The Trojan women of Euripides Part 2

HECUBA.

Up from the earth, O weary head!

This is not Troy, about, above-- Not Troy, nor we the lords thereof.

Thou breaking neck, be strengthened!

Endure and chafe not. The winds rave And falter. Down the world's wide road, Float, float where streams the breath of G.o.d; Nor turn thy prow to breast the wave.

Ah woe!... For what woe lacketh here?

My children lost, my land, my lord.

O thou great wealth of glory, stored Of old in Ilion, year by year

We watched ... and wert thou nothingness?

What is there that I fear to say?

And yet, what help?... Ah, well-a-day, This ache of lying, comfortless

And haunted! Ah, my side, my brow And temples! All with changeful pain My body rocketh, and would fain Move to the tune of tears that flow: For tears are music too, and keep A song unheard in hearts that weep.

[_She rises and gazes towards the Greek s.h.i.+ps far off on the sh.o.r.e._

O s.h.i.+ps, O crowding faces Of s.h.i.+ps[9], O hurrying beat Of oars as of crawling feet, How found ye our holy places?

Threading the narrows through, Out from the gulfs of the Greek, Out to the clear dark blue, With hate ye came and with joy, And the noise of your music flew, Clarion and pipe did shriek, As the coiled cords ye threw, Held in the heart of Troy!

What sought ye then that ye came?

A woman, a thing abhorred: A King's wife that her lord Hateth: and Castor's[10] shame Is hot for her sake, and the reeds Of old Eurotas stir With the noise of the name of her.

She slew mine ancient King, The Sower of fifty Seeds[11], And cast forth mine and me, As s.h.i.+pwrecked men, that cling To a reef in an empty sea.

Who am I that I sit Here at a Greek king's door, Yea, in the dust of it?

A slave that men drive before, A woman that hath no home, Weeping alone for her dead; A low and bruised head, And the glory struck therefrom.

[_She starts up from her solitary brooding, and calls to the other Trojan Women in the huts._

O Mothers of the Brazen Spear, And maidens, maidens, brides of shame, Troy is a smoke, a dying flame; Together we will weep for her: I call ye as a wide-wing'd bird Calleth the children of her fold,

To cry, ah, not the cry men heard In Ilion, not the songs of old, That echoed when my hand was true On Priam's sceptre, and my feet Touched on the stone one signal beat, And out the Dardan music rolled; And Troy's great G.o.ds gave ear thereto.

[_The door of one of the huts on the right opens, and the Women steal out severally, startled and afraid_.

FIRST WOMAN.

[_Strophe_ I.

How say'st thou? Whither moves thy cry, Thy bitter cry? Behind our door We heard thy heavy heart outpour Its sorrow: and there s.h.i.+vered by Fear and a quick sob shaken From prisoned hearts that shall be free no more!

HECUBA.

Child, 'tis the s.h.i.+ps that stir upon the sh.o.r.e....

SECOND WOMAN.

The s.h.i.+ps, the s.h.i.+ps awaken!

THIRD WOMAN.

Dear G.o.d, what would they? Overseas Bear me afar to strange cities?

HECUBA.

Nay, child, I know not. Dreams are these, Fears of the hope-forsaken.

FIRST WOMAN.

Awake, O daughters of affliction, wake And learn your lots! Even now the Argives break Their camp for sailing!

HECUBA.

Ah, not Ca.s.sandra! Wake not her Whom G.o.d hath maddened, lest the foe Mock at her dreaming. Leave me clear From that one edge of woe.

O Troy, my Troy, thou diest here Most lonely; and most lonely we The living wander forth from thee, And the dead leave thee wailing!

[_One of the huts on the left is now open, and the rest of the_ CHORUS _come out severally. Their number eventually amounts to fifteen_.

FOURTH WOMAN.

[_Antistrophe_ I.

Out of the tent of the Greek king I steal, my Queen, with trembling breath: What means thy call? Not death; not death!

They would not slay so low a thing!

FIFTH WOMAN.

O, 'tis the s.h.i.+p-folk crying To deck the galleys: and we part, we part!

HECUBA.

Nay, daughter: take the morning to thine heart.

FIFTH WOMAN.

My heart with dread is dying!

SIXTH WOMAN.

An herald from the Greek hath come!

FIFTH WOMAN.

How have they cast me, and to whom A bondmaid?

HECUBA.

Peace, child: wait thy doom.

Our lots are near the trying.