who are leaving you behind!

Second Semi-ChorusWith 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.HecubaMy child, your wakeful heart!Second Semi-ChorusI have come, stricken with terror. Has a herald from the Danaids already arrived? To whom am I, poor captive, given as a slave?HecubaYou are not far from being allotted now.Second Semi-ChorusAlas! What man of Argos or Phthia will bear me in sorrow far from Troy, to his home, or to some island fastness?HecubaAh! 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 or tend their children, I who once held royal rank in Troy.

ChorusAlas, 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!); 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. 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!

ChorusThat 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. 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 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.

Chorus LeaderBut see! a herald from the army of Danaids, with a store of fresh proclamations, comes hastening here. What is his errand? What does he say? For we are indeed slaves now to Dorian lords.TalthybiusHecuba, you know me from my many journeys to and fro as herald between the Achaean army and Troy; I was no stranger to you, lady, even before: I, Talthybius, now sent with a fresh message.

In the following lines, Talthybius makes spoken responses to Hecuba’s sung questions.HecubaAh, kind friends, it has come! what I so long have dreaded.TalthybiusThe lot has decided your fates already, if that was what you feared.HecubaAh me! What city did you say, Thessalian, Phthian, or Cadmean?TalthybiusEach warrior took his prize in turn; you were not all at once assigned.HecubaTo whom has the lot assigned us severally? Which of us Trojan women does a happy fortune await?TalthybiusI know, but ask your questions separately, not all at once.HecubaThen tell me, whose prize is my daughter, hapless Cassandra?TalthybiusKing Agamemnon has chosen her out for himself.HecubaTo be the slave-girl of his Spartan wife? Ah me!