchus, and the labours I endure
At present, are so great that they exceed
E’en those. For since ’gainst thee Saturnia roused,
To bear thee far away, Etruria’s race
Of impious pirates, I soon caught th’ alarm,
And sailed in quest of thee with all my children:
Myself the stern ascended, to direct
The rudder, and each satyr plied an oar
Till ocean’s azure surface with white foam
Was covered; thee, O mighty King, they sought.
Near Malea’s harbour as the vessel rode,
An eastern blast arose, and to this rock
Of Ætna, drove us, where the sons of Neptune,
The one-eyed Cyclops, drenched with human gore,
Inhabit desert caves; by one of these
Were we made captives, and beneath his roof
To slavery are reduced. Our master’s name
Is Polypheme; instead of Bacchus’ orgies
We tend the flocks of an accursed Cyclops.
My blooming sons, on yonder distant cliffs,
Feed the young lambs; while I at home am stationed
The goblet to replenish, and to scrape
The rugged floor; to this unholy lord,
A minister of impious festivals:
And now must I perform the task assigned
Of cleansing with this rake the filthy ground,
So shall the cave be fit for his reception,
When with his flocks my absent lord returns.
But I already see my sons approach,
Their fleecy charge conducting. Ha! what means
This uproar? would ye now renew the dance
Of the Sicinnides, as when ye formed
The train of amorous Bacchus, and assembled,
Charmed by the lute, before Althæa’s gate?

CHORUS, SILENUS.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I.

Sprung from an untainted race,
Hardy father of the fold,
Why, bounding o’er that craggy space,
Roam’st thou desperately bold,
Far from the refreshing gale,
The verdant herbage of the mead,
And sloping channel wont to feed
Thy trough with springs that never fail?
Yon caves with bleating lambkins ring,
Come, depasture with the flock;
Leave, O leave the dewy rock,
Ere this ponderous stone I fling.
Thee with speeding horns I call
To the Cyclops’ lofty stall.

II.

Thou too those swollen udders yield,
That thy young ones may be fed,
Who, while thou browsest o’er the field,
Lie neglected in the shed;
Slumbering all the livelong day
At length with clamorous plaints they wake,
Thou t’ appease them wilt forsake
Ætna’s valleys ever gay.
Young Bromius and his jocund rout
Here their orgies ne’er repeat,
No thyrsus waves, no drums they beat;
Where the gurgling currents spout,
Here no vineyards yield delight,
Nor sport the nymphs on Nyssa’s height.