To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640 Mothers in festal garments bring Their votive offerings to the gods, And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645 Throughout the town all faces tell One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba, Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre, Had never ceased her tears, was glad. But now, unhappy grief, what first, What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650 Our city walls in ruin laid, Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines Upon their very gods consumed? Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes Have dried their tears for these. But now We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655 We saw, with our own eyes we saw, The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand, Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand. _Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits, Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. 660 Let each bewail her several woes; but I For my own heavy grief have tears enough. _Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know That our own tears with others' flow; More sharply gnaws the hidden care 665 Which we with others may not share: And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief, Canst not in thine own weeping find relief. Though Philomel for Itys sing 670 Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring; Though Procne, with insistent din, Bewail her husband's hidden sin; 675 Not these, with all their passionate lament, Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent. Let Cycnus raise his dying song, And its soft, plaintive strains prolong; Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, 680 A-flutter o'er the tossing wave; Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele 685 Their tears for Attis share with thee: Still would our tears in no such measure flow, 690 For sufferings like these no limits know. [Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.] But why dost lay aside the sacred wool? Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.