Part 12 (2/2)

TALTHYBIUS (_coming out through the ruined Wall_).

Ye Captains that have charge to wreck this keep Of Priam's City, let your torches sleep No more! Up, fling the fire into her heart!

Then have we done with Ilion, and may part In joy to h.e.l.las from this evil land.

And ye--so hath one word two faces--stand, Daughters of Troy, till on your ruined wall The echo of my master's trumpet call In signal breaks: then, forward to the sea, Where the long s.h.i.+ps lie waiting.

And for thee, O ancient woman most unfortunate, Follow: Odysseus' men be here, and wait To guide thee.... 'Tis to him thou go'st for thrall.

HECUBA.

Ah, me! and is it come, the end of all, The very crest and summit of my days?

I go forth from my land, and all its ways Are filled with fire! Bear me, O aged feet, A little nearer: I must gaze, and greet My poor town ere she fall.

Farewell, farewell!

O thou whose breath was mighty on the swell Of orient winds, my Troy! Even thy name Shall soon be taken from thee. Lo, the flame Hath thee, and we, thy children, pa.s.s away To slavery.... G.o.d! O G.o.d of mercy!... Nay: Why call I on the G.o.ds? They know, they know, My prayers, and would not hear them long ago.

Quick, to the flames! O, in thine agony, My Troy, mine own, take me to die with thee!

[_She springs toward the flames, but is seized and held by the Soldiers._

TALTHYBIUS.

Back! Thou art drunken with thy miseries, Poor woman!--Hold her fast, men, till it please Odysseus that she come. She was his lot Chosen from all and portioned. Lose her not!

[_He goes to watch over the burning of the City. The dusk deepens_.

CHORUS.

_Divers Women_.

Woe, woe, woe!

Thou of the Ages[47], O wherefore fleest thou, Lord of the Phrygian, Father that made us?

'Tis we, thy children; shall no man aid us?

'Tis we, thy children! Seest thou, seest thou?

_Others_.

He seeth, only his heart is pitiless; And the land dies: yea, she, She of the Mighty Cities perisheth citiless!

Troy shall no more be!

_Others_.

Woe, woe, woe!

Ilion s.h.i.+neth afar!

Fire in the deeps thereof, Fire in the heights above, And crested walls of War!

_Others_.

As smoke on the wing of heaven Climbeth and scattereth, Torn of the spear and driven, The land crieth for death: O stormy battlements that red fire hath riven, And the sword's angry breath!

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