Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Story of Polyxena and Hecuba
13:614 The victor with full sails for Lemnos stood
13:615 (Once stain'd by matrons with their husbands' blood),
13:616 Thence great Alcides' fatal shafts to bear,
13:617 Assign'd to Philoctetes' secret care.
13:618 These with their guardian to the Greeks convey'd,
13:619 Their ten years' toil with wish'd success repaid.
13:620 With Troy old Priam falls: his queen survives;
13:621 'Till all her woes compleat, transform'd she grieves
13:622 In borrow'd sounds, nor with an human face,
13:623 Barking tremendous o'er the plains of Thrace.
13:624 Still Ilium's flames their pointed columns raise,
13:625 And the red Hellespont reflects the blaze.
13:626 Shed on Jove's altar are the poor remains
13:627 Of blood, which trickl'd from old Priam's veins.
13:628 Cassandra lifts her hands to Heav'n in vain,
13:629 Drag'd by her sacred hair; the trembling train
13:630 Of matrons to their burning temples fly:
13:631 There to their Gods for kind protection cry;
13:632 And to their statues cling 'till forc'd away,
13:633 The victor Greeks bear off th' invidious prey.
13:634 From those high tow'rs Astyanax is thrown,
13:635 Whence he was wont with pleasure to look down.
13:636 When oft his mother with a fond delight
13:637 Pointed to view his father's rage in fight,
13:638 To win renown, and guard his country's right.
13:639 The winds now call to sea; brisk northern gales
13:640 Sing in the shrowds, and court the spreading sails.
13:641 Farewel, dear Troy, the captive matrons cry;
13:642 Yes, we must leave our long-lov'd native sky.
13:643 Then prostrate on the shore they kiss the sand,
13:644 And quit the smoking ruines of the land.
13:645 Last Hecuba on board, sad sight! appears;
13:646 Found weeping o'er her children's sepulchres:
13:647 Drag'd by Ulysses from her slaughter'd sons,
13:648 Whilst yet she graspt their tombs, and kist their mouldring bones.
13:649 Yet Hector's ashes from his urn she bore,
13:650 And in her bosom the sad relique wore:
13:651 Then scatter'd on his tomb her hoary hairs,
13:652 A poor oblation mingled with her tears.
13:653 Oppos'd to Ilium lye the Thracian plains,
13:654 Where Polymestor safe in plenty reigns.
13:655 King Priam to his care commits his son,
13:656 Young Polydore, the chance of war to shun.
13:657 A wise precaution! had not gold, consign'd
13:658 For the child's use, debauch'd the tyrant's mind.
13:659 When sinking Troy to its last period drew,
13:660 With impious hands his royal charge he slew;
13:661 Then in the sea the lifeless coarse is thrown;
13:662 As with the body he the guilt could drown.
13:663 The Greeks now riding on the Thracian shore,
13:664 'Till kinder gales invite, their vessels moor.
13:665 Here the wide-op'ning Earth to sudden view
13:666 Disclos'd Achilles, great as when he drew
13:667 The vital air, but fierce with proud disdain,
13:668 As when he sought Briseis to regain;
13:669 When stern debate, and rash injurious strife
13:670 Unsheath'd his sword, to reach Atrides' life.
13:671 And will ye go? he said. Is then the name
13:672 Of the once great Achilles lost to fame?
13:673 Yet stay, ungrateful Greeks; nor let me sue
13:674 In vain for honours to my Manes due.
13:675 For this just end, Polyxena I doom
13:676 With victim-rites to grace my slighted tomb.
13:677 The phantom spoke; the ready Greeks obey'd,
13:678 And to the tomb led the devoted maid
13:679 Snatch'd from her mother, who with pious care
13:680 Cherish'd this last relief of her despair.
13:681 Superior to her sex, the fearless maid,
13:682 Approach'd the altar, and around survey'd
13:683 The cruel rites, and consecrated knife,
13:684 Which Pyrrhus pointed at her guiltless life,
13:685 Then as with stern amaze intent he stood,
13:686 "Now strike," she said; "now spill my genr'ous blood;
13:687 Deep in my breast, or throat, your dagger sheath,
13:688 Whilst thus I stand prepar'd to meet my death.
13:689 For life on terms of slav'ry I despise:
13:690 Yet sure no God approves this sacrifice.
13:691 O cou'd I but conceal this dire event
13:692 From my sad mother, I should dye content.
13:693 Yet should she not with tears my death deplore,
13:694 Since her own wretched life demands them more.
13:695 But let not the rude touch of man pollute
13:696 A virgin-victim; 'tis a modest suit.
13:697 It best will please, whoe'er demands my blood,
13:698 That I untainted reach the Stygian flood.
13:699 Yet let one short, last, dying prayer be heard;
13:700 To Priam's daughter pay this last regard;
13:701 'Tis Priam's daughter, not a captive, sues;
13:702 Do not the rites of sepulture refuse.
13:703 To my afflicted mother, I implore,
13:704 Free without ransom my dead corpse restore:
13:705 Nor barter me for gain, when I am cold;
13:706 But be her tears the price, if I am sold:
13:707 Time was she could have ransom'd me with gold".
13:708 Thus as she pray'd, one common shower of tears
13:709 Burst forth, and stream'd from ev'ry eye but hers.
13:710 Ev'n the priest wept, and with a rude remorse
13:711 Plung'd in her heart the steel's resistless force.
13:712 Her slacken'd limbs sunk gently to the ground,
13:713 Dauntless her looks, unalter'd by the wound.
13:714 And as she fell, she strove with decent pride
13:715 To hide, what suits a virgin's care to hide.
13:716 The Trojan matrons the pale corpse receive,
13:717 And the whole slaughter'd race of Priam grieve,
13:718 Sad they recount the long disastrous tale;
13:719 Then with fresh tears, thee, royal maid, bewail;
13:720 Thy widow'd mother too, who flourish'd late
13:721 The royal pride of Asia's happier state:
13:722 A captive lot now to Ulysses born;
13:723 Whom yet the victor would reject with scorn,
13:724 Were she not Hector's mother: Hector's fame
13:725 Scarce can a master for his mother claim!
13:726 With strict embrace the lifeless coarse she view'd;
13:727 And her fresh grief that flood of tears renew'd,
13:728 With which she lately mourn'd so many dead;
13:729 Tears for her country, sons, and husband shed.
13:730 With the thick gushing stream she bath'd the wound;
13:731 Kiss'd her pale lips; then weltring on the ground,
13:732 With wonted rage her frantick bosom tore;
13:733 Sweeping her hair amidst the clotted gore;
13:734 Whilst her sad accents thus her loss deplore.
13:735 "Behold a mother's last dear pledge of woe!
13:736 Yes, 'tis the last I have to suffer now.
13:737 Thou, my Polyxena, my ills must crown:
13:738 Already in thy Fate, I feel my own.
13:739 'Tis thus, lest haply of my numerous seed
13:740 One should unslaughter'd fall, even thou must bleed:
13:741 And yet I hop'd thy sex had been thy guard;
13:742 But neither has thy tender sex been spar'd.
13:743 The same Achilles, by whose deadly hate
13:744 Thy brothers fell, urg'd thy untimely fate!
13:745 The same Achilles, whose destructive rage
13:746 Laid waste my realms, has robb'd my childless age.
13:747 When Paris' shafts with Phoebus' certain aid
13:748 At length had pierc'd this dreaded chief, I said,
13:749 Secure of future ills, he can no more:
13:750 But see, he still pursues me as before.
13:751 With rage rekindled his dead ashes burn;
13:752 And his yet murd'ring ghost my wretched house must mourn.
13:753 This tyrant's lust of slaughter I have fed
13:754 With large supplies from my too-fruitful bed.
13:755 Troy's tow'rs lye waste; and the wide ruin ends
13:756 The publick woe; but me fresh woe attends.
13:757 Troy still survives to me; to none but me;
13:758 And from its ills I never must be free.
13:759 I, who so late had power, and wealth, and ease,
13:760 Bless'd with my husband, and a large encrease,
13:761 Must now in poverty an exile mourn;
13:762 Ev'n from the tombs of my dead offspring torn:
13:763 Giv'n to Penelope, who proud of spoil,
13:764 Allots me to the loom's ungrateful toil;
13:765 Points to her dames, and crys with scorning mien:
13:766 See Hector's mother, and great Priam's queen!
13:767 And thou, my child, sole hope of all that's lost,
13:768 Thou now art slain, to sooth this hostile ghost.
13:769 Yes, my child falls an offering to my foe!
13:770 Then what am I, who still survive this woe?
13:771 Say, cruel Gods! for what new scenes of death
13:772 Must a poor aged wretch prolong this hated breath?
13:773 Troy fal'n, to whom could Priam happy seem?
13:774 Yet was he so; and happy must I deem
13:775 His death; for O! my child, he saw not thine,
13:776 When he his life did with his Troy resign.
13:777 Yet sure due obsequies thy tomb might grace;
13:778 And thou shalt sleep amidst thy kingly race.
13:779 Alas! my child, such fortune does not wait
13:780 Our suffering house in this abandon'd state.
13:781 A foreign grave, and thy poor mother's tears
13:782 Are all the honours that attend thy herse.
13:783 All now is lost!-Yet no; one comfort more
13:784 Of life remains, my much-lov'd Polydore.
13:785 My youngest hope: here on this coast he lives,
13:786 Nurs'd by the guardian-king, he still survives.
13:787 Then let me hasten to the cleansing flood,
13:788 And wash away these stains of guiltless blood."
13:789 Streit to the shore her feeble steps repair
13:790 With limping pace, and torn dishevell'd hair
13:791 Silver'd with age. "Give me an urn," she cry'd,
13:792 "To bear back water from this swelling tide":
13:793 When on the banks her son in ghastly hue
13:794 Transfix'd with Thracian arrows strikes her view.
13:795 The matrons shriek'd; her big-swoln grief surpast
13:796 The pow'r of utterance; she stood aghast;
13:797 She had nor speech, nor tears to give relief;
13:798 Excess of woe suppress'd the rising grief.
13:799 Lifeless as stone, on Earth she fix'd her eyes;
13:800 And then look'd up to Heav'n with wild surprise.
13:801 Now she contemplates o'er with sad delight
13:802 Her son's pale visage; then her aking sight
13:803 Dwells on his wounds: she varys thus by turns,
13:804 Wild as the mother-lion, when among
13:805 The haunts of prey she seeks her ravish'd young:
13:806 Swift flies the ravisher; she marks his trace,
13:807 And by the print directs her anxious chase.
13:808 So Hecuba with mingled grief, and rage
13:809 Pursues the king, regardless of her age.
13:810 She greets the murd'rer with dissembled joy
13:811 Of secret treasure hoarded for her boy.
13:812 The specious tale th' unwary king betray'd.
13:813 Fir'd with the hopes of prey: "Give quick," he said
13:814 With soft enticing speech, "the promis'd store:
13:815 Whate'er you give, you give to Polydore.
13:816 Your son, by the immortal Gods I swear,
13:817 Shall this with all your former bounty share."
13:818 She stands attentive to his soothing lyes,
13:819 And darts avenging horrour from her eyes.
13:820 Then full resentment fires her boyling blood:
13:821 She springs upon him, 'midst the captive crowd
13:822 (Her thirst of vengeance want of strength supplies):
13:823 Fastens her forky fingers in his eyes:
13:824 Tears out the rooted balls; her rage pursues,
13:825 And in the hollow orbs her hand imbrews.
13:826 The Thracians, fir'd, at this inhuman scene,
13:827 With darts, and stones assail the frantick queen.
13:828 She snarls, and growls, nor in an human tone;
13:829 Then bites impatient at the bounding stone;
13:830 Extends her jaws, as she her voice would raise
13:831 To keen invectives in her wonted phrase;
13:832 But barks, and thence the yelping brute betrays.
13:833 Still a sad monument the place remains,
13:834 And from this monstrous change its name obtains:
13:835 Where she, in long remembrance of her ills,
13:836 With plaintive howlings the wide desart fills.
13:837 Greeks, Trojans, friends, and foes, and Gods above
13:838 Her num'rous wrongs to just compassion move.
13:839 Ev'n Juno's self forgets her ancient hate,
13:840 And owns, she had deserv'd a milder fate.
Metamorphoses (Books I-XIV)
The Story of Polyxena and Hecuba
13:614 The victor with full sails for Lemnos stood
13:615 (Once stain'd by matrons with their husbands' blood),
13:616 Thence great Alcides' fatal shafts to bear,
13:617 Assign'd to Philoctetes' secret care.
13:618 These with their guardian to the Greeks convey'd,
13:619 Their ten years' toil with wish'd success repaid.
13:620 With Troy old Priam falls: his queen survives;
13:621 'Till all her woes compleat, transform'd she grieves
13:622 In borrow'd sounds, nor with an human face,
13:623 Barking tremendous o'er the plains of Thrace.
13:624 Still Ilium's flames their pointed columns raise,
13:625 And the red Hellespont reflects the blaze.
13:626 Shed on Jove's altar are the poor remains
13:627 Of blood, which trickl'd from old Priam's veins.
13:628 Cassandra lifts her hands to Heav'n in vain,
13:629 Drag'd by her sacred hair; the trembling train
13:630 Of matrons to their burning temples fly:
13:631 There to their Gods for kind protection cry;
13:632 And to their statues cling 'till forc'd away,
13:633 The victor Greeks bear off th' invidious prey.
13:634 From those high tow'rs Astyanax is thrown,
13:635 Whence he was wont with pleasure to look down.
13:636 When oft his mother with a fond delight
13:637 Pointed to view his father's rage in fight,
13:638 To win renown, and guard his country's right.
13:639 The winds now call to sea; brisk northern gales
13:640 Sing in the shrowds, and court the spreading sails.
13:641 Farewel, dear Troy, the captive matrons cry;
13:642 Yes, we must leave our long-lov'd native sky.
13:643 Then prostrate on the shore they kiss the sand,
13:644 And quit the smoking ruines of the land.
13:645 Last Hecuba on board, sad sight! appears;
13:646 Found weeping o'er her children's sepulchres:
13:647 Drag'd by Ulysses from her slaughter'd sons,
13:648 Whilst yet she graspt their tombs, and kist their mouldring bones.
13:649 Yet Hector's ashes from his urn she bore,
13:650 And in her bosom the sad relique wore:
13:651 Then scatter'd on his tomb her hoary hairs,
13:652 A poor oblation mingled with her tears.
13:653 Oppos'd to Ilium lye the Thracian plains,
13:654 Where Polymestor safe in plenty reigns.
13:655 King Priam to his care commits his son,
13:656 Young Polydore, the chance of war to shun.
13:657 A wise precaution! had not gold, consign'd
13:658 For the child's use, debauch'd the tyrant's mind.
13:659 When sinking Troy to its last period drew,
13:660 With impious hands his royal charge he slew;
13:661 Then in the sea the lifeless coarse is thrown;
13:662 As with the body he the guilt could drown.
13:663 The Greeks now riding on the Thracian shore,
13:664 'Till kinder gales invite, their vessels moor.
13:665 Here the wide-op'ning Earth to sudden view
13:666 Disclos'd Achilles, great as when he drew
13:667 The vital air, but fierce with proud disdain,
13:668 As when he sought Briseis to regain;
13:669 When stern debate, and rash injurious strife
13:670 Unsheath'd his sword, to reach Atrides' life.
13:671 And will ye go? he said. Is then the name
13:672 Of the once great Achilles lost to fame?
13:673 Yet stay, ungrateful Greeks; nor let me sue
13:674 In vain for honours to my Manes due.
13:675 For this just end, Polyxena I doom
13:676 With victim-rites to grace my slighted tomb.
13:677 The phantom spoke; the ready Greeks obey'd,
13:678 And to the tomb led the devoted maid
13:679 Snatch'd from her mother, who with pious care
13:680 Cherish'd this last relief of her despair.
13:681 Superior to her sex, the fearless maid,
13:682 Approach'd the altar, and around survey'd
13:683 The cruel rites, and consecrated knife,
13:684 Which Pyrrhus pointed at her guiltless life,
13:685 Then as with stern amaze intent he stood,
13:686 "Now strike," she said; "now spill my genr'ous blood;
13:687 Deep in my breast, or throat, your dagger sheath,
13:688 Whilst thus I stand prepar'd to meet my death.
13:689 For life on terms of slav'ry I despise:
13:690 Yet sure no God approves this sacrifice.
13:691 O cou'd I but conceal this dire event
13:692 From my sad mother, I should dye content.
13:693 Yet should she not with tears my death deplore,
13:694 Since her own wretched life demands them more.
13:695 But let not the rude touch of man pollute
13:696 A virgin-victim; 'tis a modest suit.
13:697 It best will please, whoe'er demands my blood,
13:698 That I untainted reach the Stygian flood.
13:699 Yet let one short, last, dying prayer be heard;
13:700 To Priam's daughter pay this last regard;
13:701 'Tis Priam's daughter, not a captive, sues;
13:702 Do not the rites of sepulture refuse.
13:703 To my afflicted mother, I implore,
13:704 Free without ransom my dead corpse restore:
13:705 Nor barter me for gain, when I am cold;
13:706 But be her tears the price, if I am sold:
13:707 Time was she could have ransom'd me with gold".
13:708 Thus as she pray'd, one common shower of tears
13:709 Burst forth, and stream'd from ev'ry eye but hers.
13:710 Ev'n the priest wept, and with a rude remorse
13:711 Plung'd in her heart the steel's resistless force.
13:712 Her slacken'd limbs sunk gently to the ground,
13:713 Dauntless her looks, unalter'd by the wound.
13:714 And as she fell, she strove with decent pride
13:715 To hide, what suits a virgin's care to hide.
13:716 The Trojan matrons the pale corpse receive,
13:717 And the whole slaughter'd race of Priam grieve,
13:718 Sad they recount the long disastrous tale;
13:719 Then with fresh tears, thee, royal maid, bewail;
13:720 Thy widow'd mother too, who flourish'd late
13:721 The royal pride of Asia's happier state:
13:722 A captive lot now to Ulysses born;
13:723 Whom yet the victor would reject with scorn,
13:724 Were she not Hector's mother: Hector's fame
13:725 Scarce can a master for his mother claim!
13:726 With strict embrace the lifeless coarse she view'd;
13:727 And her fresh grief that flood of tears renew'd,
13:728 With which she lately mourn'd so many dead;
13:729 Tears for her country, sons, and husband shed.
13:730 With the thick gushing stream she bath'd the wound;
13:731 Kiss'd her pale lips; then weltring on the ground,
13:732 With wonted rage her frantick bosom tore;
13:733 Sweeping her hair amidst the clotted gore;
13:734 Whilst her sad accents thus her loss deplore.
13:735 "Behold a mother's last dear pledge of woe!
13:736 Yes, 'tis the last I have to suffer now.
13:737 Thou, my Polyxena, my ills must crown:
13:738 Already in thy Fate, I feel my own.
13:739 'Tis thus, lest haply of my numerous seed
13:740 One should unslaughter'd fall, even thou must bleed:
13:741 And yet I hop'd thy sex had been thy guard;
13:742 But neither has thy tender sex been spar'd.
13:743 The same Achilles, by whose deadly hate
13:744 Thy brothers fell, urg'd thy untimely fate!
13:745 The same Achilles, whose destructive rage
13:746 Laid waste my realms, has robb'd my childless age.
13:747 When Paris' shafts with Phoebus' certain aid
13:748 At length had pierc'd this dreaded chief, I said,
13:749 Secure of future ills, he can no more:
13:750 But see, he still pursues me as before.
13:751 With rage rekindled his dead ashes burn;
13:752 And his yet murd'ring ghost my wretched house must mourn.
13:753 This tyrant's lust of slaughter I have fed
13:754 With large supplies from my too-fruitful bed.
13:755 Troy's tow'rs lye waste; and the wide ruin ends
13:756 The publick woe; but me fresh woe attends.
13:757 Troy still survives to me; to none but me;
13:758 And from its ills I never must be free.
13:759 I, who so late had power, and wealth, and ease,
13:760 Bless'd with my husband, and a large encrease,
13:761 Must now in poverty an exile mourn;
13:762 Ev'n from the tombs of my dead offspring torn:
13:763 Giv'n to Penelope, who proud of spoil,
13:764 Allots me to the loom's ungrateful toil;
13:765 Points to her dames, and crys with scorning mien:
13:766 See Hector's mother, and great Priam's queen!
13:767 And thou, my child, sole hope of all that's lost,
13:768 Thou now art slain, to sooth this hostile ghost.
13:769 Yes, my child falls an offering to my foe!
13:770 Then what am I, who still survive this woe?
13:771 Say, cruel Gods! for what new scenes of death
13:772 Must a poor aged wretch prolong this hated breath?
13:773 Troy fal'n, to whom could Priam happy seem?
13:774 Yet was he so; and happy must I deem
13:775 His death; for O! my child, he saw not thine,
13:776 When he his life did with his Troy resign.
13:777 Yet sure due obsequies thy tomb might grace;
13:778 And thou shalt sleep amidst thy kingly race.
13:779 Alas! my child, such fortune does not wait
13:780 Our suffering house in this abandon'd state.
13:781 A foreign grave, and thy poor mother's tears
13:782 Are all the honours that attend thy herse.
13:783 All now is lost!-Yet no; one comfort more
13:784 Of life remains, my much-lov'd Polydore.
13:785 My youngest hope: here on this coast he lives,
13:786 Nurs'd by the guardian-king, he still survives.
13:787 Then let me hasten to the cleansing flood,
13:788 And wash away these stains of guiltless blood."
13:789 Streit to the shore her feeble steps repair
13:790 With limping pace, and torn dishevell'd hair
13:791 Silver'd with age. "Give me an urn," she cry'd,
13:792 "To bear back water from this swelling tide":
13:793 When on the banks her son in ghastly hue
13:794 Transfix'd with Thracian arrows strikes her view.
13:795 The matrons shriek'd; her big-swoln grief surpast
13:796 The pow'r of utterance; she stood aghast;
13:797 She had nor speech, nor tears to give relief;
13:798 Excess of woe suppress'd the rising grief.
13:799 Lifeless as stone, on Earth she fix'd her eyes;
13:800 And then look'd up to Heav'n with wild surprise.
13:801 Now she contemplates o'er with sad delight
13:802 Her son's pale visage; then her aking sight
13:803 Dwells on his wounds: she varys thus by turns,
13:804 Wild as the mother-lion, when among
13:805 The haunts of prey she seeks her ravish'd young:
13:806 Swift flies the ravisher; she marks his trace,
13:807 And by the print directs her anxious chase.
13:808 So Hecuba with mingled grief, and rage
13:809 Pursues the king, regardless of her age.
13:810 She greets the murd'rer with dissembled joy
13:811 Of secret treasure hoarded for her boy.
13:812 The specious tale th' unwary king betray'd.
13:813 Fir'd with the hopes of prey: "Give quick," he said
13:814 With soft enticing speech, "the promis'd store:
13:815 Whate'er you give, you give to Polydore.
13:816 Your son, by the immortal Gods I swear,
13:817 Shall this with all your former bounty share."
13:818 She stands attentive to his soothing lyes,
13:819 And darts avenging horrour from her eyes.
13:820 Then full resentment fires her boyling blood:
13:821 She springs upon him, 'midst the captive crowd
13:822 (Her thirst of vengeance want of strength supplies):
13:823 Fastens her forky fingers in his eyes:
13:824 Tears out the rooted balls; her rage pursues,
13:825 And in the hollow orbs her hand imbrews.
13:826 The Thracians, fir'd, at this inhuman scene,
13:827 With darts, and stones assail the frantick queen.
13:828 She snarls, and growls, nor in an human tone;
13:829 Then bites impatient at the bounding stone;
13:830 Extends her jaws, as she her voice would raise
13:831 To keen invectives in her wonted phrase;
13:832 But barks, and thence the yelping brute betrays.
13:833 Still a sad monument the place remains,
13:834 And from this monstrous change its name obtains:
13:835 Where she, in long remembrance of her ills,
13:836 With plaintive howlings the wide desart fills.
13:837 Greeks, Trojans, friends, and foes, and Gods above
13:838 Her num'rous wrongs to just compassion move.
13:839 Ev'n Juno's self forgets her ancient hate,
13:840 And owns, she had deserv'd a milder fate.