She ceased; nor waited Hector long, but rushed Forth from the house, along the very way That he had come, through fair-built Troja’s streets; Nor paused he till he reached the Scæan gate, (Through which he meant to hie him to the plain). But here Andromache of queenly dower, His wife, the daughter of Eëtion, Who dwelt erstwhile ’neath Placus’ woody height, In Thebe, ruling o’er Cilician men, Came running till she met him in the way. With her, the nurse, who to her bosom held An innocent-hearted babe, their only son, His father’s joy, in beauty like a star, Scamandrius named by Hector, but the host Called him Astyanax, the City’s King, Honouring Hector chief defence of Troy. And now he looked on him, and smiled a smile That spake his heart more than a thousand words, And called the tears into his mother’s eyes. She, clinging to her husband, grasped his hand, And, sobbing “Hector,” spoke to him these words: “Ah! love, thy bravery will be thy bane, And, seeking glory, thou forgettest _him_ And me, ah! hapless me when thou art gone! Soon, soon, I know it, all the foes of Troy, Rushing on thee at once, shall take thy life. And, when I miss thee, it were better far That I were laid beneath the ground: for I Shall then have none to comfort me, not one, But woes on woes, when thou hast left me, Hector! No sire have I, nor gentle mother left,-- _Him_, as thou know’st, the proud Achilles slew, And razed his fair-built city to the ground. High-gated Thebe. Yet he spoiled him not, Although he slew him, but, with reverence, Laid him in glittering arms upon the pyre, And raised a mound in honour of his name, Which the hill-nymphs garlanded round with elms, The daughters of the ægis-bearing Zeus. And my seven brothers, in one fatal day, Entered the gloomy shades where Pluto reigns, Slain by the ruthless hand that slew my sire, As, in their native fields, they watched the herds Of kine, slow-footed, and of snowy sheep. Nor did my queenly mother long survive, For, led a captive to the Grecian camp, With other spoils, the victor sent her home, For goodly ransom, only to be slain By the sure shaft of huntress Artemis. But thou art father, mother, brother, spouse, My pride, my Hector! Oh! then, pity me! Stay here and watch with me upon this tower,-- Stay, stay, my Hector, go not hence to make Thy child an orphan and a widow me! But set the forces by the Fig-tree Hill, Where the chief risk of hostile entrance lies, And where the wall is weakest. At that point Already have the bravest of our foes-- Idomeneus and either Ajax, Diomede, And the two sons of Atreus--made assault, Whether incited thither by some voice Prophetic, or high hope of victory. So stay, my Hector, they will need thee here.”