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Hecuba
Lift your head, unhappy one, from the ground; raise up your neck; this is
Troy
no more,
no longer am I queen in
Ilium
. Though fortune change, endure your lot; sail with the stream, and follow fortune’s tack, do not steer your ship of life against the tide, since chance must guide your course.
100
Ah me! ah me! What else but tears is now my hapless lot, whose country, children, husband, all are lost? Ah! the high-blown pride of ancestors, humbled! how brought to nothing after all!
105
What woe must I suppress, or what declare?
What plaintive dirge shall I awake? Ah, woe is me! the anguish I suffer lying here stretched upon this hard pallet!
110
O my head, my temples, my side! How I long to turn over, and lie now on this, now on that, to rest my back and spine, while ceaselessly my tearful wail ascends.
115
For even this is music to the wretched, to chant their cheerless dirge of sorrow.
120
Lift your head, unhappy one, from the ground; raise up your neck; this is
Troy
no more,
no longer am I queen in
Ilium
. Though fortune change, endure your lot; sail with the stream, and follow fortune’s tack, do not steer your ship of life against the tide, since chance must guide your course.
100
Ah me! ah me! What else but tears is now my hapless lot, whose country, children, husband, all are lost? Ah! the high-blown pride of ancestors, humbled! how brought to nothing after all!
105
What woe must I suppress, or what declare?
What plaintive dirge shall I awake? Ah, woe is me! the anguish I suffer lying here stretched upon this hard pallet!
110
O my head, my temples, my side! How I long to turn over, and lie now on this, now on that, to rest my back and spine, while ceaselessly my tearful wail ascends.
115
For even this is music to the wretched, to chant their cheerless dirge of sorrow.
120
Hecuba
You swift-prowed ships, rowed to sacred
Ilium
over the deep dark sea,
past the fair havens of
Hellas
, to the flute’s ill-omened music and the dulcet voice of pipes,
125
to the bays of
Troy
, alas! where you tied your hawsers, twisted handiwork from
Egypt
, in quest of that hateful wife of Menelaus, who brought disgrace on Castor, and on Eurotas foul reproach; who murdered
130
Priam, the father of fifty children; the cause why I, the unhappy Hecuba, have wrecked my life upon this disastrous strand. Oh that I should sit here, over against the tent of Agamemnon!
135
As a slave I am led away from my home, an old woman, while from my head the hair is piteously shorn for grief. Ah! unhappy wives of those armored sons of
Troy
! Ah! poor maidens, luckless brides,
140
come weep, for
Ilium
is now a smouldering ruin; and I, like some mother-bird that over her fledgelings screams, will begin the strain; not the same as that
145
I once sang to the gods, as I leaned on Priam’s staff and beat with my foot in Phrygian time to lead the dance!
150
You swift-prowed ships, rowed to sacred
Ilium
over the deep dark sea,
past the fair havens of
Hellas
, to the flute’s ill-omened music and the dulcet voice of pipes,
125
to the bays of
Troy
, alas! where you tied your hawsers, twisted handiwork from
Egypt
, in quest of that hateful wife of Menelaus, who brought disgrace on Castor, and on Eurotas foul reproach; who murdered
130
Priam, the father of fifty children; the cause why I, the unhappy Hecuba, have wrecked my life upon this disastrous strand. Oh that I should sit here, over against the tent of Agamemnon!
135
As a slave I am led away from my home, an old woman, while from my head the hair is piteously shorn for grief. Ah! unhappy wives of those armored sons of
Troy
! Ah! poor maidens, luckless brides,
140
come weep, for
Ilium
is now a smouldering ruin; and I, like some mother-bird that over her fledgelings screams, will begin the strain; not the same as that
145
I once sang to the gods, as I leaned on Priam’s staff and beat with my foot in Phrygian time to lead the dance!
150
First Semi-Chorus
O Hecuba! why these cries, these piercing shrieks? What do your words mean? For I heard your piteous wail
echo through the building, and a pang of terror shoots through each captive Trojan’s breast, as within these walls they mourn their slavish lot.
155
O Hecuba! why these cries, these piercing shrieks? What do your words mean? For I heard your piteous wail
echo through the building, and a pang of terror shoots through each captive Trojan’s breast, as within these walls they mourn their slavish lot.
155
Hecuba
My child, even now at the ships of the Argives—
My child, even now at the ships of the Argives—
First Semi-Chorus
1
The rower’s hand is busy?
160
Ah, woe is me! what is their intent? Will they really carry me away from my country in their fleet?
1
The rower’s hand is busy?
160
Ah, woe is me! what is their intent? Will they really carry me away from my country in their fleet?
Hecuba
I do not know, though I guess our doom.
I do not know, though I guess our doom.
First Semi-Chorus
O misery!
woe to us Trojan women, soon to hear of our troubles:
Come out of the house, the Argives are preparing to return.
165
O misery!
woe to us Trojan women, soon to hear of our troubles:
Come out of the house, the Argives are preparing to return.
165
Hecuba
Oh! please do not bid the
wild Cassandra leave her chamber, the frantic prophetess, for Argives to insult, nor to my griefs add yet another. Woe to you, ill-fated
Troy
,
Troy
, your sun is set; and woe to your unhappy children, living and dead alike,
170
who are leaving you behind!
175
Oh! please do not bid the
wild Cassandra leave her chamber, the frantic prophetess, for Argives to insult, nor to my griefs add yet another. Woe to you, ill-fated
Troy
,
Troy
, your sun is set; and woe to your unhappy children, living and dead alike,
170
who are leaving you behind!
175
Second Semi-Chorus
With trembling step, alas! I leave this tent of Agamemnon to learn of you, my royal mistress, whether the Argives have resolved to take my wretched life, or
whether the sailors at the prow are making ready to ply their oars.
180
With trembling step, alas! I leave this tent of Agamemnon to learn of you, my royal mistress, whether the Argives have resolved to take my wretched life, or
whether the sailors at the prow are making ready to ply their oars.
180
Hecuba
My child, your wakeful heart!
My child, your wakeful heart!
Second Semi-Chorus
I have come, stricken with terror. Has a herald from the Danaids already arrived?
To whom am I, poor captive, given as a slave?
185
I have come, stricken with terror. Has a herald from the Danaids already arrived?
To whom am I, poor captive, given as a slave?
185
Hecuba
You are not far from being allotted now.
You are not far from being allotted now.
Second Semi-Chorus
Hecuba
Ah! ah! Whose slave shall I become in my old age? in what land? a poor old drone, the wretched copy of a corpse, alas! set to keep the gate
190
or tend their children, I who once held royal rank in
Troy
.
195
Ah! ah! Whose slave shall I become in my old age? in what land? a poor old drone, the wretched copy of a corpse, alas! set to keep the gate
190
or tend their children, I who once held royal rank in
Troy
.
195
Chorus
Alas, alas! What piteous dirge will you devise to mourn the outrage done you? No more through Ida’s looms
shall I ply the shuttle to and fro. I look my last on my children’s bodies, my last; I shall endure surpassing misery, it may be as the unwilling bride of some Hellene (perish the night and fortune that brings me to this!);
200
it may be as a wretched slave from Peirene’s sacred fount I shall draw their store of water. Oh! may it be ours to come to Theseus’ famous realm, a land of joy.
205
Never, never let me see Eurotas’ swirling tide, hateful home of Helen, there to meet and be the slave of Menelaus, whose hand laid
Troy
waste!
210
Alas, alas! What piteous dirge will you devise to mourn the outrage done you? No more through Ida’s looms
shall I ply the shuttle to and fro. I look my last on my children’s bodies, my last; I shall endure surpassing misery, it may be as the unwilling bride of some Hellene (perish the night and fortune that brings me to this!);
200
it may be as a wretched slave from Peirene’s sacred fount I shall draw their store of water. Oh! may it be ours to come to Theseus’ famous realm, a land of joy.
205
Never, never let me see Eurotas’ swirling tide, hateful home of Helen, there to meet and be the slave of Menelaus, whose hand laid
Troy
waste!
210
Chorus
That holy land by Peneus fed,
nestling in all its beauty at
Olympus
’ foot, is said, so have I heard, to be a very granary of wealth and teeming fruitfulness; next to the sacred soil of Theseus, I could wish to reach that land.
215
They tell me too Hephaestus’ home, beneath the shadow of
Aetna
, fronting
Phoenicia
, the mother of Sicilian hills, is famous for the crowns it gives to valor. Or may I find a home on that shore which lies very near
220
Ionia
’s sea, a land watered by Crathis, lovely stream, that dyes the hair an auburn tint, feeding with its holy waves and making glad the home of heroes.
225
That holy land by Peneus fed,
nestling in all its beauty at
Olympus
’ foot, is said, so have I heard, to be a very granary of wealth and teeming fruitfulness; next to the sacred soil of Theseus, I could wish to reach that land.
215
They tell me too Hephaestus’ home, beneath the shadow of
Aetna
, fronting
Phoenicia
, the mother of Sicilian hills, is famous for the crowns it gives to valor. Or may I find a home on that shore which lies very near
220
Ionia
’s sea, a land watered by Crathis, lovely stream, that dyes the hair an auburn tint, feeding with its holy waves and making glad the home of heroes.
225
The Trojan Women. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.
Funding provided by The Annenberg CPB/Project.