CHOR. Trembling I come from Agamemnon’s tent,
Of thee my royal mistress to inquire
Whether the Greeks have doomed me to be slain,
And whether yet along the poop arranged
The mariners prepare to ply their oars.
HEC. Deprived of sleep through horror, O my daughter,
I hither came: but on the road I see
A Grecian herald.
CHOR. Tell me to what lord
Am wretched I consigned.
HEC. E’en now the lot
Is casting to decide your fate.
CHOR. What chief
To Argos, or to Phthia, me shall bear,
Or to some island, sorrowing, far from Troy?
HEC. To whom shall wretched I, and in what land
Become a slave, decrepit like the drone
Through age, mere semblance of a pallid corse,
Or flitting spectre from the realms beneath?
Shall I be stationed or to watch the door,
Or tend the children of a haughty lord,
Erst placed at Troy in rank supreme?
CHOR. Alas!
HEC. With what loud plaints dost thou revive thy woes!
CHOR. I never more through Ida’s loom shall dart
The shuttle, nor behold a blooming race
Of children, in those lighter tasks employed
Which suit the young and beauteous, to the couch
Of some illustrious Greek conveyed, the joys
Which night and fortune yields are lost to me;
Or filled with water, from Pirene’s spring
Shall I be doomed to bear the ponderous urn.
HEC. O could we reach the famed and happy realm
Of Theseus, distant from Eurotas’ tide,
And curst Therapne’s gates, where I should meet
Perfidious Helen, and remain a slave
To Menelaus, who demolished Troy.
CHOR. By fame’s loud voice I am informed, the vale
Of Peneus, at Olympus base, abounds
With wealth and plenteous fruitage.
HEC. This I make
My second option, next the blest domain
Of Theseus.
CHOR. I am told that Vulcan’s realm
Of Ætna, opposite Phœnicia’s coast
The mother of Sicilian hills, is famed
For palms obtained by valour. Through the realm
Adjacent, bordering on th’ Ionian deep,
Crathis the bright, for auburn hair renowned,
The tribute of its holy current pours,
And scatters blessings o’er a martial land.
But lo, with hasty step a herald comes
Bearing some message from the Grecian host!
What is his errand? for we now are slaves
To yon proud rulers of the Doric realm.