Part 21 (1/2)
While these appear before the poith prayers, Hector to Paris' lofty dome repairs(175) Hi architects of matchless art
Near Priam's court and Hector's palace stands The pompous structure, and the town coth, Of full ten cubits was the lance's length, The steely point with golden ringlets join'd, Before hi, in the glittering rooms he found His brother-chief, whose useless ar with their splendid show, Brightening the shi+eld, and polishi+ng the bow
Beside hiins stands, Guides their rich labours, and instructs their hands
Him thus inactive, with an ardent look The prince beheld, and high-resenting spoke
”Thy hate to Troy, is this the time to show?
(O wretch ill-fated, and thy country's foe!) Paris and Greece against us both conspire, Thy close resentuardian heroes fall, Till heaps of dead alone defend her wall, For thee the soldier bleeds, the matron rateful man! deserves not this thy care, Our troops to hearten, and our toils to share?
Rise, or behold the conquering flalories at an end”
”Brother, 'tis just, (replied the beauteous youth,) Thy free ree enerous chief!
On hate to Troy, than conscious sharief: Here, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate, And h; now glory spreads her charms, And beauteous Helen calls her chief to arms
Conquest to-day ht, but heaven's to give success
But while I ar behind”
[Illustration: HECTOR CHIDING PARIS]
HECTOR CHIDING PARIS
He said, nor answer'd Priaun:
”Oh, generous brother! (if the guilty dame That caused these woes deserve a sister's name!) Would heaven, ere all these dreadful deeds were done, The day that show'd olden sun Had seen my death! why did not inds bear The fatal infant to the fowls of air?
Why sunk I not beneath the whels of the waters died?
Heaven fill'd up all my ills, and I accursed Bore all, and Paris of those ills the worst
Helen at least a braver spouse ard of fa limbs recline, With toils, sustain'd for Paris' sake and mine The Gods have link'd our miserable doom, Our present woe, and infa, Exa”
The chief replied: ”This time forbids to rest; The Trojan bands, by hostile fury press'd, Dees, and lory calls, And tile in the direful fray, My wife, my infant, claim a moment's stay; This day (perhaps the last that seesword, a tender tear: This day, some God who hates our Trojan land May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand”
He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part; At hoht in vain; She, with one maid of all her menial train, Had hence retired; and with her second joy, The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy, Pensive she stood on Ilion's towery height, Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight; There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore
But he who found not whom his soul desired, Whose virtue charates, and ask'd ”ay she bent Her parting step? If to the fane she went, Where late the ht her sisters in the Trojan court?”
”Not to the court, (replied the attendant train,) Nor mix'd with matrons to Minerva's fane: To Ilion's steepy tower she bent her way, To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day
Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword; She heard, and trembled for her absent lord: Distracted with surprise, she seem'd to fly, Fear on her cheek, and sorrow m her eye
The nurse attended with her infant boy, The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy”
Hector this heard, return'd without delay; Swift through the town he trod his forh streets of palaces, and walks of state; And ate
With haste tothe joyful fair
His blareat Aetion sway'd, And Hippoplacus' wide extended shade:) The nurse stood near, in whose e at her breast, Whorace adorn, Fair as the new-born star that gilds the ave the name Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd streareat father, the defence of Troy
Silent the warrior shtyon his hand, and then dejected spoke; Her boso tear stood tre in her eye
[Illustration: THE MEETING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE]
THE MEETING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE
”Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!