HECUBA
From my own dear country, to dwell beneath a master's roof. Woe is
me! O Priam, Priam, unburied, left without a friend,
naught dost
thou know of my cruel fate.
CHORUS
No, for o'er his eyes black death hath drawn his pall-a holy man
by sinners slain!
HECUBA
Woe for the temples of the gods! Woe for our dear city!
CHORUS
Woe!
HECUBA
Murderous flame and foeman's spear are now your lot.
CHORUS
Soon will ye tumble to your own loved soil, and be forgotten.
HECUBA
And the dust, mounting to heaven on wings like smoke, will rob
me of the sight of my home.
CHORUS
The name of my country will pass into
obscurity; all is
scattered far and wide, and
hapless Troy has ceased to be.
HECUBA
Did ye hear that and know its purport?
CHORUS
Aye, 'twas the crash of the citadel.
HECUBA
The shock will whelm our city utterly. O woe is me! trembling,
quaking limbs, support my footsteps! away! to face the day that begins
thy slavery.
CHORUS
Woe for our
unhappy town! And yet to the Achaean fleet advance.
HECUBA
Woe for thee, O land that nursed my little babes!
CHORUS
Ah! woe!
Exeunt OMNES.
-THE END-
.