Once I was circled by a happy throng Of children, by their kisses weary made, Parted my mother love amongst them all.
She, now, alone is left; for her I pray, Companion, solace, healer of my grief, 990 The only child of Hecuba, her voice Alone may call me mother! Bitter life, Pass from me, slip away, spare this last blow!
Tears overflow my cheeks--a storm of tears Falls from her eyes!
_Andromache._ We are the ones should weep, 995 We, Hecuba, whom, scattered here and there, The Grecian ships shall carry far away.
The maid will find at least a sepulcher In the dear soil of her loved native land.
_Helen._ Thy own lot known, yet more thou'lt envy hers. 1000 _Andromache._ Is any portion of my lot unknown?
_Helen._ The fatal urn has given thee a lord.
_Andromache._ Whom call I master? Speak, who bears me hence A slave?
_Helen._ Lot gave thee to the Scyrian king.
_Andromache._ Happy Cassandra, whom Apollo's wrath 1005 Spared from such fate!
_Helen._ The prince of kings claims her.
_Hecuba._ Be glad, rejoice, my child; Andromache Desires thy bridals, and Cassandra, too, Desires them. Is there any one would choose Hecuba for his bride?
_Helen._ Thou fallst a prey 1010 To the unwilling Ithacan.
_Hecuba._ Alas, What powerless, cruel, unrelenting god Gives kings by lot to be the prey of kings?
What god unfriendly thus divides the spoil?
What cruel arbiter forbids us choose 1015 Our masters? With Achilles' arms confounds Great Hector's mother?
To Ulysses' lot!
Conquered and captive am I now indeed, Besieged by all misfortunes! 'Tis my lord Puts me to shame, and not my servitude! 1020 Harsh land and sterile, by rough seas enclosed, Thou wilt not hold my grave! Lead on, lead on, Ulysses, I delay not, I will go-- Will follow thee; my fate will follow me.
No tranquil calm will rest upon the sea; 1025 Wind, war, and flame shall rage upon the deep, My woes and Priam's! When these things shall come, Respite from punishment shall come to Troy.
Mine is the lot, from thee I snatch the prize!
But see where Pyrrhus comes with hasty steps 1030 And troubled face. Why pause? On, Pyrrhus, on!
Into this troubled bosom drive the sword, And join to thy Achilles his new kin!
Slayer of aged men, up, here is blood, 1034 Blood worthy of thy sword; drag off thy spoil, And with thy hideous slaughter stain the gods-- The gods who sit in heaven and those in hell!
What can I pray for thee? I pray for seas Worthy these rites; I pray the thousand ships, The fleet of the Pelasgians, may meet 1040 Such fate as that I fain would whelm the ship That bears me hence a captive.
SCENE II _Chorus._ Sweet is a nation's grief to one who grieves-- Sweet are the lamentations of a land! 1044 The sting of tears and grief is less when shared By many; sorrow, cruel in its pain, Is glad to see its lot by many shared, To know that not alone it suffers loss.
None shuns the hapless fate that many bear; None deems himself forlorn, though truly so, 1050 If none are happy near him. Take away His riches from the wealthy, take away The hundred cattle that enrich his soil, The poor will lift again his lowered head; 'Tis only by comparison man's poor. 1055 O'erwhelmed in hopeless ruin, it is sweet To see none happy. He deplores his fate Who, shipwrecked, naked, finds the longed-for port Alone. He bears with calmer mien his fate 1059 Who sees, with his, a thousand vessels wrecked By the fierce tempest, sees the broken planks Heaped on the shore, the while the northwest wind Drives on the coast, nor he alone returns A shipwrecked beggar. When the radiant ram, The gold-fleeced leader of the flock, bore forth Phryxus and Helle, Phryxus mourned the fall 1066 Of Helle dropped into the Hellespont.
Pyrrha, Deucalion's wife, restrained her tears, As he did, when they saw the sea, naught else, And they alone of living men remained. 1070 The Grecian fleet shall scatter far and wide Our grief and lamentations. When shall sound The trumpet, bidding spread the sails? When dip The laboring oars, and Troy's shores seem to flee?
When shall the land grow faint and far, the sea Expand before, Mount Ida fade behind? 1076 Then grows our sorrow; then what way Troy lies Mother and son shall gaze. The son shall say, Pointing the while, 'There where the curving line Of smoke floats, there is Ilium.' By that sign May Trojans know their country. 1081 ACT V SCENE I _Messenger._ O bitter, cruel, lamentable fate!
In these ten years of crime what deed so hard, So sad, has Mars encountered? What decree Of fate shall I lament? Thy bitter lot, 1085 Andromache? Or thine, thou aged one?
_Hecuba._ Whatever woe thou mournst is Hecuba's; Their own griefs only others have to bear, I bear the woes of all, all die through me, And sorrow follows all who call me friend. 1090 _Andromache._ Suffering ever loves to tell its woes, Tell of the deaths--the tale of double crime; Speak, tell us all.
_Messenger._ One mighty tower remains Of Troy, no more is left; from this high seat Priam, the arbiter of war, was wont 1095 To view his troops; and in this tower he sat And, in caressing arms, embraced the son Of Hector, when that hero put to flight With fire and sword the trembling, conquered Greeks.
From thence he showed the child its father's deeds.
This tower, the former glory of our walls, 1101 Is now a lonely, ruined mass of rock; Thither the throng of chiefs and people flock; From the deserted ships the Grecian host Come pouring; on the hills some find a place, 1105 Some on the rising cliffs, upon whose top They stand tiptoe; some climb the pines, and birch, And laurel, till beneath the gathered crowd The whole wood trembles; some have found the peaks Of broken crags; some climb a swaying roof, 1110 Or toppling turret of the falling wall; And some, rude lookers-on, mount Hector's tomb.
Through all the crowded space, with haughty mien, Passes the Ithacan, and by the hand Leads Priam's grandson; nor with tardy step 1115 Does the young hero mount the lofty wall.
Standing upon the top, with fearless heart He turns his eagle glance from side to side.
As the young, tender cub of some wild beast, Not able yet to raven with its teeth, 1120 Bites harmlessly, and proudly feels himself A lion; so this brave and fearless child, Holding the right hand of his enemy, Moves host and leaders and Ulysses' self.
He only does not weep for whom all weep, 1125 But while the Ithacan begins the words Of the prophetic message and the prayers To the stern gods, he leaps into the midst Of his and Priam's kingdom, willingly.
_Andromache._ Was ever such a deed by Colchians done, 1130 Or wandering Scythians, or the lawless race That dwells beside the Caspian? Never yet Has children's blood Busiris' altars stained, Nor Diomedes feasted his fierce steeds On children's limbs! Who took thy body up, My son, and bore it to the sepulcher? 1136 _Messenger._ What would that headlong leap have left? His bones Lie dashed in pieces by the heavy fall, His face and noble form, inheritance From his illustrious father, are with earth 1140 Commingled; broken is his neck; his head Is dashed in pieces on the cruel stones So that the brains gush forth; his body lies Devoid of form.
_Andromache._ Like Hector, too, in this.
_Messenger._ When from the wall the boy was headlong cast 1145 And the Achaians wept the crime they did, Then turned these same Achaians to new crimes, And to Achilles' tomb. With quiet flow The Rhœtean waters beat the further side, And opposite the tomb the level plain 1150 Slopes gently upward, and surrounds the place Like a wide amphitheater; here the strand Is thronged with lookers-on, who think to end With this last death their vessels' long delay, And glad themselves to think the foeman's seed At last cut off. The fickle, common crowd 1156 Look coldly on; the most part hate the crime.
The Trojans haste with no less eagerness To their own funeral rites, and, pale with fear, Behold the final fall of ruined Troy. 1160 As at a marriage, suddenly they bring The bridal torches; Helen goes before, Attendant to the bride, with sad head bent.
'So may the daughter of Hermione Be wed,' the Phrygians pray, 'base Helen find Again her husband.' Terror seizes both 1166 The awe-struck peoples. With her glance cast down, Modestly comes the victim; but her cheeks Glow, and her beauty shines unwontedly; So shines the light of Phœbus gloriously 1170 Before his setting, when the stars return And day is darkened by approaching night.
The throng is silenced; all men praise the maid Who now must die: some praise her lovely form, Her tender age moves some, and some lament The fickleness of fortune; every one 1176 Is touched at heart by her courageous soul, Her scorn of death. She comes, by Pyrrhus led; All wonder, tremble, pity; when the hill Is reached, and on his father's grave advanced, The young king stands, the noble maid shrinks not, 1181 But waits unflinchingly the fatal blow.
Her unquelled spirit moves the hearts of all; And--a new prodigy--Pyrrhus is slow At slaughter; but at length, with steady hand, He buries to the hilt the gleaming sword 1186 Within her breast; the life-blood gushes forth From the deep wound; in death as heretofore Her soul is strong; with angry thud she falls As she would make the earth a heavy load 1190 Upon Achilles' breast. Both armies weep; The Trojans offer only feeble moans; The victors mourn more freely. So was made The sacrifice; her blood lay not for long Upon the soil, nor flowed away; the tomb 1195 Drank cruelly the gore.
_Hecuba._ Go, conquering Greeks, Securely seek your homes; with all sail set, Your fleet may safely skim the longed-for sea.
The lad and maid are dead, the war is done!
Where can I hide my woe, where lay aside 1200 The long delay of the slow-passing years?
Whom shall I weep? my husband, grandson, child, Or country? Mourn the living or the dead?
O longed-for death, with violence dost thou come To babes and maidens, but thou fleest from me!
Through long night sought, mid fire, and swords, and spears, 1206 Why fly me? Not the foe, nor ruined home, Nor flame could slay me, though so near I stood To Priam!
_Messenger._ [_Talthybius, coming from the Greek camp._ Captive women, seek with speed The sea; the sails are filled, the vessels move. 1210