And met him then; and with her came a maid, Who bore in arms a
playful-hearted babe An infant still, akin to some fair star, Only and
well-loved child of Hector's house, Whom he had named Scamandrios, but
the rest Astyanax, because his sire alone Upheld the weal of Ilion the
holy. He smiled in silence, looking on his child But she stood close to
him, with many tears; And hung upon his hand, and spoke, and called him.
'My hero, thy great heart will wear thee out; Thou pitiest not thine
infant child, nor me The hapless, soon to be thy widow; The Greeks will
slay thee, falling one and all Upon thee: but to me were sweeter far,
Having lost thee, to die; no cheer to me Will come thenceforth, if thou
shouldst meet thy fate; Woes only: mother have I none, nor sire. For
that my sire divine Achilles slew, And wasted utterly the pleasant homes
Of Kilic folk in Thebe lofty-walled, And slew Eetion with the sword!
yet spared To strip the dead: awe kept his soul from that. Therefore he
burnt him in his graven arms, And heaped a mound above him; and around
The damsels of the Aegis-holding Zeus, The nymphs who haunt the upland,
planted elms. And seven brothers bred with me in the halls, All in one
day went down to Hades there; For all of them swift-foot Achilles slew
Beside the lazy kine and snow-white sheep. And her, my mother, who of
late was queen Beneath the woods of Places, he brought here Among his
other spoils; yet set her free Again, receiving ransom rich and great.
But Artemis, whose bow is all her joy, Smote her to death within her
father's halls. Hector! so thou art father to me now, Mother, and
brother, and husband fair and strong! Oh, come now, pity me, and stay
thou here Upon the tower, nor make thy child an orphan And me thy wife
a widow; range the men Here by the fig-tree, where the city lies Lowest,
and where the wall can well be scaled; For here three times the best
have tried the assault Round either Ajax, and Idomeneus, And round the
Atridai both, and Tydeus' son, Whether some cunning seer taught them
craft, Or their own spirit stirred and drove them on.' Then spake tall
Hector, with the glancing helm All this I too have watched, my wife; yet
much I hold in dread the scorn of Trojan men And Trojan women with their
trailing shawls, If, like a coward, I should skulk from war. Beside, I
have no lust to stay; I have learnt Aye to be bold, and lead the van of
fight, To win my father, and myself, a name. For well I know, at