Leaving the cavern of the dead, and gates
Of darkness, where from all the gods apart
Dwells Pluto, come I Polydore, the son
Of Hecuba from royal Cisseus sprung,
And Priam, who, when danger threatened Troy,
Fearing his city by the Grecian arms
Would be laid low in dust, from Phrygia’s realm
In privacy conveyed me to the house
Of Polymestor, of his Thracian friend,
Who tills the Chersonesus’ fruitful soil,
Ruling a nation famed for generous steeds;
But secretly, with me, abundant gold
My father sent, that his surviving children
Might lack no sustenance, if Ilion’s walls
Should by the foe be levelled with the ground.
I was the youngest of all Priam’s sons,
By stealth he therefore sent me from the realm;
Nor could my feeble arm sustain the shield,
Or launch the javelin; but while yet entire
Each ancient landmark on our frontiers stood,
The turrets of the Phrygian state remained
Unshaken, and my brother Hector’s spear
Prospered in battle; nurtured by the man
Of Thrace, my father’s friend, I, wretched youth,
Grew like a vigorous scion. But when Troy,
When Hector failed, when my paternal dome
Was from its basis rent, and Priam’s self,
My aged father, at the altar bled
Which to the gods his pious hands had reared,
Butchered by curst Achilles’ ruthless son;
Me, his unhappy guest, my father’s friend
Slew for the sake of gold, and having slain,
Plunged me into the sea, that he might keep
Those treasures in his house. My breathless corse,
In various eddies by the rising waves
Of ocean tost, lies on the craggy shore,
Unwept, unburied. But by filial love
For Hecuba now prompted, I ascend
A disembodied ghost, and thrice have seen
The morning dawn, to Chersonesus land,
Since my unhappy mother came from Troy.
But all the Grecian army, in their ships,
Here anchoring on this coast of Thrace remain
Inactive; for appearing on his tomb
Achilles, Peleus’ son, restrained the troops,
Who homeward else had steered their barks, and claims
Polyxena my sister, as a victim
Most precious at his sepulchre to bleed;
And her will he obtain, nor will his friends
Withhold the gift; for fate this day decrees
That she shall die: my mother must behold
Two of her slaughtered children’s corses, mine,
And this unhappy maid’s—that in a tomb
I may be lodged, where the firm beach resists
The waves, I to her servant will appear,
Since from the powers of hell I have obtained
The privilege of honourable interment,
And that a mother’s hand these rites perform:
I shall accomplish what my soul desired.
But on the aged Hecuba’s approach,
Far hence must I retreat; for from the tent
Of Agamemnon she comes forth, alarmed
By my pale spectre. O my wretched mother,
How art thou torn from princely roofs to view
This hour of servitude! what sad reverse
Of fortune! some malignant god hath balanced
Thy present misery ’gainst thy former bliss.
[_Exit._
HECUBA, _attended by_ TROJAN DAMSELS.
HEC. Forth from these doors, ye gentle virgins, lead me,
A weak old woman: O ye nymphs of Troy,
Support your fellow-servant, once your queen
Bear me along, uphold my tottering frame,
And take me by this aged hand; your arm
Shall be my staff to lean on, while I strive
My tardy pace to quicken. O ye lightnings
Of Jove, O Night in tenfold darkness wrapt,
By such terrific phantoms from my couch
Why am I scared? Thou venerable earth,
Parent of dreams that flit on raven wing;
The vision I abhor, which I in sleep
This night have seen, relating to my son,
Who here is fostered in the Thracian realm,
And to Polyxena my dearest daughter;
For I too clearly saw and understood
The meaning of that dreadful apparition;
Ye tutelary gods of this domain,
Preserve the only anchor of our house,
My son, who dwells in Thracian fields, o’erspread
With snow, protected by his father’s friend.
Some fresh event awaits us, and ere long
By accents most unwelcome shall the ear
Of wretchedness be wounded: till this hour,
By such incessant horrors, such alarms,
My soul was never seized. Where shall I view
The soul of Helenus, on whom the god
Bestowed prophetic gifts, ye Phrygian maids?
Where my Cassandra to unfold the dream?
With bloody fangs I saw a wolf, who slew
A dappled hind, which forcibly he tore
From these reluctant arms, and what increased
My fears, was this—Achilles’ spectre stalked
Upon the summit of his tomb, and claimed
A gift, some miserable Trojan captive.
You therefore I implore, ye gods, avert
Such doom from my loved daughter.