Hecuba: Our hero, for thee the blows are descending,
On arms and shoulders that stream with our blood;
For thee our brows endure rough strokes,
And our breasts are mangled with pitiless hands.120
Now flow the old wounds, reopened anew,
That bled at thy death, the chief cause of our sorrow.
O prop of our country, delayer of fate,
Our Ilium's bulwark, our mighty defender,125
Our strong tower wast thou; secure on thy shoulders,
Our city stood leaning through ten weary years.