Within the silent tomb, before I hear Thy shrieks of terror and captivity. This said, illustrious Hector stretched his arms To take his child; but, to the nurse's breast The babe clung crying, hiding in her robe His little face;--affrighted to behold His father's awful aspect;--fearing too, The brazen helm, and crest with horse-hair crown'd, Which, nodding dreadful from its lofty cone, Alarm'd him!--Sweetly, then, the father smil'd, And sweetly smil'd the mother!--Soon the chief Remov'd the threat'ning helmet from his head, And plac'd it on the ground, all-beaming bright. Then, having fondly kiss'd his son belov'd, And toss'd him playfully, he thus, to Jove And all th' immortals, pray'd:--Oh grant me, Jove, And other powers divine, that this my son May be, (as I am,) of the Trojan race In glory chief!--So let him be renown'd For warlike prowess, and commanding sway, With power and wisdom join'd; of Ilion king! And may his people say, "This chief excels His father, greatly;" when, from fields of fame Triumphant he returns, bearing aloft The bloody spoils, (some hostile hero slain,) And his fond mother's heart expands with joy. He said, and plac'd his child within the arms Of his beloved spouse:--she him receiv'd, And softly on her fragrant bosom laid, Smiling with tearful eyes.--To pity mov'd, Her husband saw:--with kind consoling hand He wip'd the tears away, and thus he spake. My dearest love! grieve not thy mind for me Excessively!--no man can send me hence To Pluto's hall, before th' appointed time;-- And surely, none, of all the human race, (Base, or e'en brave,) has ever shunn'd his fate; His fate fore-doom'd when first he saw the light. But now, (returning home,) thy works attend, The loom and distaff, and command thy maids To household duties;--while the war shall be Of _men_ the care;--of all indeed,--but most The care of _me_, of all in Ilion born. So saying, Hector glorious chieftain took His crested helm again.--His wife belov'd Homeward return'd; but often turned her head, With retrospective eye, and tears profuse. At length she reach'd the palace of her lord,-- The stately palace with commodious rooms, Of Hector terror of his foes, and found Her numerous maids within; among them all, Exciting sorrow!--They, with doleful cries, Hector (tho' living still) as dead, bewailed, In his own house;--expecting never more To see the chief, returning from the war, Escap'd the strength and valor of the Greeks. For the Southern Literary Messenger. THE DOOR-LATCH. RECOLLECTIONS OF A MARRIED MAN. "Go back and shut that door!" roared I in a voice of thunder. "How can you, my dear," said Julia, with a supplicating glance, "speak so _very_ loud, when I have just told you that my head is bursting with pain."