THE SCENE BETWEEN HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. BOOK VI. This said, the chief of heroes, Hector, thence Departing, soon his splendid palace reach'd And courts commodious:--but he found not there His white-arm'd princess, fair Andromache;-- For, with her child and maid of graceful garb, She stood in Ilion's tower, moaning sad, Weeping and sighing.--Finding not within His blameless wife, he on his threshold stood, And of his servants, thus inquiry made. Be quick, and tell me truly; whither went My lovely consort, fair Andromache?-- To any of my sisters, did she go;-- Or brother's wives;--or to Minerva's fane, Where other Trojan dames with flowing hair, The dreadful Goddess by their prayers appease? His household's faithful governess replied;-- Oh Hector, (since thou bidst me tell thee true,) To none of all thy sisters did she go, Or brother's wives;--nor to Minerva's fane, Where other Trojan dames with flowing hair, The dreadful Goddess by their prayers appease:-- But she is gone to Ilion's lofty tower, Urg'd by the direful news, that in the field The Trojans suffer much, and Greeks prevail. Alarm'd and seeming frantic, to the wall She hurried, and the nurse her infant bore. So spake the prudent dame.--Impetuous, thence Great Hector rush'd, retracing (through the streets With beauteous buildings grac'd,) his former way. But, through the spacious city, when he reach'd The Scoean portals, whence into the field He meant to hasten, there his faithful wife Andromache, to meet her Hector ran;-- His wife with wealthy dowry, daughter fair Of fam'd Eëtion,--chief magnanimous, Who dwelt, in Hypoplacus' sylvan land, At Hypoplacian Thebes,--Cilicia's king;-- His daughter wedded Hector great in arms, And now to meet him sprang:--with her the nurse, Who, in her bosom, bore the tender babe, Their only son, and joy of Hector's heart,-- Who, bright in youthful beauty, like a star Resplendent shone.--Scamandrius was the name That Hector gave him;--others call'd the boy Astyanax, in honor of his sire, Sole guard and bulwark of the suff'ring town. He smil'd in silence, gazing on his son!-- But sad Andromache beside him stood, With anxious fondness shedding tender tears: She, sorrowing, clasp'd his hand, and thus she spake: Ah, rashly brave! thy courage will thyself Destroy:--nor dost thou pity this thy son In helpless infancy, and me thy wife, Unhappy, doom'd a widow soon to be; For soon the Greeks will slay thee,--all combined Assailing:--but for me, of thee bereft, Better it were to sink beneath the ground;-- For no relief or solace will be mine When thou art dead; but unremitting grief.-- No more have I a father;--now no more My honor'd mother lives.--Achilles slew My father, and laid waste Cilician Thebes, His town, well-peopled, grac'd with lofty gates. He slew Eëtion;--yet, with rev'rence touch'd,