 | Hecuba |  |
18
HECUBA.
Lend, virgins, lend your aid. A little onward
Lead from the tent. Support your queen; support
Your fellow-slave!—Oh! dearer far to me,
[To Polyxena.
Than life, than liberty! child of my heart,
What have I seen!—all cheering light of heaven:
And thou, tremendous night! why these dread visions
That rouze me from my couch, and chill my breast
With fearful drops like these!—thou sable mother
Of dusky-pinion'd dreams! my soul abhors
The ominous phantom. Thrice it stalk'd before me
A terrible spectre! stern Achilles' ghost!
POLYXENA.
His ghost!
HECUBA.
It stopt; and pointed at its wound.
Then grinn'd a horrid smile, and disappear'd!
POLYXENA.
'Tis the meer coinage of a troubled mind.
HECUBA.
But then, my virgins, then—oh! wou'd to heav'n
Sage Helenus were here, whose piercing eye
Doth look into futurity's dark womb—
Methought, Sigea, a gaunt ravening wolf
Did from my bosom tear with bloody tooth
A milk-white hind!—ye ever gracious gods,
Protect my dearest child!
19
The gracious gods
Will for thy sake protect me. Trust their care,
And give these visions to the passing wind.
Ev'n now, by their permission, is arriv'd
A stranger, with good tidings. Does it please you
To hear his errand?
HECUBA.
No, I'll not be seen,
Not speak, Polyxena. A stranger-eye
Will but insult my woe. Here let me sit,
And ponder on my Polydore and Death.
ERIPHILUS, HECUBA, POLYXENA, SIGEA, &c.
ERIPHILUS.
Heart-piercing sight! How deep has sorrow dug
Its furrows on that venerable brow!
My pow'rs all lose their functions at her presence.
Oh at this sad, this tender hour of trial,
Aid me some pitying god.
HECUBA.
Unmanner'd stranger,
Whence this intrusion?
ERIPHILUS.
Think not, honor'd queen,
That my unbidden presence violates
Thy sanctity of sorrow. I but claim
The privilege of mild humanity
To wipe the tears of virtue.
HECUBA.
Lead me hence
20
ERIPHILUS.
This blessed end
Draws me to Chersonesus; and I bring
Most welcome tidings.
HECUBA.
What have I to do
With welcome tidings?—Pray ye lead me hence.
ERIPHILUS.
I will retire.
POLYXENA.
And wilt thou not vouchsafe
A moment's audience? well he knows thy wrongs;
And kindly comes to mingle with thy grief
His social tears; and to revenge thy wrongs.
He from Pæonia comes—
ERIPHILUS.
To bring thee freedom,
From good Pyrechmes.
HECUBA.
Say'st thou, youth? Phyrechmes?
I knew him well. He was my Priam's friend.
Thou seest my memory's sound. The good old king!
I hope he lives most happy!—as I think,
He never had a child!
ERIPHILUS.
His only child
Died in the womb: and all the father's fondness,
His charitable friendship show'rs on me.
From him I come, not rudely to restrain
21
Tis nature's kind relief to her poor children.
She bids affliction weep away its woe.
HECUBA.
Friend, (if I yet can call one mortal friend)
Be not deceived: Nor let the good Pyrechmes,
Thy sovereign, be deceived. Indeed I wou'd not
Your kindness shou'd misdeem poor Hecuba
An object fit for pity. Generous youth,
I'll tell thee what I will not tell the Greeks!
But shou'd it ever 'scape thee—
ERIPHILUS.
It shall never.
But your heart will not suffer you to speak.
The tear starts in your eye. Repress the secret
Till happier times permit.
HECUBA.
Till happier times!
ERIPHILUS.
Oh rest on hope; that heav'n-born champion
Which ne'er forsakes the virtuous; but in perils
Lends confidence, and leads them unappall'd
Ev'n to the gates of death.
POLYXENA.
She heeds thee not.
But I will watch the first calm interval:
For now her mind seems hurrying thro' the waste
Of desolate despair, too fast to mark
Compassion's call.—Ah see!
22
The dreadful gods,
Who, in their ireful mood, have turn'd me forth
This terrible example to mankind,
Doubtless have cause! wretched mortality
Believes, and trembles; but perforce must yield.
I yield me too; I bow to your dread wills!
Yet when my mind, with scrutiny severe,
Tries, judges a long life of fourscore years,
And finds no crime but what dares look at pardon;
Forgive, forgive me, if my bursting heart
Wishes that Hecuba had ne'er been born!
ERIPHILUS.
Oh yet try friendship's pow'r; it's precious balm,
Oft tho' it fails to cure, yet ever calms
The rage of sorrow's wounds. Oh 'tis a ray
Can melt the sable gloom of deep despair
Into the milder shade of melancholy.
HECUBA.
I prithee leave me, youth.—My mind's disturb'd,
Thine eye doth burden me. It looks too deep
Into the secret sorrow of my soul.
There's something in thy gesture—in thy mien!
I prithee, leave me youth. My mind's disturb'd.
ERIPHILUS.
Vast are thy woes: yet shall sweet liberty
Lighten the load. Then suffer my blest hand
Swift to conduct thee to Pæonia's court.
HECUBA.
See'st thou that urn?
23
Alas—
HECUBA.
That little urn,
Is it not large enough for my few ashes?
Why wou'd'st thou bear this mockery of a queen
To gay Pæonia's court? I can die here.
ERIPHILUS.
Wou'd'st thou die here a slave? wou'd'st thou bequeath
To hostile hands the venerable relicks
Of royal Priam? Heav'ns, can Hector's mother
Rest undisturb'd beneath the horrid gloom
Of dire Achilles' shrine?
HECUBA.
Distracting thought!
POLYXENA.
Oh hear the voice of Heav'n, in this good youth,
Inviting thee to peace.
ERIPHILUS.
Tho' thy own life
Has lost it's value, heav'ns, can Hecuba
See that fair flower thus droop its languid head?
Oh save the princess, save thy only child,
From pining grief that preys upon her youth!
HECUBA.
My dearest child.—
POLYXENA.
Quit but this horrid isle,
And I'm thy sad associate in despair;
Chuse life or death!
24
Thy death? my daughter's death?
Dry, dry thy tears: I will no more provoke them.
I'll go with thee, my child, to good Pyrechmes.
There in the social sweets of friendly converse,
Lose each sad moment; save when thou and I
Sometime retire beneath the pensive gloom
Of some sequester'd poplar; there we'll sit,
And talk together o'er the buried virtues
Of some lov'd friend.—Lead then, ingenuous youth,
Whoe'er thou art; lead us where social peace
Sits smiling at the hospitable board
Of good Pyrechmes.
POLYXENA.
Oh that blest resolve
Drives hence despair: and makes the sun shine on me
With a sweet gracious eye.
ERIPHILUS.
Back to your tent,
Please you, retire awhile. To Agamemnon
I'll haste; lay down the ransom; and with joy
Lead you to liberty.
HECUBA.
For thy reward,
May he who sits on high, in thunder thron'd,
Pour from his urn those blessings upon thee,
That never more must visit my sad heart.
[Exeunt.
| Hecuba | |