[During these lines several Women are seen approaching with garlands and raiment in their hands.

LEADER.

Lo these, who bear thee raiment harvested
From Ilion’s slain, to fold upon the dead.

[During the following scene HECUBA gradually takes the garments and wraps them about the Child.

HECUBA.

O not in pride for speeding of the car
Beyond thy peers, not for the shaft of war
True aimed, as Phrygians use; not any prize
Of joy for thee, nor splendour in men’s eyes,
Thy father’s mother lays these offerings
About thee, from the many fragrant things
That were all thine of old.  But now no more. 
One woman, loathed of God, hath broke the door
And robbed thy treasure-house, and thy warm breath
Made cold, and trod thy people down to death!

CHORUS.
Some Women.

Deep in the heart of me
     I feel thine hand,
Mother:  and is it he
Dead here, our prince to be,
     And lord of the land?

HECUBA.

Glory of Phrygian raiment, which my thought
Kept for thy bridal day with some far-sought
Queen of the East, folds thee for evermore. 
  And thou, grey Mother, Mother-Shield that bore

THE TROJAN WOMEN

A thousand days of glory, thy last crown
Is here....  Dear Hector’s shield!  Thou shalt lie
  down
Undying with the dead, and lordlier there
Than all the gold Odysseus’ breast can bear,
The evil and the strong!

CHORUS.
Some Women.

Child of the Shield-bearer,
   Alas, Hector’s child! 
Great Earth, the All-mother,
Taketh thee unto her
   With wailing wild!

Others.
   Mother of misery,
   Give Death his song!

(HEC.  Woe!) Aye and bitterly

(HEC.  Woe!) We too weep for thee,
   And the infinite wrong!

[During these lines HECUBA, kneeling by the body, has been performing a funeral rite, symbolically staunching the dead Child’s wounds.

HECUBA.

I make thee whole[45];
I bind thy wounds, O little vanished soul. 
This wound and this I heal with linen white: 
O emptiness of aid!...  Yet let the rite
Be spoken.  This and....  Nay, not I, but he,
Thy father far away shall comfort thee!

[She bows her head to the ground and remains motionless and unseeing.

CHORUS.

Beat, beat thine head: 
  Beat with the wailing chime
  Of hands lifted in time: 
Beat and bleed for the dead. 
Woe is me for the dead!

HECUBA.

O Women!  Ye, mine own....

[She rises bewildered, as though she had seen a vision.

LEADER.

Hecuba, speak! 
Oh, ere thy bosom break....

HECUBA.