Classic Poem

Hector, this heard without a moment's stay,
Back through the city trod his former way.
Soon as the chief approach'd the Scæan Gate
About to rush into the field of fate
He met Andromache his beauteous wife
Far dearer than his own or father's life
Whose sire Eëtion in Cilicia reign'd
Where Hypoplacus' lofty shades extend.
The nurse attending bore a lovely boy
Pledge of their love and source of all their joy
By Hector call'd Scamandrius from the god
That laves proud Ilion with his rapid flood,
But call'd Astyanax because his sire
Alone preserv'd the town from Grecian fire.
From Hector's breast each gloomy trouble flies
And secret pleasures sparkled in his eyes.
Mournfull Andromache the silence broke,
Her tears in show'rs descending as she spoke.
‘Why gen'rous warriour will you rashly run
On dangers which your safety bids you shun,
Forgetfull of your wife, forgetfull of your son?
Soon shall you fall by num'rous hosts opprest
And Grecian spears shall quiver in your breast.
But, ah! before arise that hapless day
May I lye cold beneath a load of clay.
While Hector lives I tast of ev'ry joy
With Hector's life away my pleasures fly.
My father fell by fierce Achilles' hand
Whose direfull rage destroy'd my native land.
Pleas'd with the conquest, he forbore the spoil
And burnt him decent on a funerall pile.
The nymphs bewail'd his fall with loud lament
And planted elms around his monument
By that dire sword my sev'n brave brothers dy'd;
All stemm'd in one sad day the Stygian tyde.
Among their flocks the blooming heroes fell
And stain'd with blood Pelides' vengefull steel.
My mother who alone escap'd the grave
The victor hither brought, a royall slave.
Soon as with gold appeas'd, he set her free
To tast again the sweets of liberty.
Provok'd Diana with a vengefull dart
Ended her wretched life and pierc'd her heart.
But dearest Hector while thou liv'st I see
A father, brother, husband, all in thee.
Rush not impetuous to the bloody fray
Nor tempt the dangers of this deathfull day
Think shouldst thou fall how wretched shall we be,
A widow I, an helpless orphan he.
Within the town assemble all thy powers
And man the walls and fortifie the tow'rs.
Where the wild fig trees join their darksom shade
The bravest of the Greeks the wall invade.
Th'Atridæ there and Tydeus' mighty son,
Idomeneus, and godlike Telamon
Thrice to the wall their dreadfull hosts have led
And thrice to mount the battlements assay'd
Whether urg'd on by seers from heav'n inspir'd
Or their own souls with hopes of vict'ry fir'd.'
She ceas'd, then godlike Hector answer'd kind,
His various plumage sporting in the wind.
‘That post, and all the rest shall be my care
But shall I then forsake th'unfinish'd war?
How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name!
And one base action sully all my fame
Acquir'd by wounds and battles bravely fought!
Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought
Long since I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath
And view with chearfull eyes approaching death.
Th'inexorable Sisters have decreed
That Priam's house, and Priam's self shall bleed.
The day will come in which proud Troy shall yield
And spread its smoaking ruins o'er the field.
Yet Hecuba's nor Priam's hoary age
Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage
Nor my brave brothers that have bit the ground,
Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound,
Can in my bosom half that grief create
As the sad thought of your impending fate
When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose,
Mimick your tears, and ridicule your woes.
Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat
And fainting scarce support the liquid weight.
Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry,
“Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy.”
Tears at my name shall drown those beauteous eyes
And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs.
Before that day, by some brave heroe's hand
May I lye slain and spurn the bloody sand.’
Hector, this speaking, with extended hands
From the fair nurse Astyanax demands.
The child starts back affrighted at the blaze
Of light reflected from the polish'd brass.
And in his nurse's bosom hides his face.
The parents smil'd, the chief his helm unbound
And placed the beamy terror on the ground
Then kist his son and raising to the skies
In fervent prayer addrest the deities:
‘Immortal Gods! and thou allmighty Jove
That reign'st supreme among the pow'rs above,
Propitious hear my prayers, protect the boy,
Grant him like me to guard the walls of Troy.
Let distant regions echo with his name
And his more glorious acts eclipse his father's fame.
May then his mother's heart with joys o'erflow
And may she ne'er returning sorrows know.’
The chief, this spoke, into the mother's arms
Returns his child; she views his infant charms,
Tumultuous passions strugle in her breast
And joy and sorrow stand by turns confest.
This Hector saw; his soul was touch'd with grief.
He grasp'd her hand endeav'ring kind relief.
‘Ah! let not tears down that fair count'nance rowl,
Restrain your sorrows, calm your troubled soul.
Your sighs are spent in vain; if fates withstand
Hector shall perish by no warriour's hand.
But if by their irrevocable doom
My death is now decreed my death will come.
The bravest hero and the fearfull'st slave
Shall sink alike into the gloomy grave.
Hence to the palace and your maids repair;
There let the web and distaff be your care.
To men belongs the dreadfull work of war.’
Then on his brow the mighty soldier plac'd
His shining helm with nodding horse hair grac'd.
Swifter than lightning to the fight he flies.
Andromache looks back with weeping eyes,
Then sought the palace where the menial train
Shed floods of tears and sympathiz'd in pain.
With dolefull cries their living lord they mourn
Nor from the battle look for his return.