The Scene between Hector and Andromache [pp. 768-770]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
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 Sccean 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 Eetion,-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 Eetion;-yet, with rev'rence touch'd,
Despoil'd him not, but burn'd the breathless corse
With all it's splendid armor, and, above
It's ashes, heap'd a monument of earth.
The mountain nymphs, of iEgis-bearing Jove
Immortal daughters, planted round the tomb
A grove of elms, in honor of the dead.My brethren, too,-seven gallant heroes,-all
In one sad day, to Pluto's dark abode
Went down together; for the swift and strong
Achilles slew them all, among their herds
And fleecy flocks.-My mother, who had reigned
The queen of HIypoplacus' sylvan land,
Was hither brought, with other spoils of war,
And, for a ransom infinite, releas'd;But, home return'd, within her father's halls,
Diana's arrow pierc'd her mournful heart.Yet, Hector, thou alone, art all to me;Father, and honor'd mother, brother too;My husband dear, and partner of my youth.
Oh then, have pity now, and here remain
Upon this tower; lest thy hapless son
An orphan, and thy wife a widow be.The people, station at the fig-tree, where
The town is most accessible, and wall
May be ascended — there, a fierce assault,
The bravest of our foes have thrice essayed;The two Ajaces, fam'd Idomeneus,
Th' Atridu also, and the mighty son
Of Tydeus;-whether by some soothsay'r mov'd
In heavenly tokens skill'd, or their own minds
Impelling them with animating hope.
To her the mighty Hector made reply:All thou hast said, employs my thoughtful mind.
But, from the Trojans, much I dread reproach,
And Trojan dames whose garments sweep the ground,
If, like a coward, I should shun the war:Nor does my soul to such disgrace incline;
Since, to be always bravest, I have learn'd,
And with the first of Troy to lead the fight;Asserting so, my father's lofty claim
To glory, and my own renown in arms:For well I know, in heart and mind convinc'd,
A day will come, when sacred Troy must fall,
And Priam, and the people of renown'd
Spear-practis'd Priam!-Yet, for this to me
Not such concern arises;-not the woes
Of all the Trojans;-not my mother's griefs;Not royal Priam's, nor my brethren's death,
Many and brave, (who, slain by cruel foes,
Will be laid low in dust,)-so wring my heart,
As thy distress, when some one of the Greeks
In brazen armor clad, will drive thee hence,
Thy days of freedom gone, a weeping slave!Perhaps, at Argos, thou may'st ply the loom
For some proud mistress, or may'st water bring
From Messa's or Hyperia's fountain;-sad,
And much reluctant, stooping to the weight
Of hard necessity; and some one, then,
Seeing thee weep, will say-" behold the wife
Of Hector, who was first in martial might
Of all the warlike Trojans, when they fought
Around the walls of Ilion!"-So will speak
Some heedless passer by, and grief renew'd
Excite in thee, for such an husband lost,
Whose arm could slavery's evil day avert.
But me, may then an heap of earth conceal
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;-afrighted 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 nay 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
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