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Chorus Then hastened all the race of Phrygia to the gates, to make the goddess a present of an Argive band ambushed in the polished mountain-pine, Dardania's ruin, a welcome gift to be to her, the virgin queen of deathless steeds; and with nooses of cord they dragged it, as it had been a ship's dark hull, to the stone-built temple of the goddess Pallas, and set it on that floor so soon to drink our country's blood. But, as they labored and made merry, came on the pitchy night; loud the Libyan flute was sounding, and Phrygian songs awoke, while maidens beat the ground with airy foot, uplifting their glad song; and in the halls a blaze of torchlight shed its flickering shadows on sleeping eyes.
Talthybius You that once were the wife of Hector, bravest of the Phrygians, do not hate me, for I am not a willing messenger. The Danaids and sons of Pelops both command— Andromache What is it? your prelude bodes evil news. Talthybius It is decreed your son is—how can I tell my news? Andromache Surely not to have a different master from me? Talthybius None of all Achaea's chiefs shall ever lord it over him. Andromache Is it their will to leave him here, a remnant of Phrygia's race? Talthybius I know no words to break the sorrow lightly to you. Andromache I thank you for your consideration, unless indeed you have good news to tell. Talthybius They mean to slay your son; there is my hateful message to you. Andromache Oh me! this is worse tidings than my forced marriage. Talthybius So spoke Odysseus to the assembled Hellenes, and his word prevails. Andromache Oh, once again alas! there is no measure in the woes I bear. Talthybius He said they should not rear so brave a f
Chorus Gone are your sacrifices! gone the dancer's cheerful shout! gone the vigils of the gods as night closed in! your images of carven gold are now no more; and Phrygia's holy festivals, twelve times a year, at each full moon, are ended now. It is this, it is this that fills me with anxious thought whether you, lord, seated on the sky, your heavenly throne, care at all that my city is destroyed, a prey to the furious fiery blast.
Hecuba Woe! oh woe! Son of Cronos, prince of Phrygia, father of our race, do you behold our sufferings now, unworthy of the stock of Dardanus? Chorus He sees them, but our mighty city is a city no more, and Troy's day is done. Hecuba Woe! oh woe! Ilium is ablaze; the homes of Pergamos and its towering walls are now one sheet of flame. Chorus As the smoke soars on wings to heaven, so sinks our city to the ground before the spear. With furious haste both fire and enemy spear devour each house.