"This was the hour when rest, that gift of the gods
most haeven-sent, first comes to beleagurred mortals,
creeping over us now...when there, look,
I dreamed I saw Prince Hector before my eyes,
my comrade haggard with sorrow, streaming tears,
just as he once was, when dragged behind the chariot,
black with blood and grime, thongs piercing his swollen feet--
what a harrowing sight! What a far cry from the old Hector
home from battle, decked in Achilles' arms--his trophies--
or fresh from pitching Trojan fire at the greek ships.
His beard matted now, his hair clotted with blood,
bearing the wonds, so many wounds he suffered
fighting round his native city walls...
I dreamed I addressed him first, in tears myself
I forced my voice from the depths of all my grief:
'Oh light of Trojans--last best hope of Troy!
What's held ou back so long? How long we've waited,
Hector, for you to come, and now from what far shores?
How glad we are to see you, we battle weary men,
after so many deaths, your people dead and gone,
after your citizens, your city felt such pain.
But what outrage has mutilated your face
so clear and cloudless once? Why these wounds?'
"Wasting no words, no time on empty questions,
heaving a deep groan from his heart he calls out:
'Escape, son of the goddess, tear yourself from the flames!
The enemy holds our walls. Troy is toppling from her heights.
You have paid your debt to our King and native land.
If one strong arm could have saved Troy, my arm
would have saved the city. Now, into your hands
she entrusts her holy things, her household gods.
Take them with you as comrades in your fortunes.
Seek a city for them, once you have roved the seas,
erect great walls at last to house the gods of Troy!
(l. 339-372)