Part 2

ULY. And to thy garment clung with faltering hand.

HEC. At length I saved and from our land dismissed you.

ULY. Hence I the solar beams yet view.

HEC. What language Did you then hold, when subject to my power?

ULY. Full many were the words which I devised To save my life.

HEC. Doth not your guilt appear From your own counsels? Though your tongue avows The generous treatment you from me received No benefit on me do you confer, But strive to harm me. O ungrateful race Of men, who aim at popular applause By your smooth speeches; would to Heaven I ne’er Had known you, for ye heed not how ye wound Your friends, whene’er ye can say ought to win The crowd. But what pretence could they devise For sentencing this virgin to be slain? Are they constrained by fate, with human victims, To drench the tomb on which they rather ought To sacrifice the steer? or doth Achilles Demand her life with justice, to retaliate Slaughter on them who slaughtered? But to him Hath she done nought injurious. He should claim Helen as victim at his tomb, for she His ruin caused by leading him to Troy. If it was needful that some chosen captive Distinguished by transcendent charms should die, We were not meant; for the perfidious daughter Of Tyndarus is most beauteous, and her crimes To ours at least are equal. Justice only In this debate supports me: hear how large The debt which ’tis your duty to repay On my petition: you confess you touched My hand, and these my aged cheeks, in dust Grovelling a suppliant; yours I now embrace, From you the kindness which I erst bestowed Again implore, and sue to you: O tear not My daughter from these arms, nor slay the maid: Sufficient is the number of the slain. In her I yet rejoice, in her forget My woes; she, for the loss of many children, Consoles me, I in her a country find, A nurse, a staff, a guide. The mighty ought not To issue lawless mandates, nor should they, On whom propitious fortunes now attend, Think that their triumphs will for ever last: For I was happy once, but am no more, My bliss all vanished in a single day. Yet, O my friend, revere and pity me, Go to the Grecian host, admonish them How horrible an action ’twere to slay These captive women whom at first ye spared, And pitied when ye dragged them from the altars. For by your laws ’tis equally forbidden To spill the blood of freemen, or of slave. Although you weakly argue, will your rank Convince them: for the self-same speech, when uttered By the ignoble, and men well esteemed, Comes not with equal force.

CHOR. The human soul Is not so flinty as to hear the woes And plaintive strains thou lengthen’st out, nor shed The sympathizing tear.

ULY. To me attend, O Hecuba, nor through resentment deem That from a foe such counsels can proceed: I am disposed to save thee, and now hold No other language: but will not deny What I to all have said; since Troy is taken, On the first warrior of the host who asks A victim, should thy daughter be bestowed. The cause why many cities are diseased Is this: the brave and generous man obtains No honourable distinction to exalt him Above the coward. But from us, O woman, Achilles claims such homage, who for Greece Died nobly. Is not this a foul reproach, If, while our friends yet live, we seek their aid, But after death ungratefully forget Past services? Should armed bands once more Assemble, and renew the bloody strife, Will not some hardy veteran thus exclaim: “Shall we go forth to battle, or indulge The love of life, now we have seen the dead Obtain no honours?” While from day to day I live, though I have little, yet that little For every needful purpose will suffice. But may conspicuous trophies o’er my grave Be planted, for such tribute to my name Will last to after-ages. If thou call Thy sufferings piteous, hear what in reply We have to urge; amidst the Grecian camp Are many aged dames, as miserable As thou art, with full many a hoary sire, And weeping bride, torn from her valiant lord, O’er whose remains hath Ida’s dust been strewn. Support thy woes: if with mistaken zeal We have resolved to honour the deceased, Our crime is ignorance: but ye barbarians Pay no distinction to your friends, no homage To the illustrious dead; hence Greece prevails; But ye from your pernicious counsels reap The bitter fruits they merit.

CHOR. Ah, what ills Ever attend the captive state, subdued By brutal violence, and forced t’ endure Unseemly wrongs.

HEC. Those words I vainly spoke Thy slaughter to avert, in air were lavished; But, O my daughter, if thy power exceed Thy mother’s, like the nightingale send forth Each warbled note, to save thy life, excite, By falling at his knees, Ulysses’ pity, And on this ground, because he too hath children, Entreat him to compassionate thy doom.

POLYX. I see thee, O Ulysses, thy right hand Beneath thy robe concealing, see thee turn Thy face away, lest I should touch thy beard. Be of good cheer; I’ll not call down the wrath Of Jove who guards the suppliant, but will follow Thy steps, because necessity ordains And ’tis my wish to die; if I were loth, I should appear to be an abject woman, And fond of life: but what could lengthened life Avail to me, whose father erst was lord Of the whole Phrygian realm? Thus first I drew My breath beneath the roofs of regal domes; Then was I nurtured with the flattering hope That I should wed a monarch, and arrive At the proud mansion of some happy youth. Ill-fated princess, thus I stood conspicuous Amid the dames and brightest nymphs of Troy, In all but immortality a goddess; But now am I a slave, and the first cause Which makes me wish to die, is that abhorred Unwonted name; else some inhuman lord With gold perchance might purchase me, the sister Of Hector, and full many a valiant chief, Might make me knead the bread, and sweep the floor, And ply the loom, and pass my abject days In bitterness of woe: some servile mate Might bring dishonour to my bed, though erst I was deemed worthy of a sceptred king: Not thus. These eyes shall to the last behold The light of freedom. O ye shades receive A princess. Lead me on then, O Ulysses, And as thou lead’st despatch me, for no hope, No ground for thinking, I shall e’er be happy, Can I discern: yet hinder not by word Or deed the steadfast purpose I have formed; But, O my mother, in this wish concur With me, that I may die ere I endure Such wrongs as suit not my exalted rank. For whosoe’er hath not been used to taste Of sorrow, bears indeed the galling yoke, Yet is he grieved, when he to such constraint Submits his neck: but they who die may find A bliss beyond the living; for to live Ignobly were the utmost pitch of shame.

CHOR. A great distinction, and among mankind The most conspicuous, is to spring from sires Renowned for virtue; generous souls hence raise To heights sublimer an ennobled name.

HEC. Thou, O my daughter, well indeed hast spoken; Yet these exalted sentiments of thine To me will cause fresh grief; but, if the son Of Peleus must be gratified, and Greece Avoid reproach, Ulysses, slay not her, But me, conducting to Achilles’ tomb, Transpierce with unrelenting hand. I bore Paris, whose shafts the son of Thetis slew.

ULY. Not thee for victim, O thou aged dame, But her, Achilles’ spectre hath demanded.

HEC. Yet slay me with my daughter; so shall earth, And the deceased who claims these hateful rites, A twofold portion drink of human gore.

ULY. Enough in her of victims; let no more Be added: would to Heaven we were not bound To offer up this one!

HEC. The dread behests Of absolute necessity require, That with my daughter I should die.

ULY. What mean’st thou? I know no lord to counteract my will.

HEC. Her, as the ivy clings around the oak, Will I embrace.

ULY. Not if to wiser counsels Thou yield just deference.

HEC. I will ne’er consent My daughter to release.

ULY. Nor will I go, And leave her here.

POLYX. Attend to me, my mother, And, O thou offspring of Laertes, treat The just emotions of parental wrath With greater mildness. But, O hapless woman, Contend not with our conquerors. Would you fall Upon the earth and wound your aged limbs, Thrust from me forcibly, by youthful arms Torn with disgrace away? Provoke not wrongs Unseemly; O, my dearest mother, give That much-loved hand, and let me join my cheek To yours; for I no longer shall behold The radiant orb of yonder sun. Now take A last farewell, O you who gave me birth; I to the shades descend.

HEC. But I the light Am doomed to view, and still remain a slave.

POLYX. Unwedded, reft of promised bridal joys.

HEC. Thou, O my daughter, claim’st the pitying tear: But I am a most miserable woman.

POLYX. There shall I sleep among the realms beneath, From you secluded.

HEC. What resource, alas! For me, the wretched Hecuba is left? Where shall I finish this detested life?

POLYX. Born free, I die a slave.

HEC. I too, bereft Of all my children.

POLYX. What commands to Hector, Or to your aged husband, shall I bear?

HEC. Tell them I of all women am most wretched.

POLYX. Ye paps which sweetly nourished me——

HEC. Alas! My child’s untimely miserable fate.

POLYX. Farewell, my mother, and my dear Cassandra.

HEC. To others in that language speak; be theirs The happiness thy mother cannot taste.

POLYX. And thou, my brother Polydore, who dwell’st Among the Thracians, famed for generous steeds——

HEC. If yet he live; but this I greatly doubt, Because I am in all respects so wretched.

POLYX. He lives, and when the hour of death is come, Will close your eyes.

HEC. I’m prematurely dead While yet alive, bowed down to earth by woe.

POLYX. Now bear me hence, Ulysses, o’er my face Casting a veil: for ere I at the altar Am slain, this heart is melted by the plaints Of my dear mother, and my tears augment Her sorrows. O thou radiant light; for still Am I permitted to invoke thy name, But can enjoy thee only till I meet The lifted sword, and reach Achilles’ tomb.

[_Exeunt_ ULYSSES _and_ POLYXENA.

HEC. I faint, my limbs are all unnerved; return, My daughter, let me touch that hand once more, Leave me not childless. O, my friends, I perish; Ah, would to Heaven I could see Spartan Helen, In the same state, that sister to the sons Of Jove, for by her beauteous eyes was Troy, That prosperous city, with disgrace o’erthrown.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Ye breezes, who the ships convey, That long becalmed at anchor lay, Nor dared to quit the strand; As the swift keel divides the wave, Say whither am I borne a slave, Ordained to tread the Doric land, Or Phthia, where beset with reeds, Apidanus, the sire of limpid rills, Winding a-down the channelled hills, Waters the fruitful meads?

I. 2.

Or to that isle, with dashing oar Impelled, shall I my woes deplore, And on the sacred earth, Where first the palm and laurel rose, Memorials of Latona’s throes, Which to the twins divine gave birth, Teach the harmonious strain to flow; With Delos’ nymphs Diana’s praise resound, Her hair with golden fillet bound, And never-erring bow?

II. 1.

Or, pent in some Athenian tower, Devoted to Minerva’s power, On the robe’s tissued ground While, shadowed by my needle, spread Expressive forms, in vivid thread, Picture the goddess whirling round Her chariot with unrivalled speed; Or represent the Titan’s impious crew, Whom Jove’s red lightnings overthrew, Those monsters doomed to bleed?

II. 2.

Alas! my sons, a valiant band, My fathers, and my native land, Ye shared the general fate. Sacked by the Greeks, Troy’s bulwarks smoke, But I, constrained to bear the yoke, Shall soon behold some foreign state, To ignominious bondage led; And leaving vanquished Asia Europe’s slave, Debarred an honourable grave, Ascend the victor’s bed.

TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, CHORUS.

TAL. Where, O ye Phrygian damsels, shall I find The wretched Hecuba, who erst was queen Of Ilion?

CHOR. Prostrate near you on the ground, Wrapt in her mantle, there she lies.

TAL. Great Jove! What shall I say? that thou from Heaven look’st down Upon mankind, or have they rashly formed A vain opinion, deeming that the race Of gods exist, though fortune governs all? Ha! was not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia, And was not she the happy Priam’s wife? But her whole city by the hostile spear Is now destroyed, while she a slave, bowed down By age, and childless, stretched upon the ground, Defiles with dust her miserable head. Old as I am, yet gladly would I die Rather than sink into abhorred disgrace. Arise, unhappy woman, O lift up That feeble body, and that hoary head.

HEC. Away! O suffer this decrepit frame To rest. Why move me! Whosoe’er thou art, What mean’st thou? why dost thou molest th’ afflicted?

TAL. Talthybius: me, the herald of the Greeks, O woman, Agamemnon hath despatched To fetch you.

HEC. Com’st thou, by the Greeks ordained, My friend, to slay me also at the tomb? How welcome were such tidings; let us go, With speed conduct me thither.

TAL. To inter Your daughter, I invite you; both the sons Of Atreus, and the assembled Grecian host, Have sent me for that purpose.

HEC. Ah! what say’st thou? Thou com’st not to inform me I must die, But to unfold the most disastrous tidings. Then art thou lost, my daughter, from the arms Of thy fond mother torn; of thee, my child Am I bereft. But how did ye destroy her, Respectfully, or with the ruthless hand Of hostile rage? Speak, though it wound my soul.

TAL. A second time, in pity to your daughter, You make me weep; for now while I relate Her sufferings, tears bedew these swimming eyes, Such as I shed when at the tomb she perished. To view the sacrifice the Grecian host Were all assembled: taking by the hand Polyxena, on the sepulchral hillock Achilles’ son then placed her: I drew near, Attended by the chosen youths of Greece, To hold the tender victim, and prevent Her struggles. But Achilles’ son, uplifting With both his hands a cup of massive gold, Poured forth libations to his breathless sire; And gave a sign to me, through the whole camp Strict silence to proclaim. I in the midst Stood up and cried: “Be mute, ye Greeks, let none Presume to speak, observe a general silence.” The troops obeyed, and through their crowded ranks Not e’en a breath was heard, while in these words The chief expressed his purpose: “Son of Peleus, My father, the propitiatory drops Of these libations which invite the dead Accept; O come and quaff the crimson blood Of this pure virgin, whom to thee all Greece And I devote; be thou benign, O grant us Securely to weigh anchor, to unbind Our halsers, and on all of us bestow A happy voyage to our native land From vanquished Troy.” He ceased, and in his prayer Joined the whole army, when the chief unsheathed His golden-hilted sword, and gave a sign To chosen youths of Greece to hold the virgin, Which she perceived, and in these words addressed The warriors: “O ye Argives, who laid waste My city, willingly I die, let no man Confine these arms, I with undaunted breast Will meet the stroke. I by the gods conjure you Release, and slay me as my rank demands Like one born free; for I from mighty kings Descend, and in the shades beneath should blush To be accounted an ignoble slave.” Through all the host ran murmurs of assent, And royal Agamemnon bade the youths Release the virgin; they their monarch’s voice, Soon as they heard, obeyed; our lord’s behests The princess too revering, from her shoulder Down to her waist rent off the purple robe, Displayed her bosom like some statue formed In exquisite proportion, and to earth Bending her knee, in these affecting words Expressed herself: “If at my breast thou aim The wound, strike here; if at my neck, that neck Is ready bared.” Half willing, and half loth, Through pity for the maid, he with keen steel Severed the arteries; streams of blood gushed forth: Yet even thus, though at her latest gasp, She showed a strong solicitude to fall With decency, while stood the gazing host Around her: soon as through the ghastly wound Her soul had issued, every Greek was busied In various labours; o’er the corse some strewed The verdant foliage, others reared a pyre With trunks of fir: but he who nothing brought, From him who with funereal ornament Was laden, heard these taunts: “O slothful wretch, Bear’st thou no robe, no garland, hast thou nought To give in honour of this generous maid?” Such their encomiums on thy breathless daughter. You, of all women, who in such a child Were happiest, now most wretched I behold.

CHOR. Fate, the behests of the immortal gods Accomplishing, with tenfold weight hath caused This dreadful curse to fall on Priam’s house, And on our city.

HEC. ’Midst unnumbered ills I know not, O my daughter, whither first To turn my eyes, for if on one I touch, Another hinders me, and I again, By a long train of woes succeeding woes, To some fresh object am from thence called off; Nor can I from my tortured soul efface The grief thy fate occasions; yet the tale Of thy exalted courage checks my groans, Which else had been immoderate. No just cause Have we for wonder, if the barren land Cheered by Heaven’s influence, with benignant suns Yields plenteous harvests, while a richer soil Deprived of every necessary aid Bears weeds alone. But ’midst the human race The wicked man is uniformly wicked, The good still virtuous, nor doth evil fortune Corrupt his soul; the same unsullied worth He still retains. Is this great difference owing To birth, or education? We are taught What virtue is, by being nurtured well, And he who thoroughly hath learnt this lesson, Guided by the unerring rule of right, Can thence discern what’s base.—My soul in vain Hath hazarded these incoherent thoughts. But, O Talthybius, to the Greeks repair, And strict injunctions give, that no man touch My daughter’s corse, but let the gazing crowd Be driven away. For in a numerous host Its multitudes break loose from all restraints, The outrages of mariners exceed Devouring flame, and whosoe’er abstains From mischief, by his comrades is despised. But, O my aged servant, take and dip That urn in ocean’s waves, and hither bring, Filled with its water, that the last sad rites To my departed daughter I may pay, And lave the corse of that unwedded bride, Of that affianced virgin: but alas! Whence with such costly gifts as she deserves, Her tomb can I adorn? My present state Affords them not, but what it doth afford Will I bestow, and from the captive dames Appointed to attend me, who reside Within these tents, some ornaments collect. If, unobserved by their new masters, aught They have secreted. O ye splendid domes, Ye palaces once happy, which contained All that was rich and fair; O Priam thou The sire, and I who was the aged mother Of an illustrious race, how are we dwindled To nothing, stripped of all our ancient pride! Yet do we glory, some in mansions stored With gold abundant, others when distinguished Among the citizens by sounding titles. Vain are the schemes which with incessant care We frame, and all our boastful words are vain. The happiest man is he who, by no ill O’ertaken, passes through life’s fleeting day.

[_Exit_ HECUBA.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I.

By Heaven was my devoted head Menaced with impending ill, What time the pines, whose branches spread Their tutelary shade o’er Ida’s hill, Were laid by Phrygian Paris low, That his adventurous bark might stem the tide, From Sparta’s coast to waft the fairest bride On whom the solar beams their golden radiance throw.

II.

Surrounding labours were at hand Leagued with the behests of fate; Then did such madness seize the land, As called down vengeance from a foreign state. The royal swain with dazzled eyes Gave that decree, the source of all our woes, When from three rival goddesses he chose Bright Venus, and pronounced that she deserved the prize.

III.

The spear and death hence raged around, Hence were my mansions levelled with the ground; Staining with tears Eurotas’ tide, Too deeply grieved to share the victor’s pride, The Spartan virgin too in vain Bewails her favoured youth untimely slain, While, sprinkling ashes o’er their vest And hoary head, the matrons bend O’er their sons’ urns; their groans to Heaven ascend, They tear their cheeks, and beat their miserable breast.

ATTENDANT, CHORUS.

ATT. Where is the wretched Hecuba, my friends, Who in her woes surpasses all, or male, Or of the female race? her none can rob Of her just claim, pre-eminence in grief.

CHOR. With the harsh sounds of that ill-boding tongue, O wretch, what mean’st thou? wilt thou never cease To be th’ unwelcome herald of affliction?

ATT. Most grievous are the tidings which I bring To Hecuba, nor easy were the task In words auspicious to make known to mortals Such dire calamities.

CHOR. From her apartment She seasonably comes forth to give thee audience.

HECUBA, ATTENDANT, CHORUS.

ATT. O most unfortunate, whose woes exceed All that the power of language can express, My queen, you perish, doomed no more to view The blessed light; of children, husband, city, Bereft and ruined.

HEC. Nothing hast thou told But what I knew, thou only com’st t’ insult me: Yet wherefore dost thou bring to me this corse Of my Polyxena, o’er whom ’twas said The Grecian host with pious zeal all vied To heap a tomb?