Our mistress in mourning; we'll obey thy commands, Well trained in the wild liturgy of despair.
_Hecuba:_ Then, trusty comrades of our fate, Unbind your tresses and let them flow Over your shoulders bent with grief, The while with Troy's slow-cooling dust 85 Ye sprinkle them. Lay bare your arms, Strip from your breasts their covering; Why veil your beauty? Shame itself 90 Is held in captive bonds. And now Let your hands wave free to the quickening blows That resound to your wailings. So, now are ye ready, And thus it is well. I behold once more My old-time Trojan band. Now stoop And fill your hands; 'tis right to take Her dust at least from fallen Troy.
Now let the long-pent grief leap forth, 95 And surpass your accustomed bounds of woe.
_Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep._ _Chorus:_ Our hair, in many a funeral torn, 100 We loose; and o'er our streaming locks Troy's glowing ashes lie bestrewn.
From our shoulders the veiling garments fall, 105 And our breasts invite the smiting hands.
Now, now, O grief, put forth thy strength.
Let the distant shores resound with our mournings; And let Echo who dwells in the slopes of the mountains Repeat all our wailings, not, after her wont, 110 With curt iteration returning the end.
Let earth hear and heed; let the sea and the sky Record all our grief. Then smite, O ye hands, With the strength of frenzy batter and bruise.
With crying and blows and the pain of the smiting-- 115 _Oh, weep for Hector, wail and weep_.
_Hecuba:_ Our hero, for thee the blows are descending, On arms and shoulders that stream with our blood; For thee our brows endure rough strokes, And our breasts are mangled with pitiless hands. 120 Now flow the old wounds, reopened anew, That bled at thy death, the chief cause of our sorrow.
O prop of our country, delayer of fate, Our Ilium's bulwark, our mighty defender, 125 Our strong tower wast thou; secure on thy shoulders, Our city stood leaning through ten weary years.
By thy power supported, with thee has she fallen, Our country and Hector united in doom.
Now turn to another the tide of your mourning; 130 Let Priam receive his due meed of your tears.
_Chorus:_ Receive our lamentings, O Phrygia's ruler; We weep for thy death, who wast twice overcome.
Naught once did Troy suffer while thou didst rule o'er her: Twice fell her proud walls from the blows of the Grecians, 135 And twice was she pierced by great Hercules' darts.
Now all of our Hecuba's offspring have perished, And the proud band of kings who came to our aid; Thy death is the last--our father, our ruler-- Struck down as a victim to Jove the Almighty, 140 All helpless and lone, a mute corpse on the ground.
_Hecuba:_ Nay, give to another your tears and your mourning, And weep not the death of Priam our king.
But call ye him blessed the rather; for free, To the deep world of shadows he travels, and never 145 Upon his bowed neck the base yoke shall he bear.
No proud sons of Atreus shall call him their captive, No crafty Ulysses his eyes shall behold; As boast of their triumphs he shall not bear onward 150 In humble submission their prizes of war.
Those free, royal hands to the scepter accustomed, Shall never be bound at his back like a slave, As he follows the car of the triumphing chieftain, A king led in fetters, the gaze of the town. 155 _Chorus:_ Hail! Priam the blessed we all do proclaim him; For himself and his kingdom he rules yet below; Now through the still depths of Elysium's shadows 'Midst calm, happy spirits he seeks the great Hector. 160 Then hail, happy Priam! Hail all who in battle Have lost life and country, but liberty gained.
ACT II _Talthybius:_ Alas, 'tis thus the Greeks are ever doomed To lie impatient of the winds' delay, Whether on war or homeward journey bent. 165 _Chorus:_ Tell thou the cause of this the Greeks' delay.
What god obstructs the homeward-leading paths?
_Talthybius:_ My soul doth quake, and all my limbs with fear Do tremble. Scarce is credence given to tales That do transcend the truth. And yet I swear, With my own eyes I saw what I relate.
Now with his level rays the morning sun 170 Just grazed the summits of the hills, and day Had vanquished night; when suddenly the earth, 'Mid rumblings hidden deep and terrible, To her profoundest depths convulsive rocked.
The tree-tops trembled, and the lofty groves Gave forth a thunderous sound of crashing boughs; While down from Ida's rent and rugged slopes 175 The loosened bowlders rolled. And not alone The earth did quake: behold, the swelling sea Perceived its own Achilles drawing near, And spread its waves abroad. Then did the ground Asunder yawn, revealing mighty caves, And gave a path from Erebus to earth.
And then the high-heaped sepulcher was rent, 180 From which there sprang Achilles' mighty shade, In guise as when, in practice for thy fates, O Troy, he prostrate laid the Thracian arms, Or slew the son of Neptune, doomed to wear The swan's white plumes; or when, amidst the ranks In furious battle raging, he the streams 185 Did choke with corpses of the slain, and Xanthus Crept sluggishly along with bloody waves; Or when he stood as victor in his car, Plying the reins and dragging in the dust Great Hector's body and the Trojan state.
So there he stood and filled the spreading shore 190 With wrathful words: "Go, get you gone, ye race Of weaklings, bear away the honors due My manes; loose your thankless ships, and sail Across my seas. By no slight offering Did ye aforetime stay Achilles' wrath; And now a greater shall ye pay. Behold, Polyxena, once pledged to me in life, 195 Must by the hand of Pyrrhus to my shade Be led, and with her blood my tomb bedew."
So spake Achilles and the realms of day He left for night profound, reseeking Dis; And as he plunged within the depths of earth, The yawning chasm closed and left no trace.
The sea lies tranquil, motionless; the wind Its boisterous threats abates, and where but now 200 The storm-tossed waters raged in angry mood, The gentle waves lap harmless on the shore; While from afar the band of Tritons sounds The marriage chorus of their kindred lord.
_Pyrrhus:_ Now that you homeward fare, and on the sea Your joyful sails would spread, my noble sire Is quite forgot, though by his single hand Was mighty Troy o'erthrown; for, though his death 205 Some respite granted to the stricken town, She stood but as some sorely smitten tree, That sways uncertain, choosing where to fall.
Though even now ye seek to make amends For your neglect, and haste to grant the thing He asks, 'tis but a tardy recompense.
Long since, the other chieftains of the Greeks Have gained their just reward. What lesser prize Should his great valor claim? Or is it naught 210 That, though his mother bade him shun the war, And spend his life in long, inglorious ease, Surpassing even Pylian Nestor's years, He cast his mother's shamming garments off, Confessing him the hero that he was?
When Telephus, in pride of royal power, 215 Forbade our progress through his kingdom's bounds, He stained with royal blood the untried hand That young Achilles raised. Yet once again He felt that selfsame hand in mercy laid Upon his wound to heal him of its smart.
Then did Eëtion, smitten sore, behold His city taken and his realm o'erthrown; By equal fortune fell Lyrnessus' walls, 220 For safety perched upon a ridgy height, Whence came that captive maid, Briseïs fair; And Chrysa, too, lies low, the destined cause Of royal strife; and Tenedos, and the land Which on its spreading pastures feeds the flocks 225 Of Thracian shepherds, Scyros; Lesbos too, Upon whose rocky shore the sea in twain Is cleft; and Cilla, which Apollo loved.
All these my father took, and eke the towns Whose walls Caÿcus with his vernal flood Doth wash against. This widespread overthrow Of tribes, this fearful and destructive scourge, That swept through many towns with whirlwind power-- 230 This had been glory and the height of fame For other chiefs; 'twas but an incident In great Achilles' journey to the war.
So came my father and such wars he waged While but preparing war. And though I pass In silence all his other merits, still Would mighty Hector's death be praise enough. 235 My father conquered Troy; the lesser task Of pillage and destruction is your own.
'Tis pleasant thus to laud my noble sire And all his glorious deeds pass in review: Before his father's eyes did Hector lie, Of life despoiled; and Memnon, swarthy son Of bright Aurora, goddess of the dawn, For whose untimely death his mother's face Was sicklied o'er with grief, while day was veiled 240 In darkness. When the heaven-born Memnon fell, Achilles trembled at his victory; For in that fall he learned the bitter truth That even sons of goddesses may die.
Then, 'mongst our latest foes, the Amazons, Fierce maidens, felt my father's deadly power.
So, if thou rightly estimate his deeds, Thou ow'st Achilles all that he can ask, E'en though he seek from Argos or Mycenae 245 Some high-born maid. And dost thou hesitate And haggle now, inventing scruples new, And deem it barbarous to sacrifice This captive maid of Troy to Peleus' son?
But yet for Helen's sake didst thou devote Thy daughter to the sacrificial knife.
I make in this no new or strange request, But only urge a customary rite.
_Agamemnon:_ 'Tis the common fault of youth to have no check 250 On passion's force; while others feel alone The sweeping rush of this first fire of youth, His father's spirit urges Pyrrhus on.
I once endured unmoved the blustering threats Of proud Achilles, swoll'n with power; and now, My patience is sufficient still to bear His son's abuse. Why do you seek to smirch 255 With cruel murder the illustrious shade Of that famed chief? 'Tis fitting first to learn Within what bounds the victor may command, The vanquished suffer. Never has for long Unbridled power been able to endure, But lasting sway the self-controlled enjoy.
The higher fortune raises human hopes, 260 The more should fortune's favorite control His vaulting pride, and tremble as he views The changing fates of life, and fear the gods Who have uplifted him above his mates.
By my own course of conquest have I learned That mighty kings can straightway come to naught.
Should Troy o'erthrown exalt us overmuch?
Behold, we stand today whence she has fallen. 265 I own that in the past too haughtily Have I my sway o'er fallen chieftains borne; But thought of fortune's gift has checked my pride, Since she unto another might have given These selfsame gifts. O fallen king of Troy, Thou mak'st me proud of conquest over thee, Thou mak'st me fear that I may share thy fate. 270 Why should I count the scepter anything But empty honor and a tinsel show?
This scepter one short hour can take away, Without the aid, perchance, of countless ships And ten long years of war. The steps of fate Do not for all advance with pace so slow. 275 For me, I will confess ('tis with thy grace, O land of Greece, I speak) I have desired To see the pride and power of Troy brought low; But that her walls and homes should be o'erthrown In utter ruin have I never wished.
But a wrathful foe, by greedy passion driven, And heated by the glow of victory, Within the shrouding darkness of the night, 280 Cannot be held in check. If any act Upon that fatal night unworthy seemed Or cruel, 'twas the deed of heedless wrath, And darkness which is ever fury's spur, And the victorious sword, whose lust for blood, When once in blood imbued, is limitless.
Since Troy has lost her all, seek not to grasp 285 The last poor fragments that remain. Enough, And more has she endured of punishment.
But that a maid of royal birth should fall An offering upon Achilles' tomb, Bedewing his harsh ashes with her blood, While that foul murder gains the honored name Of wedlock, I shall not permit. On me The blame of all will come; for he who sin 290 Forbids not when he can, commits the sin.
_Pyrrhus:_ Shall no reward Achilles' shade obtain?
_Agamemnon:_ Yea, truly; all the Greeks shall sing his praise, And unknown lands shall hear his mighty name.
But if his shade demand a sacrifice 295 Of out-poured blood, go take our richest flocks, And shed their blood upon thy father's tomb; But let no mother's tears pollute the rite.
What barbarous custom this, that living man Should to the dead be slain in sacrifice?
Then spare thy father's name the hate and scorn Which by such cruel worship it must gain. 300 _Pyrrhus:_ Thou, swoll'n with pride so long as happy fate Uplifts thy soul, but weak and spent with fear When fortune frowns; O hateful king of kings, Is now thy heart once more with sudden love Of this new maid inflamed? Shalt thou alone So often bear away my father's spoils? 305 By this right hand he shall receive his own.
And if thou dost refuse, and keep the maid, A greater victim will I slay, and one More worthy Pyrrhus' gift; for all too long From royal slaughter hath my hand been free, And Priam asks an equal sacrifice. 310 _Agamemnon:_ Far be it from my wish to dim the praise That thou dost claim for this most glorious deed-- Old Priam slain by thy barbaric sword, Thy father's suppliant.
_Pyrrhus:_ I know full well My father's suppliants--and well I know His enemies. Yet royal Priam came, And made his plea before my father's face; 315 But thou, o'ercome with fear, not brave enough Thyself to make request, within thy tent Didst trembling hide, and thy desires consign To braver men, that they might plead for thee.
_Agamemnon:_ But, of a truth, no fear thy father felt; But while our Greece lay bleeding, and her ships With hostile fire were threatened, there he lay Supine and thoughtless of his warlike arms, 320 And idly strumming on his tuneful lyre.
_Pyrrhus:_ Then mighty Hector, scornful of thy arms, Yet felt such wholesome fear of that same lyre, That our Thessalian ships were left in peace.
_Agamemnon:_ An equal peace did Hector's father find When he betook him to Achilles' ships. 325 _Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis regal thus to spare a kingly life.
_Agamemnon:_ Why then didst thou a kingly life despoil?
_Pyrrhus:_ But mercy oft doth offer death for life.
_Agamemnon:_ Doth mercy now demand a maiden's blood? 330 _Pyrrhus:_ Canst _thou_ proclaim such sacrifice a sin?
_Agamemnon:_ A king must love his country more than child.
_Pyrrhus:_ No law the wretched captive's life doth spare.
_Agamemnon:_ What law forbids not, this let shame forbid.
_Pyrrhus:_ 'Tis victor's right to do whate'er he will. 335 _Agamemnon:_ Then should he will the least who most can do.
_Pyrrhus:_ Dost thou boast thus, from whose tyrannic reign Of ten long years but now the Greeks I freed?
_Agamemnon:_ Such airs from Scyros!
_Pyrrhus:_ Thence no brother's blood.
_Agamemnon:_ Hemmed by the sea!
_Pyrrhus:_ Yet that same sea is ours. 340 But as for Pelops' house, I know it well.
_Agamemnon:_ Thou base-born son of maiden's secret sin, And young Achilles, scarce of man's estate-- _Pyrrhus:_ Yea, that Achilles who, by right of birth, Claims equal sovereignty of triple realms: 345 His mother rules the sea, to Aeacus The shades submit, to mighty Jove the heavens.
_Agamemnon:_ Yet that Achilles lies by Paris slain!
_Pyrrhus:_ But by Apollo's aid, who aimed the dart; For no god dared to meet him face to face.
_Agamemnon:_ I could have checked thy words, and curbed thy tongue, Too bold in evil speech; but this my sword 350 Knows how to spare. But rather let them call The prophet Calchas, who the will of heaven Can tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.
[_Enter_ Calchas.]
Thou who from bonds didst loose the Grecian ships, And bring to end the slow delays of war; Who by thy mystic art canst open heaven, And read with vision clear the awful truths Which sacrificial viscera proclaim; To whom the thunder's roll, the long, bright trail 355 Of stars that flash across the sky, reveal The hidden things of fate; whose every word Is uttered at a heavy cost to me: What is the will of heaven, O Calchas; speak, And rule us with the mastery of fate.
_Calchas:_ The Greeks must pay th' accustomed price to death, 360 Ere on the homeward seas they take their way.
The maiden must be slaughtered on the tomb Of great Achilles. Thus the rite perform: As Grecian maidens are in marriage led By other hands unto the bridegroom's home, So Pyrrhus to his father's shade must lead His promised bride. 365 But not this cause alone Delays our ships: a nobler blood than thine, Polyxena, is due unto the fates; For from yon lofty tower must Hector's son, Astyanax, be hurled to certain death.
Then shall our vessels hasten to the sea, And fill the waters with their thousand sails. 370 [_Exeunt._] _Chorus:_ When in the tomb the dead is laid, When the last rites of love are paid; When eyes no more behold the light, Closed in the sleep of endless night; Survives there aught, can we believe?
Or does an idle tale deceive? 375 What boots it, then, to yield the breath A willing sacrifice to death, If still we gain no dreamless peace, And find from living no release?
Say, do we, dying, end all pain?
Does no least part of us remain?
When from this perishable clay The flitting breath has sped away; Does then the soul that dissolution share And vanish into elemental air? 380 Whate'er the morning sunbeam knows, Whate'er his setting rays disclose; Whate'er is bathed by Ocean wide, In ebbing or in flowing tide: Time all shall snatch with hungry greed, With mythic Pegasean speed. 385 Swift is the course of stars in flight, Swiftly the moon repairs her light; Swiftly the changing seasons go, While time speeds on with endless flow: But than all these, with speed more swift, Toward fated nothingness we drift. 390 For when within the tomb we're laid, No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.
Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast, This animating spirit soon has passed. 395 Since naught remains, and death is naught But life's last goal, so swiftly sought; Let those who cling to life abate Their fond desires, and yield to fate; And those who fear death's fabled gloom, Bury their cares within the tomb.
Soon shall grim time and yawning night In their vast depths engulf us quite; 400 Impartial death demands the whole-- The body slays nor spares the soul.
Dark Taenara and Pluto fell, And Cerberus, grim guard of hell-- All these but empty rumors seem, 405 The pictures of a troubled dream.
Where then will the departed spirit dwell?
Let those who never came to being tell.
ACT III [_Enter_ Andromache, _leading the little_ Astyanax.]
_Andromache:_ What do ye here, sad throng of Phrygian dames?
Why tear your hair and beat your wretched breasts? 410 Why stream your cheeks with tears? Our ills are light If we endure a grief that tears can soothe.
You mourn a Troy whose walls but now have fall'n; Troy fell for me long since, when that dread car Of Peleus' son, urged on at cruel speed, With doleful groanings 'neath his massive weight, Dragged round the walls my Hector's mangled corse. 415 Since then, o'erwhelmed and utterly undone, With stony resignation do I bear Whatever ills may come. But for this child, Long since would I have saved me from the Greeks And followed my dear lord; but thought of him Doth check my purpose and forbid my death.
For his dear sake there still remaineth cause 420 To supplicate the gods, an added care.
Through him the richest fruit of woe is lost-- The fear of naught; and now all hope of rest From further ills is gone, for cruel fate Hath still an entrance to my grieving heart.
Most sad his fear, who fears in hopelessness. 425 _An Old Man:_ What sudden cause of fear hath moved thee so?
_Andromache:_ Some greater ill from mighty ills doth rise.
The fate of fallen Troy is not yet stayed.
_Old Man:_ What new disasters can the fates invent?
_Andromache:_ The gates of deepest Styx, those darksome realms (Lest fear be wanting to our overthrow), 430 Are opened wide, and forth from lowest Dis The spirit of our buried foeman comes.
(May Greeks alone retrace their steps to earth?
For death at least doth come to all alike.)
That terror doth invade the hearts of all; But what I now relate is mine alone-- 435 A terrifying vision of the night.
_Old Man:_ What was this vision? Speak and share thy fears.
_Andromache:_ Now kindly night had passed her middle goal, And their bright zenith had the Bears o'ercome.
Then came to my afflicted soul a calm 440 Long since unknown, and o'er my weary eyes, For one brief hour did drowsy slumber steal If that be sleep--the stupor of a soul Forespent with ills: when suddenly I saw Before mine eyes the shade of Hector stand; Not in such guise as when, with blazing torch He strove in war against the Grecian ships, 445 Nor when, all stained with blood, in battle fierce Against the Danai, he gained true spoil From that feigned Peleus' son; not such his face All flaming with the eager battle light; But weary, downcast, tear-stained, like my own, All covered o'er with tangled, bloody locks. 450 Still did my joy leap up at sight of him; And then he sadly shook his head and said: "Awake from sleep and save our son from death, O faithful wife. In hiding let him lie; Thus only can he life and safety find.
Away with tears--why dost thou mourning make For fallen Troy? I would that all had fall'n. 455 Then haste thee, and to safety bear our son, The stripling hope of this our vanquished home, Wherever safety lies."
So did he speak, And chilling terror roused me from my sleep.
Now here, now there I turned my fearful eyes.
Forgetful of my son, I sought the arms Of Hector, there to lay my grief. In vain: For that elusive shade, though closely pressed, 460 Did ever mock my clinging, fond embrace.
O son, true offspring of thy mighty sire, Sole hope of Troy, sole comfort of our house, Child of a stock of too illustrious blood, Too like thy father, thou: such countenance My Hector had, with such a tread he walked, With such a motion did he lift his hands, Thus stood he straight with shoulders proudly set, And thus he oft from that high, noble brow Would backward toss his flowing locks.--But thou, O son, who cam'st too late for Phrygia's help, Too soon for me, will that time ever come, That happy day, when thou, the sole defense, 470 And sole avenger of our conquered Troy, Shalt raise again her fallen citadel, Recall her scattered citizens from flight, And give to fatherland and Phrygians Their name and fame again?--Alas, my son, Such hopes consort not with our present state.
Let the humble captive's fitter prayer be mine-- 475 The prayer for life.
Ah me, what spot remote Can hold thee safe? In what dark lurking-place Can I bestow thee and abate my fears?
Our city, once in pride of wealth secure, And stayed on walls the gods themselves had built, Well known of all, the envy of the world, Now deep in ashes lies, by flames laid low; 480 And from her vast extent of temples, walls And towers, no part, no lurking-place remains, Wherein a child might hide. Where shall I choose A covert safe? Behold the mighty tomb Wherein his father's sacred ashes lie, Whose massive pile the enemy has spared.
This did old Priam rear in days of power, 485 Whose grief no stinted sepulture bestowed.
Then to his father let me trust the child.-- But at the very thought a chilling sweat Invades my trembling limbs, for much I fear The gruesome omen of the place of death. 490 _Old Man:_ In danger, haste to shelter where ye may; In safety, choose.
_Andromache:_ What hiding-place is safe From traitor's eyes?
_Old Man:_ All witnesses remove.
_Andromache:_ What if the foe inquire?
_Old Man:_ Then answer thus: "He perished in the city's overthrow."
This cause alone ere now hath safety found For many from the stroke of death--belief That they have died.
_Andromache:_ But scanty hope is left; Too huge a weight of race doth press him down.
Besides, what can it profit him to hide 495 Who must his shelter leave and face the foe?
_Old Man:_ The victor's deadliest purposes are first.
_Andromache:_ What trackless region, what obscure retreat Shall hold thee safe? Oh, who will bring us aid In our distress and doubt? Who will defend?
O thou, who always didst protect thine own, 500 My Hector, guard us still. Accept the trust Which I in pious confidence impose; And in the faithful keeping of thy dust May he in safety dwell, to live again.
Then son, betake thee hither to the tomb.
Why backward strain, and shun that safe retreat?
I read thy nature right: thou scornest fear. 505 But curb thy native pride, thy dauntless soul, And bear thee as thine altered fates direct.
For see what feeble forces now are left: A sepulcher, a boy, a captive band.
We cannot choose but yield us to our woes.
Then come, make bold to enter the abode, The sacred dwelling of thy buried sire.
If fate assist us in our wretchedness, 510 'Twill be to thee a safe retreat; if life The fates deny, thou hast a sepulcher.
[_The boy enters the tomb, and the gates are closed and barred behind him._] _Old Man:_ Now do the bolted gates protect their charge.
But thou, lest any sign of fear proclaim Where thou hast hid the boy, come far away.
_Andromache:_ Who fears from near at hand, hath less of fear; 515 But, if thou wilt, take we our steps away.
[Ulysses _is seen approaching._] _Old Man_: Now check thy words awhile, thy mourning cease; For hither bends the Ithacan his course.
_Andromache_ [_with a final appealing look toward the tomb_]: Yawn deep, O earth, and thou, my husband, rend To even greater depths thy tomb's deep cave, 520 And hide the sacred trust I gave to thee Within the very bosom of the pit.
Now comes Ulysses, grave and slow of tread; Methinks he plotteth mischief in his heart.
[_Enter_ Ulysses.]
_Ulysses:_ As harsh fate's minister, I first implore That, though the words are uttered by my lips, 525 Thou count them not my own. They are the voice Of all the Grecian chiefs, whom Hector's son Doth still prohibit from that homeward voyage So long delayed. And him the fates demand.
A peace secure the Greeks can never feel, And ever will the backward-glancing fear 530 Compel them on defensive arms to lean, While on thy living son, Andromache, The conquered Phrygians shall rest their hopes.
So doth the augur, Calchas, prophesy.
Yet, even if our Calchas spake no word, Thy Hector once declared it, and I fear Lest in his son a second Hector dwell; 535 For ever doth a noble scion grow Into the stature of his noble sire.
Behold the little comrade of the herd, His budding horns still hidden from the sight: Full soon with arching neck and lofty front, He doth command and lead his father's flock. 540 The slender twig, just lopped from parent bough, Its mother's height and girth surpasses soon, And casts its shade abroad to earth and sky.
So doth a spark within the ashes left, Leap into flame again before the wind.
Thy grief, I know, must partial judgment give; 545 Still, if thou weigh the matter, thou wilt grant That after ten long years of grievous war.
A veteran soldier doeth well to fear Still other years of slaughter, and thy Troy Still unsubdued. This fear one cause alone 550 Doth raise--another Hector. Free the Greeks From dread of war. For this and this alone Our idle ships still wait along the shore.
And let me not seem cruel in thy sight, For that, compelled of fate, I seek thy son: I should have sought our chieftain's son as well.
Then gently suffer what the victor bids. 555 _Andromache:_ Oh, that thou wert within my power to give, My son, and that I knew what cruel fate Doth hold thee now, snatched from my eager arms-- Where thou dost lie; then, though my breast were pierced With hostile spears, and though my hands with chains Were bound, and scorching flames begirt my sides, 560 Thy mother's faith would ne'er betray her child.
O son, what place, what lot doth hold thee now?
Dost thou with wandering footsteps roam the fields?
Wast thou consumed amid the raging flames?
Hath some rude victor reveled in thy blood? 565 Or, by some ravening beast hast thou been slain, And liest now a prey for savage birds?
_Ulysses:_ Away with feignéd speech; no easy task For thee to catch Ulysses: 'tis my boast That mother's snares, and even goddesses' I have o'ercome. Have done with vain deceit. 570 Where is thy son?
_Andromache:_ And where is Hector too?
Where agéd Priam and the Phrygians?
_Thou_ seekest one; _my_ quest includes them all.
_Ulysses:_ By stern necessity thou soon shalt speak What thy free will withholds.
_Andromache:_ But safe is she, Who can face death, who ought and longs to die.
_Ulysses:_ But death brought near would still thy haughty words.
_Andromache:_ If 'tis thy will, Ulysses, to inspire 575 Andromache with fear, then threaten life; For death has long been object of my prayer.
_Ulysses:_ With stripes, with flames, with lingering pains of death Shalt thou be forced to speak, against thy will, What now thou dost conceal, and from thy heart Its inmost secrets bring. Necessity 580 Doth often prove more strong than piety.
_Andromache:_ Prepare thy flames, thy blows, and all the arts Devised for cruel punishment: dire thirst, Starvation, every form of suffering; Come, rend my vitals with the sword's deep thrust; In dungeon, foul and dark, immure; do all 585 A victor, full of wrath and fear, can do Or dare; still will my mother heart, inspired With high and dauntless courage, scorn thy threats.
_Ulysses:_ This very love of thine, which makes thee bold, Doth warn the Greeks to counsel for their sons. 590 This strife, from home remote, these ten long years Of war, and all the ills which Calchas dreads, Would slight appear to me, if for myself I feared: but thou dost threat Telemachus.
_Andromache:_ Unwillingly, Ulysses, do I give To thee, or any Grecian, cause of joy; Yet must I give it, and speak out the woe, The secret grief that doth oppress my soul. 595 Rejoice, O sons of Atreus, and do thou, According to thy wont, glad tidings bear To thy companions: _Hector's son is dead_.
_Ulysses:_ What proof have we that this thy word is true?
_Andromache:_ May thy proud victor's strongest threat befall, And bring my death with quick and easy stroke; 600 May I be buried in my native soil, May earth press lightly on my Hector's bones: According as my son, deprived of light, Amidst the dead doth lie, and, to the tomb Consigned, hath known the funeral honors due To those who live no more. 605 _Ulysses_ [_joyfully_]: Then are the fates Indeed fulfilled, since Hector's son is dead, And I with joy unto the Greeks will go, With grateful tale of peace at last secure.
[_Aside._] But stay, Ulysses, this rash joy of thine!
The Greeks will readily believe _thy_ word; But what dost thou believe?--his mother's oath.
Would then a mother feign her offspring's death, And fear no baleful omens of that word?
They omens fear who have no greater dread. 610 Her truth hath she upheld by straightest oath.
If that she perjured be, what greater fear Doth vex her soul? Now have I urgent need Of all my skill and cunning, all my arts,