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.