able to give a victim to his tomb, and to others it appeared
not. But Agamemnon was studious to advance your good, cherishing the love
of the infuriated prophetess. But the two sons of Theseus, scions of
Athens, were the proposers of different arguments, but in this one opinion
they coincided, to crown the tomb of Achilles with fresh blood; and
declared they would never prefer the bed of Cassandra before the spear of
Achilles. And the strength of the arguments urged on either side was in a
manner equal, till that subtle adviser, that babbling knave,[5] honeyed in
speech, pleasing to the populace, that son of Laertes, persuades the army,
not to reject the suit of the noblest of all the Greeks on account of a
captive victim, and not to put it in the power of any of the dead standing
near Proserpine to say that the Grecians departed from the plains of Troy
ungrateful to the heroes who died for the state of Greece. And Ulysses will
come only not now, to tear your child from your bosom, and to take her from
your aged arms. But go to the temples, speed to the altars, sit a suppliant
at the knees of Agamemnon, invoke the Gods, both those of heaven, and those
under the earth; for either thy prayers will prevent thy being deprived of
thy wretched daughter, or thou must behold the virgin falling before the
tomb, dyed in blood gushing forth in a dark stream from her neck adorned
with gold.[6]

HEC. Alas! wretched me! what shall I exclaim? what shriek shall I utter?
what lamentation? miserable through miserable age, and slavery not to be
endured, insupportable. Alas! who is there to defend me? what offspring,
what city! The old man is gone. My children are gone. Whither shall I turn
me? and whither shall I go? Where is any god or deity to succor me? O
Trojan dames, bearers of evil tidings, bearers of woe, you have destroyed
me utterly, you have destroyed me. Life in the light is no more desirable!
O wretched foot, lead, lead an aged woman to this tent! O child, daughter
of the most afflicted mother, come forth, come forth from the tent, hear
thy mother's voice, that thou mayest know what a report I hear that
concerns thy life.

HECUBA, POLYXENA, CHORUS.

POLYX. O mother, why dost thou call! proclaiming what new affliction hast
thou frighted me from the tent, as some bird from its nest, with this
alarm?

HEC. Alas! my child!

POLYX. Why address me in words of ill omen? This is an evil prelude.

HEC. Alas! for thy life.

POLY