Hecuba

1Chorus O breeze, breeze of the sea, that wafts swift galleys, ocean’s coursers, across the surging main! Where will you bear me, the sorrowful one? To whose house shall I be brought, to be his slave and chattel? to some haven in the Dorian land, or in Phthia, where men say Apidanus, father of fairest streams, makes fat and rich the soil?

1Chorus Or to an island home, sent on a voyage of misery by oars that sweep the brine, leading a wretched existence in halls where the first-created palm and the bay-tree put forth their sacred shoots for dear Latona, a memorial of her divine birth-pains? and there with the maids of Delos shall I hymn the golden head-band and bow of Artemis, their goddess?

2Chorus Or in the city of Pallas, the home of Athena of the lovely chariot, shall I then upon her saffron robe yoke horses, embroidering them on my web in brilliant varied shades, or the race of Titans, put to sleep by Zeus the son of Cronos with bolt of flashing flame?

2Chorus Alas for my children! alas for my ancestors, and my country which is falling in smouldering ruin among the smoke, sacked by the Argive spear, while I upon a foreign shore am called a slave, indeed! leaving Asia, Europe’s handmaid, and receiving in its place a deadly marriage-bower.

1Chorus No more, my native Ilium, shall you be counted among the towns never sacked; so thick a cloud of Hellene troops is settling all around, wasting you with the spear; you are shorn of your crown of towers, and fouled most piteously with filthy soot; no more, ah me! shall I tread your streets.

1Chorus It was in the middle of the night my ruin came, in the hour when sleep steals sweetly over the eyes after the feast is done. After the music and dancing, my husband had brought the sacrifice to an end and was lying in our bridal-chamber, his spear hung on a peg; with never a thought of the sailor-throng encamped upon the Trojan shores.

2Chorus And I was braiding my tresses beneath a tight-drawn head-band before my golden mirror’s countless rays, so that I might lie down to rest; when through the city rose a din, and a cry went ringing down the streets of Troy: You sons of Hellas, when, oh! when will you sack the citadel of Ilium, and seek your homes?

2Chorus I left my bed, wearing only a tunic, like a Dorian girl, and sought in vain, ah me! to station myself at the holy hearth of Artemis; for, after seeing my husband slain, I was led away over the broad sea; with many a backward look at my city, when the ship began her homeward voyage and parted me from Ilium’s strand; till alas! for very grief I fainted,