The Meeting of Hector and Andromache

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 convinced,
A day will come when sacred Troy must fall,
And Priam, and the people of renown'd
Spear-practised Priam! Yet for this, to me
Not such concern arises; not the woes
Of all the Trojans, not my mother's griefs,
Nor royal Priam's nor my brethren's deaths,
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 armour clad, shall drive thee hence,
Thy days of freedom gone, a weeping slave!
Perhaps at Argos thou mayst ply the loom,
For some proud mistress; or mayst water bring,
From Mepsa's or Hyperia's fountain, sad
And much reluctant, stooping to the weight
Of sad 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 a husband lost,
Whose arm might slavery's evil day avert.
Rut me may then a heap of earth conceal
Within the silent tomb, before I hear
Thy shrieks of terror and captivity."
This said, illustrious Hector stretch'd 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 smiled,
And sweetly smiled the mother! Soon the chief
Removed the threatening helmet from his head,
And placed it on the ground, all beaming bright;
Then having fondly kiss'd his son beloved
And toss'd him playfully, he thus to Jove
And all the immortals pray'd: "O 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 the people say, ' This chief excels
His father much, when from the field 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 placed his child within the arms
Of his beloved spouse. She him received,
And softly on her fragrant bosom laid,
Smiling with tearful eyes. To pity moved,
Her husband saw: with kind consoling hand
He wiped 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 the appointed time;
And surely none of all the human race,
Base or e'en brave, has ever shunn'd his fate —
His fate foredoom'd, since first he saw the light.
But now, returning home, thy works attend,
The loom and distaff, and direct thy maids
In 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."