A thousand days of glory, thy last crown
Is here. . . . Dear Hector's shield! Thou shalt lie down
Undying with the dead, and lordlier there
Than all the gold Odysseus' breast can bear,
The evil and the strong!
Chorus.
Some Women.
Child of the Shield-bearer,
Alas, Hector's child!
Great Earth, the All-mother,
Taketh thee unto her
With wailing wild!
Others.
Mother of misery,
Give Death his song!
(Hec. Woe!)Aye and bitterly
(Hec. Woe!)We too weep for thee,
And the infinite wrong!
[During these lines Hecuba, kneeling by the body, has been performing a funeral rite, symbolically staunching the dead Child's wounds.
Hecuba.
I make thee whole;
I bind thy wounds, O little vanished soul.
This wound and this I heal with linen white:
O emptiness of aid! . . . Yet let the rite
Be spoken. This and . . . Nay, not I, but he,
Thy father far away shall comfort thee!
[She bows her head to the ground and remains motionless and unseeing.
