Shalt raise again her fallen citadel,
Recall her scattered citizens from flight,
And give to fatherland and Phrygians
Their name and fame again?—Alas, my son,
Such hopes consort not with our present state.
Let the humble captive's fitter prayer be mine—475
The prayer for life.
Ah me, what spot remote
Can hold thee safe? In what dark lurking-place
Can I bestow thee and abate my fears?