您可以在百度里搜索“National Epics 艾草文学(www.321553.xyz)”查找最新章节！

　　THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

　　The single combat between Paris and Menelaus broke up in a general battle unfavorable to the Trojans, and Hector returned to Troy to order the Trojan matrons to sacrifice to Pallas. He then sought his dwelling to greet his wife and child, but learned from one of the maids that Andromache, on hearing that the Greeks were victorious, had hastened to the city walls with the child and its nurse,

　　Hector left in haste

　　The mansion, and retraced his way between

　　The rows of stately dwellings, traversing

　　The mighty city. When at length he reached

　　The Scaean gates, that issue on the field,

　　His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache,

　　Came forth to meet him,—daughter of the prince

　　Eëtion, who among the woody slopes

　　Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town

　　Of Thebè, ruled Cilicia and her sons,

　　And gave his child to Hector great in arms.

　　She came attended by a maid, who bore

　　A tender child—a babe too young to speak—

　　Upon her bosom,—Hector's only son,

　　Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called

　　Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax,—

　　The city's lord,—since Hector stood the sole

　　Defence of Troy. The father on his child

　　Looked with a silent smile. Andromache

　　Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears,

　　Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:—

　　"Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death.

　　Thou hast no pity on thy tender child

　　Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be

　　Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee

　　To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,

　　If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,

　　For I shall have no hope when thou art gone,—

　　Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,

　　And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew

　　My father when he sacked the populous town

　　Of the Cilicians,—Thebè with high gates.

　　'T was there he smote Eëtion, yet forbore

　　To make his arms a spoil; he dared not that,

　　But burned the dead with his bright armor on,

　　And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs,

　　Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter,

　　Came to the spot and planted it with elms.

　　Seven brothers had I in my father's house,

　　And all went down to Hades in one day.

　　Achilles the swift-footed slew them all

　　Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep.

　　My mother, princess on the woody slopes

　　Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away,

　　And only for large ransom gave her back.

　　But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down

　　Within her father's palace. Hector, thou

　　Art father and dear mother now to me,

　　And brother and my youthful spouse besides.

　　In pity keep within the fortress here,

　　Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wife

　　A widow. Post thine army near the place

　　Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls

　　Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in war

　　The boldest of the foe have tried the spot,—

　　The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus,

　　The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave

　　Tydides, whether counselled by some seer

　　Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds."

　　Then answered Hector, great in war: "All this

　　I bear in mind, dear wife; but I should stand

　　Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames

　　Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun

　　The conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heart

　　Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare

　　And strike among the foremost sons of Troy,

　　Upholding my great father's fame and mine;

　　Yet well in my undoubting mind I know

　　The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,

　　And Priam, and the people over whom

　　Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.

　　But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,

　　Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those

　　Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait

　　My brothers many and brave,—who all at last,

　　Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust,—

　　Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek

　　Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee

　　Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then

　　Shalt at another's bidding ply the loom,

　　And from the fountain of Messeis draw

　　Water, or from the Hypereian spring,

　　Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot.

　　And then shall some one say who sees thee weep,

　　'This was the wife of Hector, most renowned

　　Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought

　　Around their city.' So shall some one say,

　　And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him

　　Who haply might have kept afar the day

　　Of thy captivity. O let the earth

　　Be heaped above my head in death before

　　I hear thy cries as thou art borne away!"

　　So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms

　　To take the boy; the boy shrank crying back

　　To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see

　　His father helmeted in glittering brass,

　　And eying with affright the horsehair plume

　　That grimly nodded from the lofty crest.

　　At this both parents in their fondness laughed;

　　And hastily the mighty Hector took

　　The helmet from his brow and laid it down

　　Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed

　　His darling son and tossed him up in play,

　　Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:—

　　"O Jupiter and all ye deities,

　　Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become

　　Among the Trojans eminent like me,

　　And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say,

　　'This man is greater than his father was!'

　　When they behold him from the battle-field

　　Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe,—

　　That so his mother may be glad at heart."

　　So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse

　　He gave the boy; she on her fragrant breast

　　Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief

　　Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed

　　Her forehead gently with his hand, and said:—

　　"Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me.

　　No living man can send me to the shades

　　Before my time; no man of woman born,

　　Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.

　　But go thou home, and tend thy labors there,—

　　The web, the distaff,—and command thy maids

　　To speed the work. The cares of war pertain

　　To all men born in Troy, and most to me."

　　Thus speaking, mighty Hector took again

　　His helmet, shadowed with the horsehair plume,

　　While homeward his beloved consort went,

　　Oft looking back, and shedding many tears.

　　Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls

　　Of the man-queller Hector. There she found

　　A troop of maidens,—with them all she shared

　　Her grief; and all in his own house bewailed

　　The living Hector, whom they thought no more

　　To see returning from the battle-field,

　　Safe from the rage and weapons of the Greeks.

　　Bryant's Translation, Book VI. National Epics