To cry, ah, not the cry men heard
In Ilion, not the songs of old,
That echoed when my hand was true
On Priam's sceptre, and my feet
Touched on the stone one signal beat,
And out the Dardan music rolled;
And Troy's great Gods gave ear thereto.
[The door of one of the huts on the right opens, and the Women steal out severally, startled and afraid.
First Woman.
[Strophe 1.
How say'st thou? Whither moves thy cry,
Thy bitter cry? Behind our door
We heard thy heavy heart outpour
Its sorrow: and there shivered by
Fear and a quick sob shaken
From prisoned hearts that shall be free no more!
Hecuba.
Child, 'tis the ships that stir upon the shore . . .
Second Woman.
The ships, the ships awaken!
Third Woman.
Dear God, what would they? Overseas
Bear me afar to strange cities?
Hecuba.
Nay, child, I know not. Dreams are these,
Fears of the hope-forsaken.
First Woman.
Awake, O daughters of affliction, wake
And learn your lots! Even now the Argives break
Their camp for sailing!
