_Hecuba:_ Nay, give to another your tears and your mourning, And weep not the death of Priam our king. But call ye him blessed the rather; for free, To the deep world of shadows he travels, and never 145 Upon his bowed neck the base yoke shall he bear. No proud sons of Atreus shall call him their captive, No crafty Ulysses his eyes shall behold; As boast of their triumphs he shall not bear onward 150 In humble submission their prizes of war. Those free, royal hands to the scepter accustomed, Shall never be bound at his back like a slave, As he follows the car of the triumphing chieftain, A king led in fetters, the gaze of the town. 155 _Chorus:_ Hail! Priam the blessed we all do proclaim him; For himself and his kingdom he rules yet below; Now through the still depths of Elysium's shadows 'Midst calm, happy spirits he seeks the great Hector. 160 Then hail, happy Priam! Hail all who in battle Have lost life and country, but liberty gained. ACT II _Talthybius:_ Alas, 'tis thus the Greeks are ever doomed To lie impatient of the winds' delay, Whether on war or homeward journey bent. 165 _Chorus:_ Tell thou the cause of this the Greeks' delay. What god obstructs the homeward-leading paths? _Talthybius:_ My soul doth quake, and all my limbs with fear Do tremble. Scarce is credence given to tales That do transcend the truth. And yet I swear, With my own eyes I saw what I relate. Now with his level rays the morning sun 170 Just grazed the summits of the hills, and day Had vanquished night; when suddenly the earth, 'Mid rumblings hidden deep and terrible, To her profoundest depths convulsive rocked. The tree-tops trembled, and the lofty groves Gave forth a thunderous sound of crashing boughs; While down from Ida's rent and rugged slopes 175 The loosened bowlders rolled. And not alone The earth did quake: behold, the swelling sea Perceived its own Achilles drawing near, And spread its waves abroad. Then did the ground Asunder yawn, revealing mighty caves, And gave a path from Erebus to earth. And then the high-heaped sepulcher was rent, 180 From which there sprang Achilles' mighty shade, In guise as when, in practice for thy fates, O Troy, he prostrate laid the Thracian arms, Or slew the son of Neptune, doomed to wear The swan's white plumes; or when, amidst the ranks In furious battle raging, he the streams 185 Did choke with corpses of the slain, and Xanthus Crept sluggishly along with bloody waves; Or when he stood as victor in his car, Plying the reins and dragging in the dust Great Hector's body and the Trojan state. So there he stood and filled the spreading shore 190 With wrathful words: "Go, get you gone, ye race