Met. 13.494"Nāta, tuae (quid enim superest?) dolor ultime mātris,
495nāta, iacēs, videōque tuum, mea vulnera, pectus,
et nē perdiderim quemquam sine caede meōrum,
tū quoque vulnus habēs!'Daughter, your mother's last grief (for what else is left?), daughter, you lie dead, and I see your wound, which is my wound, and so that I should lose none of my family without bloodshed, you too have a wound! Met. 13.497At tē, quia fēmina, rēbar
ā ferrō tūtam: cecidistī et fēmina ferrō,
totque tuōs īdem frātrēs, tē perdidit īdem,
500exitium Troiae nostrīque orbātor, Achillēs.But you, because you were a woman, I thought safe from the sword: woman though you are, you have fallen by the sword, and the same Achilles who destroyed so many of your brothers has destroyed you, the ruin of Troy and the robber of my children. Met. 13.501At postquam cecidit Paridis Phoebīque sagittīs,
"nunc certē," dīxī, "nōn est metuendus Achillēs!rsquo;But when he fell by the arrows of Paris and Phoebus, "Now surely," I said, "Achilles is not to be feared!" Met. 13.503Nunc quoque mī metuendus erat: cinis ipse sepultī
in genus hoc saevit, tumulō quoque sēnsimus hostem.Even now he was to be feared by me: the very ash of the buried man rages against this family; even in his tomb we have felt him as an enemy.
Met. 13.505Aeacidae fēcunda fuī!It was for the grandson of Aeacus that I was fruitful! Met. 13.505Iacet Īlion ingēns,
ēventūque gravī fīnīta est pūblica clādēs, —
sed fīnīta tamen;Mighty Ilium lies low, and with a grievous outcome the public disaster is ended, — but ended nonetheless; Met. 13.507sōlī mihi Pergama restant,
in cursūque meus dolor est: modo maxima rērum,
tot generis nātīsque potēns nuribusque virōque,
510nunc trahor exul, inops, tumulīs āvulsa meōrum,
Pēnelopae mūnus;for me alone Pergamum remains, and my grief is still running its course: lately the greatest of all, powerful in so many sons-in-law and sons and daughters-in-law and in my husband, now I am dragged into exile, destitute, torn from the tombs of my family, a gift for Penelope; Met. 13.511quae mē data pēnsa trahentem
mātribus ostendēns Ithacīs "haec Hectoris illa est
clāra parēns, haec est" dīcet "Priamēia coniūnx!"and she, pointing me out to the mothers of Ithaca as I spin my allotted wool, will say, "This is that famous mother of Hector, this is the wife of Priam!" Met. 13.514Postque tot āmissōs tū nunc, quae sōla levābās
515māternōs lūctūs, hostīlia busta piāstī!And after so many lost, now you, who alone lightened your mother's grief, have made atonement at an enemy's tomb!
Met. 13.516Īnferiās hostī peperī!I have borne an offering for an enemy's dead! Met. 13.516Quō ferrea restō?For what do I remain, iron-hearted? Met. 13.517Quidve moror?Or why do I delay? Met. 13.517Quō mē servās, annōsa senectūs?For what do you keep me, long-lived old age? Met. 13.518Quō, dī crūdēlēs, nisi utī nova fūnera cernam,
vīvācem differtis anum?For what, cruel gods, unless to see new deaths, do you prolong a long-lived old woman? Met. 13.519Quis posse putāret
520fēlīcem Priamum post dīruta Pergama dīcī?Who would think that Priam could be called happy after Pergamum was destroyed? Met. 13.521Fēlīx morte suā est, nec tē, mea nāta, peremptam
adspicit et vītam pariter regnumque relīquit.He is happy in his death, and does not see you, my daughter, slain, and he left his life and his kingdom together. Met. 13.523At, putō, fūneribus dōtābere, rēgia virgō,
condēturque tuum monumentīs corpus avītīs.But, I suppose, you will be dowered with a funeral, royal maiden, and your body will be laid in the tombs of your ancestors. Met. 13.525Nōn haec est fortūna domus: tibi mūnera mātris
contingent flētūs peregrīnaeque haustūs harēnae!That is not the fortune of our house: your gifts will be your mother's weeping and a handful of foreign sand!
Met. 13.527Omnia perdidimus: superest, cūr vīvere tempus
in breve sustineam, prōlēs grātissima mātrī,
nunc sōlus, quondam minimus dē stirpe virīlī,
530hās datus Ismariō rēgī Polydōrus in ōrās.We have lost everything: what remains, a reason for me to endure living for a short time, is the child most dear to his mother, now my only one, once the youngest of the male line, Polydorus, entrusted to the Ismarian king on these shores. Met. 13.531Quid moror intereā crūdēlia vulnera lymphīs
abluere et sparsōs inmītī sanguine vultūs?"Why meanwhile do I delay to wash her cruel wounds with water, and her face spattered with pitiless blood?' Met. 13.533Dīxit et ad lītus passū prōcessit anīlī,
albentēs lacerāta comās.She spoke, and went towards the shore with an old woman's step, tearing her white hair. Met. 13.534"Date, Trōadēs, urnam"
535dīxerat īnfēlīx, liquidās haurīret ut undās:
adspicit ēiectum Polydōrī in lītore corpus
factaque Thrēiciīs ingentia vulnera tēlīs!'Give me an urn, Trojan women,' the unhappy woman had said, to draw clear water: she sees the body of Polydorus cast up on the shore, and the huge wounds made by Thracian weapons!
Met. 13.538Trōadēs exclāmant: obmūtuit illa dolōre,
et pariter vōcem lacrimāsque intrōrsus obortās
540dēvorat ipse dolor, dūrōque simillima saxō
torpet et adversa fīgit modo lūmina terrā,
interdum torvōs sustollit ad aethera vultūs,
nunc positī spectat vultum, nunc vulnera nātī
vulnera praecipuē, sēque armat et īnstruit īram."The Trojan women cry out: she was struck dumb with grief, and grief itself devours alike her voice and the tears welling up within, and, very like a hard rock, she is numb, and now fixes her eyes on the ground before her, at times lifts her grim face to the sky, now gazes at the face of her son as he lies there, now at his wounds, his wounds above all, and she arms herself and marshals her anger. Met. 13.545Quā simul exārsit, tamquam rēgīna manēret,
ulcīscī statuit poenaeque in imāgine tōta est,
utque furit catulō lactente orbāta leaena
signaque nacta pedum sequitur, quem nōn videt, hostem,
sīc Hecubē, postquam cum lūctū miscuit īram,
550nōn oblīta animōrum, annōrum oblīta suōrum,
vādit ad artificem dīrae, Polymēstora, caedis
conloquiumque petit: nam sē mōnstrāre relictum
velle latēns illī, quod nātō redderet, aurum.As soon as she blazed up with it, as if she were still a queen, she resolved to take vengeance and is wholly absorbed in the image of punishment, and as a lioness rages when robbed of her suckling cub and, finding the tracks of its feet, follows the enemy she does not see, so Hecuba, after she has mingled anger with grief, not forgetting her spirit, forgetting her years, goes to Polymestor, the author of the dreadful murder, and asks for a meeting: for she says she wishes to show him gold left in hiding for him, to give to her son.
Met. 13.554Crēdidit Odrysius praedaeque adsuētus amōre
555in sēcrēta vēnit.The Odrysian believed her, and, accustomed to the love of gain, came to the secret place. Met. 13.555Tum blandō callidus ōre
"tolle morās, Hecubē," dīxit, "dā mūnera nātō!Then, cunning, with flattering lips, he said, 'Make no delay, Hecuba, give the gifts for your son! Met. 13.557Omne fore illīus quod dās, quod et ante dedistī,
per superōs iūrō."All that you give, and what you gave before, will be his, I swear by the gods above.' Met. 13.558Spectat truculenta loquentem
falsaque iūrantem tumidāque exaestuat īrā
560atque ita correptō captīvārum agmina mātrum
invocat et digitōs in perfida lūmina condit
expellitque genīs oculōs (facit īra nocentem)
immergitque manūs, foedātaque sanguine sontī
nōn lūmen (neque enim superest), loca lūminis haurit.She looks fiercely at him as he speaks and swears falsely, and she boils with swelling rage, and so, seizing him, she calls on the band of captive mothers and plunges her fingers into his treacherous eyes and forces the eyes from their sockets (anger makes her deadly) and sinks her hands in, and, defiled with his guilty blood, she gouges out not his sight (for none is left) but the places of his sight.
Met. 13.565Clāde suī Thrācum gēns inrītāta tyrannī
Trōada tēlōrum lapidumque incessere iactū
coepit.The Thracian people, provoked by the disaster of their tyrant, began to attack the Trojan woman with a shower of weapons and stones. Met. 13.567At haec missum raucō cum murmure saxum
morsibus īnsequitur, rictūque in verba parātō
lātrāvit, cōnāta loquī: locus exstat et ex rē
570nōmen habet, veterumque diū memor illa malōrum
tum quoque Sithoniōs ululāvit maesta per agrōs.But she pursues with snapping jaws a stone thrown at her, with a hoarse growl, and, her mouth set for words, she barked when she tried to speak: the place still exists and takes its name from the event, and she, long mindful of her old sufferings, even then howled mournfully through the Sithonian fields. Met. 13.572illīus Trōasque suōs hostēsque Pelasgōs,
illīus fortūna deōs quoque mōverat omnēs,
sīc omnēs, ut et ipsa Iovis coniūnxque sororque
575ēventūs Hecubam meruisse negāverit illōs.Her fortune had moved both her Trojans and the Pelasgian enemy, her fortune had moved all the gods too, all of them, so much that even Jupiter's wife and sister herself denied that Hecuba had deserved that end.