trumpet. And thou, unhappy grey-haired dame, follow; for yonder come servants from Odysseus to fetch thee, for to him thou art assigned by lot to be a slave far from thy country.
Hec. Ah, woe is me! This surely is the last, the utmost limit this, of all my sorrows; forth from my land I go; my city is ablaze with flame. Yet, thou aged foot, make one painful struggle to hasten, that I may say a farewell to this wretched town. O Troy, that erst hadst such a grand career amongst barbarian towns, soon wilt thou be reft of that splendid name. Lo! they are burning thee, and leading us e'en now from our land to slavery. Great gods! Yet why call on the gods? They did not hearken e'en aforetime to our call. Come, let us rush into the flames, for to die with my country in its blazing ruin were a noble death for me.
Tal. Thy sorrows drive thee frantic, poor lady. Go, lead her hence, make no delay, for ye must deliver her into the hand of Odysseus, conveying to him his prize.
Hec. O son of Cronos, prince of Phrygia, father of our race, dost thou behold our sufferings now, unworthy of the stock of Dardanus?
Cho. He sees them, but our mighty city is a city no more, and Troy's day is done.
Hec. Woe! thrice woe upon me! Ilium is ablaze; the homes of Pergamos and its towering walls[1] are now one sheet of flame.
Cho. As the smoke soars on wings to heaven,[2] so sinks our city to the ground before the spear. With furious haste both fire and foeman's spear devour each house.
Hec. Hearken, my children, hear your mother's voice.
Cho. Thou art calling on the dead with voice of lamentation.
