THUS having said, brave Hector went to see | |
| His Virtuous Wife, the fair Andromache. | |
| He found her not at home; for she was gone | |
| (Attended by her Maid and Infant Son,) | |
| To climb the steepy Tow’r of Ilion: | 5 |
| From whence with heavy Heart she might survey | |
| The bloody business of the Dreadful day. | |
| Her mournful Eyes she cast around the Plain, | |
| And sought the Lord of her Desires in vain. | |
| But he, who thought his peopled Palace bare, | 10 |
| When she, his only Comfort, was not there, | |
| Stood in the Gate, and ask’d of ev’ry one, | |
| Which way she took, and whither she was gone: | |
| If to the Court, or, with his Mother’s Train, | |
| In long Procession to Minerva’s Fane? | 15 |
| The Servants answer’d, neither to the Court | |
| Where Priam’s Sons and Daughters did resort, | |
| Nor to the Temple was she gone, to move; | |
| With Prayers the blew-ey’d Progeny of Jove | |
| But, more solicitous for him alone, | 20 |
| Than all their safety, to the Tow’r was gone, | |
| There to survey the Labours of the Field, | |
| Where the Greeks conquer, and the Trojans yield. | |
| Swiftly she pass’d, with Fear and Fury wild; | |
| The Nurse went lagging after with the Child. | 25 |
| This heard, the Noble Hector made no stay; | |
| Th’ admiring Throng divide, to give him way: | |
| He pass’d through every Street, by which he came, | |
| And at the Gate he met the mournful Dame. | |
| His Wife beheld him, and with eager pace, | 30 |
| Flew to his Arms, to meet a dear Embrace: | |
| His Wife, who brought in Dow’r Cilicia’s Crown, | |
| And in her self a greater Dow’r alone: | |
| Aëtion’s 2 Heyr, who on the Woody Plain | |
| Of Hippoplacus 3 did in Thebe reign. | 35 |
| Breathless she flew, with Joy and Passion wild; | |
| The Nurse came lagging after with her 4 Child. | |
| The Royal Babe upon her Breast was laid; | |
| Who, like the Morning Star, his beams display’d. | |
| Scamandrius was his Name which Hector gave, | 40 |
| From that fair Flood which Ilion’s Wall did lave: | |
| But him Astyanax the Trojans call, | |
| From his great Father who defends the Wall. | |
| Hector beheld him with a silent Smile: | |
| His tender Wife stood weeping by, the while: | 45 |
| Prest in her own, his Warlike hand she took, | |
| Then sigh’d, and thus Prophetically spoke. | |
| Thy dauntless Heart (which I foresee too late,) | |
| Too daring Man, will urge thee to thy Fate: | |
| Nor dost thou pity, with a Parent’s mind, | 50 |
| This helpless Orphan whom thou leav’st behind; | |
| Nor me, th’ unhappy Partner of thy Bed; | |
| Who must in Triumph by the Greeks be led: | |
| They seek thy Life; and, in unequal Fight, | |
| With many will oppress thy single Might: | 55 |
| Better it were for miserable me | |
| To die, before the Fate which I foresee. | |
| For ah what comfort can the World bequeath | |
| To Hector’s Widow, after Hector’s death? | |
| Eternal Sorrow and perpetual Tears | 60 |
| Began my Youth, and will conclude my Years: | |
| I have no Parents, Friends, nor Brothers left; | |
| By stern Achilles all of Life bereft. | |
| Then when the Walls of Thebes he o’rethrew, 5 | |
| His fatal Hand my Royal Father slew; | 65 |
| He slew Aëtion, but despoil’d him not; | |
| Nor in his hate the Funeral Rites forgot; | |
| Arm’d as he was he sent him whole below, | |
| And reverenc’d thus the Manes of his Foe: | |
| A Tomb he rais’d; the Mountain Nymphs around | 70 |
| Enclos’d with planted Elms the Holy Ground. | |
| My sev’n brave Brothers in one fatal Day | |
| To Death’s dark Mansions took the mournful way; | |
| Slain by the same Achilles, while they keep | |
| The bellowing Oxen and the bleating Sheep. | 75 |
| My Mother, who the Royal Scepter sway’d, | |
| Was Captive to the cruel Victor made, | |
| And hither led; but hence redeem’d with Gold, | |
| Her Native Country did again behold, | |
| And but beheld: for soon Diana’s Dart | 80 |
| In an unhappy Chace transfix’d her Heart. | |
| But thou, my Hector, art thy self alone | |
| My Parents, Brothers, and my Lord in one | |
| O kill not all my Kindred o’re again, | |
| Nor tempt the Dangers of the dusty Plain; | 85 |
| But in this Tow’r, for our Defence, remain. | |
| Thy Wife and Son are in thy Ruin lost: | |
| This is a Husband’s and a Father’s Post. | |
| The Scæan Gate commands the Plains below; | |
| Here marshal all thy Souldiers as they go; | 90 |
| And hence, with other Hands, repel the Foe. | |
| By yon wild Fig-tree lies their chief ascent, | |
| And thither all their Pow’rs are daily bent; | |
| The two Ajaces have I often seen, | |
| And the wrong’d Husband of the Spartan Queen: | 95 |
| With him his greater Brother; and with these | |
| Fierce Diomede and bold Meriones: | |
| Uncertain if by Augury, or chance, | |
| But by this easie rise they all advance; | |
| Guard well that Pass, secure of all beside. | 100 |
| To whom the Noble Hector thus reply’d. | |
| That and the rest are in my daily care; | |
| But, shou’d I shun the Dangers of the War, | |
| With scorn the Trojans wou’d reward my Pains, | |
| And their proud Ladies with their sweeping Trains. | 105 |
| The Grecian Swords and Lances I can bear | |
| But loss of Honour is my only Fear. | |
| Shall Hector, born to War, his Birth-right yield, | |
| Belie his Courage, and forsake the Field? | |
| Early in rugged Arms I took delight; | 110 |
| And still have been the foremost in the Fight: | |
| With dangers dearly have I bought Renown, | |
| And am the Champion of my Father’s Crown. | |
| And yet my mind forebodes, with sure presage, | |
| That Troy shall perish by the Grecian Rage. | 115 |
| The fatal Day draws on, when I must fall; | |
| And Universal Ruine cover all. | |
| Not Troy it self, tho’ built by Hands Divine, | |
| Nor Priam, nor his People, nor his Line, | |
| My Mother, nor my Brothers of Renown, | 120 |
| Whose Valour yet defends th’ unhappy Town, | |
| Not these, nor all their Fates which I foresee, | |
| Are half of that concern I have for thee. | |
| I see, I see thee, in that fatal Hour, | |
| Subjected to the Victor’s cruel Pow’r; | 125 |
| Led hence a Slave to some insulting Sword, | |
| Forlorn and trembling at a Foreign Lord; | |
| A spectacle in Argos, at the Loom, | |
| Gracing with Trojan Fights a Grecian Room; | |
| Or from deep Wells, the living Stream to take, | 130 |
| And on thy weary Shoulders bring it back. | |
| While, groaning under this laborious Life, | |
| They insolently call thee Hector’s Wife; | |
| Upbraid thy Bondage with thy Husband’s name; | |
| And from my Glory propagate thy Shame. | 135 |
| This when they say, thy Sorrows will encrease | |
| With anxious thoughts of former Happiness; | |
| That he is dead who cou’d thy wrongs redress. | |
| But I, opprest with Iron Sleep before, | |
| Shall hear thy unavailing Cries no more. He said, | 140 |
| Then, holding forth his Arms, he took his Boy, | |
| (The Pledge of Love, and other hope of Troy; | |
| The fearful Infant turn’d his Head away, | |
| And on his Nurse’s Neck reclining lay, | |
| His unknown Father shunning with affright, | 145 |
| And looking back on so uncouth a sight; | |
| Daunted to see a Face with Steel o’re-spread, | |
| And his high Plume, that nodded o’re his Head. | |
| His Sire and Mother smil’d with silent Joy; | |
| And Hector hasten’d to relieve his Boy; | 150 |
| Dismiss’d his burnish’d Helm, that shone afar, | |
| (The Pride of Warriours, and the Pomp of War:) | |
| Th’ Illustrious Babe, thus reconcil’d, he took: | |
| Hugg’d in his Arms, and kiss’d, and thus he spoke. | |
| Parent of Gods and Men, propitious Jove, | 155 |
| And you bright Synod of the Pow’rs above; | |
| On this my Son your Gracious Gifts bestow; | |
| Grant him to live, and great in Arms to grow, | |
| To reign in Troy, to Govern with Renown, | |
| To shield the People, and assert the Crown: | 160 |
| That, when hereafter he from War 6 shall come, | |
| And bring his Trojans Peace and Triumph home, | |
| Some aged Man, who lives this act to see, | |
| And who in former times remember’d me, | |
| May say the Son in Fortitude and Fame | 165 |
| Out-goes the Mark; and drowns his Father’s Name: | |
| That at these words his Mother may rejoyce, | |
| And add her Suffrage to the publick Voice. | |
| Thus having said, | |
| He first with suppliant Hands the Gods ador’d: | 170 |
| Then to the Mother’s Arms the Child restor’d: | |
| With Tears and Smiles she took her son and press’d | |
| Th’ Illustrious Infant to her fragrant Breast. | |
| He, wiping her fair Eyes, indulg’d her Grief, | |
| And eas’d her Sorrows with this last Relief. | 175 |
| My Wife and Mistress, drive thy fears away, | |
| Nor give so bad an Omen to the Day: | |
| Think not it lies in any Grecian’s Pow’r, | |
| To take my Life before the fatal Hour. | |
| When that arrives, nor good nor bad can fly | 180 |
| Th’ irrevocable Doom of Destiny. | |
| Return, and, to divert thy thoughts at home, | |
| There task thy Maids, and exercise the Loom, | |
| Employ’d in Works that Womankind become. | |
| The Toils of War, and Feats of Chivalry | 185 |
| Belong to Men, and most of all to me. | |
| At this, for new Replies he did not stay, | |
| But lac’d his Crested Helm, and strode away. | |
| His lovely Consort to her House return’d, | |
| And looking often back in silence mourn’d: | 190 |
| Home when she came, her secret Woe she vents, | |
| And fills the Palace with her loud Laments; | |
| These loud Laments her ecchoing Maids restore, | |
| And Hector, yet alive, as dead deplore. | |
