Victim, to Mars, beneath a foeman’s spear, May well beseem his years; and if he fall With honour, though he die, yet glorious he! But when the hoary head and hoary beard, And naked corpse to rav’ning dogs are giv’n, No sadder sight can wretched mortals see.” The old man spoke, and from, his head he tore The hoary hair; yet Hector firm remain’d. Then to the front his mother rush’d, in tears, Her bosom bare, with either hand her breast Sustaining, and with tears address’d him thus: “Hector, my child, thy mother’s breast revere; And on this bosom if thine infant woes Have e’er been hush’d, bear now in mind, dear child, The debt thou ow’st; and from within the walls Ward off this fearful man, nor in the field Encounter; curs’d be he! should he prevail, And slay thee, not upon the fun’ral bed, My child, my own, the offspring of my womb, Shall I deplore thee, nor thy widow’d wife, But far away, beside the Grecian ships, Thy corpse shall to the rav’ning dogs be giv’n.” Thus they, with tears and earnest pray’rs imploring, Address’d their son; yet Hector firm remain’d, Waiting th’ approach of Peleus’ godlike son. As when a snake upon the mountain side, With deadly venom charg’d, beside his hole, Awaits the traveller, and fill’d with rage, Coil’d round his hole, his baleful glances darts; So fill’d with dauntless courage Hector stood, Scorning retreat, his gleaming buckler propp’d Against the jutting tow’r; then, deeply mov’d, Thus with his warlike soul communion held: “Oh woe is me! if I should enter now The city gates, I should the just reproach Encounter of Polydamas, who first His counsel gave within the walls to lead The Trojan forces, on that fatal night When great Achilles in the field appear’d. I heeded not his counsel; would I had! Now, since my folly hath the people slain, I well might blush to meet the Trojan men, And long-rob’d dames of Troy, lest some might say, To me inferior far, ‘This woful loss To Hector’s blind self-confidence we owe.’ Thus shall they say; for me, ’twere better far, Or from Achilles, slain in open fight, Back to return in triumph, or myself To perish nobly in my country’s cause. What if my bossy shield I lay aside, And stubborn helmet, and my pond’rous spear Propping against the wall, go forth to meet Th’ unmatch’d Achilles? What if I engage That Helen’s self, and with her all the spoil, And all that Paris in his hollow ships Brought here to Troy, whence first this war arose, Should be restor’d; and to the Greeks be paid An ample tribute from the city’s stores, Her secret treasures; and hereafter bind The Trojans by their Elders’ solemn oaths Nought to withhold, but fairly to divide Whate’er of wealth our much-loved city holds? But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul? Should I so meet him, what if he should show Nor pity nor remorse, but slay me there, Defenceless as a woman, and unarm’d? Not this the time, nor he the man, with whom By forest oak or rock, like youth and maid,