Throughout the town all faces tell
One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,
Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,
Had never ceased her tears, was glad.
But now, unhappy grief, what first,
What last, dost thou prepare to weep?650
Our city walls in ruin laid,
Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines
Upon their very gods consumed?
Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes