§634saepe commotae sonuere parmae §635tacitumque murmur percussit aures, §636ut fremuit male subdolo §637parens Pyrrhus Vlixi.
Often the shaken shields resounded and a silent murmur struck our ears, as Pyrrhus, obeying extremely cunning Ulysses, grumbled with ill-will.
§638Secura metus Troica pubes §639sacros gaudet tangere funes, §640hinc aequaevi gregis Astyanax, §641hinc Haemonio desponsa rogo §642aducunt turmas, §642bhaec femineas, ille viriles.
The Trojan youth, free from fear, rejoice to touch the sacred ropes, here Astyanax from the crowd of his peers, there she who was betrothed to the Haemonian pyre lead the troops, she the female ones, he the male.
§643festae matres votiva ferunt §644munera divis: §645festi patres adeunt aras, §646unus tota est vultus in urbe; §647et, quod numquam post Hectoreos §648vidimus ignes, laeta est Hecuba.
Festal mothers bring votive gifts to the gods; festal fathers approach the altars, there is but one expression in the whole city; and, what we never saw after Hector’s funeral pyre, Hecuba is joyful.
What first, unhappy grief, or what last do you prepare to lament?
The walls, built by the hand of the gods, demolished by our own?
§653an templa deos super usta suos?
Or the temples burned over their own gods?
There is no leisure to weep for those evils: for you, great father, the Trojan women weep.
I saw, I saw the weapon of Pyrrhus in the throat of the old man, scarcely stained with his scanty blood.
§659Cohibete lacrimas omne quas tempus petet, §660Troades, et ipsae vestra lamentabili §661lugete gemitu funera: aerumnae meae §662socium recusant, cladibus questus meis §663removete, nostris ipsa sufficiam malis.
Restrain your tears, which all time will demand, Trojan women, and do you yourselves with lamentable groaning mourn your own dead: my misfortunes refuse a companion; remove your complaints from my disasters, I myself shall suffice for my own evils.
§664Lacrimas lacrimis miscere iuvat: §665magis exurunt quos secretae §666lacerant curae, iuvat in medium §667deflere suos; nec tu, quamvis §668dura virago patiensque mali, §669poteris tantas flere ruinas, §670non quae verno mobile carmen §671ramo cantat tristis aedon §672Ityn in varios modulata sonos, §673non quae tectis Bistonis ales §674residens summis impia diri §675furta mariti garrula narrat, §676lugere tuam poterit digne §677conquesta domum, licet ipse velit §678clarus niveos inter olores §679Histrum cycnus Tanainque colens §680extrema loqui, licet alcyones §681Ceyca suum fluctu leviter §682plangente sonent, cum tranquillo §683male confisae credunt iterum §684pelago audaces fetusque suos §685nido pavidae titubante fovent; §686non si molles comitata viros §687tristis Iaceret bracchia tecum §688quae turritae turba parenti §689pectora, rauco concita buxo, §690ferit ut Phrygium lugeat Attin,
It is a comfort to mingle tears with tears: those whom secret cares tear apart are burned more; it is a comfort to weep for one's own in common; nor will you, though a hardy heroine and patient of evil, be able to weep for such great ruins alone, not even if the sad nightingale, who sings her changeful song on a spring branch, modulating her voice to various sounds for Itys, nor the Bistonian bird who, resting on the highest roofs, tells the impious and secret deeds of her cruel husband with her chattering, will be able to mourn your home worthily, though even the bright swan, dwelling among snow-white companions on the Danube and Tanais, should wish to sing his last words, though the halcyons should sound their Ceyx in the gently beating wave, when, distrustful of the calm sea, they boldly trust it again and, trembling, cherish their offspring in their unsteady nest; nor if the sad crowd, accompanying the soft men, should beat their arms with you, which strikes their breasts for the turreted mother, aroused by the hoarse boxwood pipe, to mourn Phrygian Attis.
There is no limit to tears, Cassandra, because what we suffer has surpassed all limit.
§693Sed cur sacratas deripis capiti infulas?
But why do you strip the sacred headbands from your head?
§694miseris colendos maxime superos putem.
I should think the gods above ought most to be worshipped by the miserable.
§695CASS, Vicere nostra iam metus omnis mala.
CASS, My evils have already conquered all fear.
Indeed, I do not appease the heavenly ones with any prayer, nor, if they should wish to rage, do they have any means to do harm.
§698Fortuna vires ipsa consumpsit suas.
Fortune itself has consumed its own strength.
§699quae patria restat, quis pater, quae iam soror?
What homeland remains, what father, what sister now?
§700bibere tumuli sanguinem atque arae meum.
Tombs and altars have already drunk my blood.
§701quid illa felix turba fraterni gregis?
What of that happy crowd of my brothers?
§702exhausta nempe: regia miseri senes §703vacua relicti, totque per thalamos vident §704praeter Lacaenam ceteras viduas nurus, §705tot illa regum mater et regimen Phrygum, §706fecunda in ignes Hecuba fatorum novas §707experta leges induit vultus feros: §708circa ruinas rabida latravit suas, §709Troiae superstes, Hectori, Priamo, sibi.
Exhausted, surely: the wretched old king and queen are left in an empty palace, and through so many bridal chambers they see, except for the Spartan woman, all the other widowed daughters-in-law, and Hecuba, that mother of so many kings and ruler of the Phrygians, fertile for the funeral pyres, having experienced new laws of the fates, has put on a wild countenance: she barked fiercely around her own ruins, surviving Troy, Hector, Priam, and herself.
§710Silet repente Phoebas et pallor genas §711creberque totum possidet corpus tremor; §712stetere vittae, mollis horrescit coma, §713anhela corda murmure incluso fremunt, §714incerta nutant lumina et versi retro §715torquentur oculi, rursus immoti rigent.
Suddenly the priestess of Phoebus is silent, and pallor possesses her cheeks, and a constant trembling seizes her whole body; her headbands stand erect, her soft hair bristles, her gasping heart groans with a confined murmur, her uncertain eyes wander, and turned backward her eyes are twisted, and again they stiffen, motionless.
§716nunc levat in auras altior solito caput §717graditurque celsa, nunc reluctantis parat §718reserare fauces, verba nunc clauso male §719custodit ore maenaa impatiens dei.
Now she lifts her head into the air, higher than usual, and walks loftily; now she prepares to open her reluctant throat; now she poorly keeps the words in her closed mouth, a maenad impatient of the god.
Why do you snatch me away, sacred peaks of Parnassus, excited by new stings of madness, and deprived of my mind?
Depart, Phoebus, I am no longer yours; extinguish the flames fixed in my breast.
§724cui nunc vagor vaesana? cui bacchor furens?
For whom do I now wander madly? For whom do I rage?
§725iam Troia cecidit— falsa quid vates ago?
Troy has already fallen—why do I act as a false prophetess?
§726Vbi sum? fugit lux alma et obscurat genas
Where am I?
§727nox alta et aether abditus tenebris latet,
The nurturing light flees, and deep night darkens my cheeks, and the ether lies hidden, buried in darkness.
But behold, a day shines bright with a double sun, and a double Argolis raises two houses.
I see the groves of Ida: the fatal shepherd sits as arbiter among powerful goddesses.