POLYM. Ah, whither am I going? wretched me!
Where am I? what supports me? With these hands
Groping my way like some four-footed beast,
How shall I turn me, to the right or left,
That I those murderous Phrygian dames may seize
Who have destroyed me? Impious and accurst
Daughters of Ilion, in what dark recess
Do they escape me? Would to heaven, O Sun,
Thou to these bleeding eyeballs could’st afford
A cure, that thou my blindness could’st remove.
But hush, I hear those women’s cautious tread.
How shall I leap upon them? with their flesh
How shall I glut my rage, and for a feast
To hungry tigers cast their mangled bones,
In just requital of the horrid wrongs,
Which I from them, ah wretched me, have suffered?
But whither, by what impulse am I borne,
Leaving the corses of my sons exposed
To hellish Bacchanalians, as they lie
Torn by the dogs, and on the mountain’s ridge
Cast forth unburied! Where shall I stand still?
Or whither shall I go? Like some proud bark
Towed into harbour, which contracts its sails;
I to that fatal chamber which contains
The corses of my murdered sons rush onward
With speed involuntary.
CHOR. Hapless man,
How art thou visited by woes too grievous
To be endured! but by dread Jove thy foe,
On him whose deeds are base, it is ordained
That the severest punishments await.
POLYM. Rouse, O ye Thracians, armed with ponderous spears,
Arrayed in mail, for generous steeds renowned,
A hardy race, whom Mars himself inspires.
To you, O Grecian troops, and both the sons
Of Atreus, I with clamorous voice appeal:
Come hither, I implore you by the gods.
Do any of you hear me? Is there none
Who will assist? Why loiter ye? Those women,
Those captives have destroyed me. Horrid wrongs
Have I endured; ah me, the foul reproach!
But whither shall I turn, or whither go?
Through the aërial regions shall I wing
My swift career to that sublime abode
Where Sirius or Orion from his eyes
Darts radiant flames? or, to perdition doomed,
Shall I descend to Pluto’s sable flood?
CHOR. He merits pardon, whosoe’er assailed
By ills too grievous to be borne, shakes off
The loathed encumbrance of a wretched life.