I see thee, how beneath thy robe, O king, Thy hand is hidden, thy face turned from mine, Lest I should touch thee by the beard and pray. Fear not: thou hast escaped the god of prayers For my part. I will rise and follow thee, Driven by strong need; yea, and not loath to die. Lo! if I should not seek death, I were found A cowardly, life-loving, selfish soul! For why should I live? Was my sire not king Of all broad Phrygia? Thus my life began; Then was I nurtured on fair bloom of hope To be the bride of kings; no small the suit, I ween, of lovers seeking me: thus I Was once--ah, woe is me! of Idan dames Mistress and queen, 'mid maidens like a star Conspicuous, peer of gods, except for death; And now I am a slave: this name alone Makes me in love with death--so strange it is. Sheer contempt of life, when life has to be accepted on dishonorable terms, is the virtue of Polyxena. But, so far, though we may admire her fortitude, we have not been touched by her misfortune. Euripides reserves the pathos, after his own fashion, for a picture. Talthybius, the herald, is telling Hecuba how her daughter died: The whole vast concourse of the Achaian host Stood round the tomb to see your daughter die. Achilleus' son taking her by the hand, Placed her upon the mound, and I stayed near; And youths, the flower of Greece, a chosen few, With hands to check thy heifer, should she bound, Attended. From a cup of carven gold, Raised full of wine, Achilleus' son poured forth Libation to his sire, and bade me sound Silence throughout the whole Achaian host. I, standing there, cried in the midst these words: "Silence, Achaians! let the host be still! Hush hold your voices!" Breathless stayed the crowd; But he: "O son of Peleus, father mine, Take these libations pleasant to thy soul, Draughts that allure the dead: come, drink the black Pure maiden's blood wherewith the host and I Sue thee: be kindly to us; loose our prows, And let our barks go free; give safe return Homeward from Troy to all, and happy voyage." Such words he spake, and the crowd prayed assent. Then from the scabbard, by its golden hilt, He drew the sword, and to the chosen youths Signalled that they should bring the maid; but she, Knowing her hour was come, spake thus, and said: "O men of Argus who have sacked my town, Lo, of free will I die! let no man touch My body: boldly will I stretch my throat. Nay, but I pray you set me free, then slay; That free I thus may perish: 'mong the dead, Being a queen, I blush to be called slave." The people shouted, and King Agamemnon Bade the youths loose the maid, and set her free: She, when she heard the order of the chiefs, Seizing her mantle, from the shoulder down To the soft centre of her snowy waist