SCENE I

_Andromache, An Old Man._

_Andromache._ Why tear your hair, my Phrygian followers, Why beat your breasts and mar your cheeks with tears? The grief is light that has the power to weep. 420 Troy fell for you but now, for me long since When fierce Achilles urged at speed his car, And dragged behind his wheel my very self; The axle, made of wood from Pelion's groves, Groaned heavily, and under Hector's weight 425 Trembled. O'erwhelmed and crushed, I bore unmoved Whate'er befell, for I was stunned with grief. I would have followed Hector long ago, And freed me from the Greeks, but this my son Held me, subdued my heart, forbade my death, 430 Compelled me still to ask the gods a boon, Added a longer life to misery. He took away my sorrow's richest fruit-- To know no fear. All chance of better things Is snatched away, and worse are yet to come; 435 'Tis wretchedness to fear where hope is lost.

_Old Man._ What sudden fear assails thee, troubled one?

_Andromache._ From great misfortunes, greater ever spring; Troy needs must fill the measure of her woes.

_Old Man._ Though he should wish, what can the god do more? 440

_Andromache._ The entrance of the bottomless abyss Of gloomy Styx lies open; lest defeat Should lack enough of fear, the buried foe Comes forth from Dis. Can Greeks alone return? Death certainly is equal; Phrygians feel 445 This common fear; a dream of dreadful night Me only terrified.

_Old Man._ What dream is this?

_Andromache._ The sweet night's second watch was hardly passed, The Seven Stars were turning from the height; At length there came an unaccustomed calm 450 To me afflicted; on my eyes there stole Brief sleep, if that dull lethargy be sleep That comes to grief-worn souls; when, suddenly, Before my eyes stood Hector, not as when He bore against the Greeks avenging fire, 455 Seeking the Argive fleet with Trojan torch; Nor as he raged with slaughter 'gainst the Greeks, And bore away Achilles' arms--true spoil, From him who played Achilles' part, nor was A true Achilles. Not with flame-bright face 460 He came, but marred with tears, dejected, sad, Like us, and all unkempt his loosened hair; Yet I rejoiced to see him. Then he said, Shaking his head: 'O faithful wife, awake! Bear hence thy son and hide him, this alone 465 Is safety. Weep not! Do you weep for Troy? Would all were fallen! Hasten, seek a place Of safety for the child.' Then I awoke, Cold horror and a trembling broke my sleep. Fearful, I turned my eyes now here, now there. 470 Me miserable, careless of my son, I sought for Hector, but the fleeting shade Slipped from my arms, eluded my embrace. O child, true son of an illustrious sire; Troy's only hope; last of a stricken race; 475 Too noble offspring of an ancient house; Too like thy father! Such my Hector's face, Such was his gait, his manner, so he held His mighty hands, and so his shoulders broad, So threatened with bold brow when shaking back 480 His heavy hair! Oh, born too late for Troy, Too soon for me, will ever come that time, That happy day, when thou shalt build again Troy's walls, and lead from flight her scattered hosts, Avenging and defending mightily, 485 And give again a name to Troy's fair land? But, mindful of my fate, I dare not wish; We live, and life is all that slaves can hope. Alas, what place of safety can I find, Where hide thee? That high citadel, god-built, 490 Is dust, her streets are flame, and naught remains Of all the mighty city, not so much As where to hide an infant. Oh, what place Of safety can I find? The mighty tomb, Reared to my husband--this the foe must fear. His father, Priam, in his sorrow built, 496 With no ungenerous hand, great Hector's tomb; I rightly trust a father. Yet I fear The baleful omen of the place of tombs, And a cold sweat my trembling members bathes. 500

_Old Man._ The safe may choose, the wretched seize defense.

_Andromache._ We may not hide him without heavy fear Lest some one find him.

_Old Man._ Cover up the trace Of our device.

_Andromache._ And if the foe should ask?

_Old Man._ In the destruction of the land he died,-- 505 It oft has saved a man that he was deemed Already dead.

_Andromache._ No other hope is left. He bears the heavy burden of his name; If he must come once more into their power What profits it to hide him?

_Old Man._ Victors oft 510 Are savage only in the first attack.

_Andromache._ [_To Astyanax_] What distant, pathless land will keep thee safe, Or who protect thee, give thee aid in fear? O Hector, now as ever guard thine own, Preserve the secret of thy faithful wife, 515 And to thy trusted ashes take thy child! My son, go thou into thy father's tomb. What, do you turn and shun the dark retreat? I recognize thy father's strength of soul, Ashamed of fear. Put by thy inborn pride, 520 Thy courage; take what fortune has to give. See what is left of all the Trojan host: A tomb, a child, a captive! We succumb To such misfortunes. Dare to enter now Thy buried father's sacred resting-place; 525 If fate is kind thou hast a safe retreat, If fate refuse thee aid, thou hast a grave.

_Old Man._ The sepulcher will safely hide thy son; Go hence lest thou shouldst draw them to the spot.

_Andromache._ One's fear is lightlier borne when near at hand, 530 But elsewhere will I go, since that seems best.

_Old Man._ Stay yet a while, but check the signs of grief; This way the Grecian leader bends his steps.