THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

Hector left in haste The mansion, and retraced his way between The rows of stately dwellings, traversing The mighty city. When at length he reached The Scaean gates, that issue on the field, His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache, Came forth to meet him,—daughter of the prince Eëtion, who among the woody slopes Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town Of Thebè, ruled Cilicia and her sons, And gave his child to Hector great in arms. She came attended by a maid, who bore A tender child—a babe too young to speak— Upon her bosom,—Hector's only son, Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax,— The city's lord,—since Hector stood the sole Defence of Troy. The father on his child Looked with a silent smile. Andromache Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears, Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:— "Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death. Thou hast no pity on thy tender child Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee To take thy life. A happier lot were mine, If I must lose thee, to go down to earth, For I shall have no hope when thou art gone,— Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none, And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew My father when he sacked the populous town Of the Cilicians,—Thebè with high gates. 'T was there he smote Eëtion, yet forbore To make his arms a spoil; he dared not that, But burned the dead with his bright armor on, And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs, Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter, Came to the spot and planted it with elms. Seven brothers had I in my father's house, And all went down to Hades in one day. Achilles the swift-footed slew them all Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep. My mother, princess on the woody slopes Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away, And only for large ransom gave her back. But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down Within her father's palace. Hector, thou Art father and dear mother now to me, And brother and my youthful spouse besides. In pity keep within the fortress here, Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wife A widow. Post thine army near the place Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in war The boldest of the foe have tried the spot,— The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus, The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave Tydides, whether counselled by some seer Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds." Then answered Hector, great in war: "All this I bear in mind, dear wife; but I should stand Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun The conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heart Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare And strike among the foremost sons of Troy, Upholding my great father's fame and mine; Yet well in my undoubting mind I know The day shall come in which our sacred Troy, And Priam, and the people over whom Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all. But not the sorrows of the Trojan race, Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait My brothers many and brave,—who all at last, Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust,— Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then Shalt at another's bidding ply the loom, And from the fountain of Messeis draw Water, or from the Hypereian spring, Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot. And then shall some one say who sees thee weep, 'This was the wife of Hector, most renowned Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought Around their city.' So shall some one say, And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him Who haply might have kept afar the day Of thy captivity. O let the earth Be heaped above my head in death before I hear thy cries as thou art borne away!" So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms To take the boy; the boy shrank crying back To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see His father helmeted in glittering brass, And eying with affright the horsehair plume That grimly nodded from the lofty crest. At this both parents in their fondness laughed; And hastily the mighty Hector took The helmet from his brow and laid it down Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed His darling son and tossed him up in play, Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:— "O Jupiter and all ye deities, Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become Among the Trojans eminent like me, And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say, 'This man is greater than his father was!' When they behold him from the battle-field Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe,— That so his mother may be glad at heart." So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse He gave the boy; she on her fragrant breast Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed Her forehead gently with his hand, and said:— "Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me. No living man can send me to the shades Before my time; no man of woman born, Coward or brave, can shun his destiny. But go thou home, and tend thy labors there,— The web, the distaff,—and command thy maids To speed the work. The cares of war pertain To all men born in Troy, and most to me." Thus speaking, mighty Hector took again His helmet, shadowed with the horsehair plume, While homeward his beloved consort went, Oft looking back, and shedding many tears. Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls Of the man-queller Hector. There she found A troop of maidens,—with them all she shared Her grief; and all in his own house bewailed The living Hector, whom they thought no more To see returning from the battle-field, Safe from the rage and weapons of the Greeks. Bryant's Translation, Book VI.