Chorus
No more, my native Ilium, shall you be counted among the towns never sacked; so thick a cloud of Hellene troops is settling all around, wasting you with the spear; you are shorn of your crown of towers, and fouled most piteously with filthy soot; no more, ah me! shall I tread your streets.
Chorus
It was in the middle of the night my ruin came, in the hour when sleep steals sweetly over the eyes after the feast is done. After the music and dancing, my husband had brought the sacrifice to an end and was lying in our bridal-chamber, his spear hung on a peg; with never a thought of the sailor-throng encamped upon the Trojan shores.
Chorus
And I was braiding my tresses beneath a tight-drawn head-band before my golden mirror’s countless rays, so that I might lie down to rest; when through the city rose a din, and a cry went ringing down the streets of Troy: You sons of Hellas, when, oh! when will you sack the citadel of Ilium, and seek your homes?
Chorus
I left my bed, wearing only a tunic, like a Dorian girl, and sought in vain, ah me! to station myself at the holy hearth of Artemis; for, after seeing my husband slain, I was led away over the broad sea; with many a backward look at my city, when the ship began her homeward voyage and parted me from Ilium’s strand; till alas! for very grief I fainted,
Chorus
Cursing Helen the sister of the Dioscuri, and Paris the baleful shepherd of Ida; for it was their marriage, which was no marriage but misery sent by some demon, that robbed me of my country and drove me from my home. Oh! may the sea’s salt flood never carry her home again; and may she never set foot in her father’s halls!
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