_Hecuba._ Women of Troy, For others shed your tears; not Priam's death I weep; say rather all, thrice happy he! 130 Free he descended to the land of shades, Nor will he ever bear on conquered neck The Grecian yoke; nor the Atrides see; Nor look on shrewd Ulysses; nor, a slave, Carry the trophies on his neck to grace 135 A Grecian triumph; feel his sceptered hands Bound at his back; nor add a further pomp To proud Mycene, forced in golden chains To follow Agamemnon's royal car.
_Chorus._ Thrice happy Priam! as a king he went 140 Into the land of spirits; wanders now Through the safe shadows of Elysian Fields, In happiness among the peaceful shades, And seeks for Hector. Happy Priam say! Thrice happy he, who, dying in the fight, 145 Bears with him to destruction all his land.
_Talthybius._ O long delay, that holds the Greeks in port, Whether they seek for war or for their homes.
_Chorus._ Say what the reason of the long delay, What god forbids the Greeks the homeward road? 150
_Talthybius._ I tremble, and my spirit shrinks with fear; Such prodigies will hardly find belief. I saw them, I myself; Titan had touched The mountain summits, dayspring conquered night, When, on a sudden, with a muttered groan, 155 Earth trembled, in the woods the tree-tops shook; The lofty forests and the sacred grove Thundered with mighty ruin; Ida's cliffs Fell from her summit; nor did earth alone Tremble, the ocean also recognized 160 Achilles' coming, and laid bare her depths; In the torn earth a gloomy cavern yawned; A way was opened up from Erebus To upper day; the tomb gave up its dead; The towering shade of the Thessalian chief 165 Leaped forth as when, preparing for thy fate, O Troy, he put to flight the Thracian host, And struck down Neptune's shining, fair-haired son; Or as when, breathing battle from the field, He filled the rivers with the fallen dead, 170 And Xanthus wandered over bloody shoals Seeking slow channels; or as when he stood In his proud car, a victor, while he dragged Hector and Troy behind him in the dust. His wrathful voice rang out along the shore: 175 'Go, go, ye slothful ones, pay honors due My manes. Let the thankless ships be freed To sail my seas. Not lightly Greece has felt Achilles' wrath; that wrath shall heavier fall. Polyxena, betrothed to me in death, 180 Must die a sacrifice at Pyrrhus' hand, And make my tomb glow crimson.' Thus he spake, Shadowed the day with night, and sought again The realm of Dis. He took the riven path; Earth closed above him, and the tranquil sea 185 Lay undisturbed, the raging wind was still, Softly the ocean murmured, Tritons sang From the blue deep their hymeneal chant.