So did she cry; nor anon was there one soul left in the city,
Woman or man, for at hand and afar was the yearning awaken'd.
Near to the gate was the king when they met him conducting the
death-wain.
First rush'd, rending their hair, to behold him the wife and the mother,
And as they handled the head, all weeping the multitude stood near:--
And they had all day long till the sun went down into darkness
There on the field by the rampart lamented with tears over Hector,
But that the father arose in the car and entreated the people:
"Yield me to pass, good friends, make way for the mules--and hereafter
All shall have weeping enow when the dead has been borne to the
dwelling."
So did he speak, and they, parting asunder, made way for the mule-wain.
But when they brought him at last to the famous abode of the princes,
He on a fair-carv'd bed was compos'd, and the singers around him
Rang'd, who begin the lament; and they, lifting their sorrowful voices,
Chanted the wail for the dead, and the women bemoan'd at its pausings.
But in the burst of her woe was the beauteous Andromache foremost,
Holding the head in her hands as she mourn'd for the slayer of heroes:--

"Husband! in youth hast thou parted from life, and a desolate widow
Here am I left in our home; and the child is a stammering infant
Whom thou and I unhappy begat, nor will he, to my thinking,
Reach to the blossom of youth; ere then, from the roof to the basement
Down shall the city be hurl'd--since her only protector has perish'd,
And without succour are now chaste mother and stammering infant.
Soon shall their destiny be to depart in the ships of the stranger,
I in the midst of them bound; and, my child, thou go with them also,
Doom'd for the far-off shore and the tarnishing toil of the bondman,
Slaving for lord unkind. Or perchance some remorseless Achaian
Hurl from the gripe of his hand, from the battlement down to perdition,
Raging revenge for some brother perchance that was slaughter'd of Hector,
Father, it may be, or son; for not few of the race of Achaia
Seiz'd broad earth with their teeth, when they sank from the handling of
Hector;
For not mild was thy father, O babe, in the blackness of battle--
Wherefore, now he is gone, through the city the people bewail him.
But the unspeakable anguish of misery bides with thy parents,
Hector! with me above all the distress that has no conso