And here we met strange news, that Helenus, The son of Priam, was ruling Grecian cities, Having won the wife of Pyrrhus and his crown, And that Andromache once more had married A lord of her own race. Amazed, I burn With a strange longing to seek out that hero, To learn his great adventures. It so happened, Just as I left the landing, that was the day Andromache, in a grove before the city, By the waters of a river that resembled The Simois at home, was offering homage, Her annual mourning-gift to Hector’s ashes, Calling his ghost to the place which she had hallowed With double altars, a green and empty tomb. I found her weeping there, and she was startled At the sight of me, and Trojan arms, a shock Too great to bear: she was rigid for a moment, And then lost consciousness, and a long time later Managed to speak: ‘Is it real, then, goddess-born? What are you, living messenger or phantom, Mortal or ghost? If the dear light has left you, Tell me where Hector is.’ I was moved, so deeply I found it hard to answer to her tears And through my own, but I did say a little:-- ‘I am alive; I seem to keep on living Through all extremes of trouble; do not doubt me, I am no apparition. And what has happened To you, dear wife of Hector? Could any gain Atone for such a loss? Has fortune tried To even matters at all? Does Pyrrhus still Presume on you as husband?’ With lowered gaze And quiet voice she answered:--‘Happy the maiden Slain at the foeman’s tomb, at the foot of the walls; Happy the daughter of Priam, who never knew The drawing of the lots, nor came to the bed Of a conqueror, his captive. After the fire I travelled different seas, endured the pride Achilles filled his son with, bore him children In bondage, till he tired of me and left me For Leda’s daughter and a Spartan marriage. He passed me on to Helenus, fair enough, Slave-woman to slave-man; but then Orestes, Inflamed with passion for his stolen bride, And maddened by the Furies of his vengeance, Caught Pyrrhus off-guard, and slew him at the altar In his ancestral home. And Pyrrhus dying, Part of the kingdom came to Helenus, Who named the fields Chaonian, the land Chaonia, after a man from Troy, And filled the heights, as best he could, with buildings To look like those we knew. But what of yourself? What winds, what fate, have brought you here, or was it Some god? did you know you were on our coast? How is The boy Ascanius, living still, whom Troy Might have--does he ever think about his mother? Does he want to be a hero, a manly spirit, Such as his father was, and his uncle Hector?’ She was in tears again, when the son of Priam, Helenus, with an escort, came from the city, Happy to recognize us, bringing us in With tears and greeting mingled.