Of Pallas, and vultures croak
And flap for joy:
So Love hath laid his yoke
On the neck of Troy!
Hecuba.
[Antistrophe 3.
O mine own land, my home,
And.(I weep for thee, left forlorn,)
Hec.See'st thou what end is come?
And.(And the house where my babes were born.)
Hec.A desolate Mother we leave, O children, a
City of scorn:
Even as the sound of a song
Left by the way, but long
Remembered, a tune of tears
Falling where no man hears,
In the old house, as rain,
For things loved of yore:
But the dead hath lost his pain
And weeps no more.
Leader.
How sweet are tears to them in bitter stress,
And sorrow, and all the songs of heaviness.
Andromache.
Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear
Smote Greeks like chaff, see'st thou what things are here?
Hecuba.
I see God's hand, that buildeth a great crown
For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down.
