So spoke the ancient dame; and Hector straight Through the wide streets his rapid steps retrac’d. But when at last the mighty city’s length Was travers’d, and the Scaean gates were reach’d, Whence was the outlet to the plain, in haste Running to meet him came his priceless wife, Eetion’s daughter, fair Andromache; Eetion, who from Thebes Cilicia sway’d, Thebes, at the foot of Placos’ wooded heights. His child to Hector of the brazen helm Was giv’n in marriage: she it was who now Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore, Clasp’d to her breast, his all unconscious child, Hector’s lov’d infant, fair as morning star; Whom Hector call’d Scamandrius, but the rest Astyanax, in honour of his sire, The matchless chief, the only prop of Troy. Silent he smil’d as on his boy he gaz’d: But at his side Andromache, in tears, Hung on his arm, and thus the chief address’d: “Dear Lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom: Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child, Or me forlorn, to be thy widow soon: For thee will all the Greeks with force combin’d Assail and slay: for me, ’twere better far, Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod; Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost, But endless grief; to me nor sire is left, Nor honour’d mother; fell Achilles’ hand My sire Eetion slew, what time his arms The populous city of Cilicia raz’d, The lofty-gated Thebes; he slew indeed, But stripp’d him not; he reverenc’d the dead; And o’er his body, with his armour burnt, A mound erected; and the mountain nymphs, The progeny of aegis-bearing Jove, Planted around his tomb a grove of elms. There were sev’n brethren in my father’s house; All in one day they fell, amid their herds And fleecy flocks, by fierce Achilles’ hand. My mother, Queen of Placos’ wooded height, Brought with the captives here, he soon releas’d For costly ransom; but by Dian’s shafts She, in her father’s house, was stricken down. But, Hector, thou to me art all in one, Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love! Then pitying us, within the tow’r remain, Nor make thy child an orphan, and thy wife A hapless widow; by the fig-tree here Array thy troops; for here the city wall, Easiest of access, most invites assault. Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assail’d, The two Ajaces, brave Idomeneus, Th’ Atridae both, and Tydeus’ warlike son, Or by the prompting of some Heav’n-taught seer, Or by their own advent’rous courage led.”