chariot and all, from among the Grecian tents; then flies up to heaven, leaving Priam and Idæus to travel on with the body toward Troy.
OW did the faffron morn her beams difplay,
Gilding the face of universal day;
When mourning Priam to the town return'd;
Slowly his chariot mov'd, as that had mourn'd;
The mules, beneath the mangled body go,
As bearing (now) unusual weight of woe.
To Pergamus' high top Caffandra flies,
Thence the afar the fad proceffion fpies
Her father and Idæus first appear,
Then Hector's corpfe extended on a bier ;
At which, her boundless grief loud cries began,
And, thus lamenting, through the street she ran :
"Hither, ye wretched Trojans, hither all!
“Behold the godlike Hector's funeral !
"If e'er you went with joy, to fee him come
"Adorn'd with conqueft and with laurels home,
"Affemble now,
his ranfom'd body fee,
"What once was all your joy, now all your mifery !”
She spake, and strait the numerous crowd obey'd,
Nor man, nor woman, in the city stay'd;
Common confent of grief had made them one,
With clamorous moan to Scæa's gate they run,
There the lov'd body of their Hector meet,
Which they, with loud and fresh lamentings, greet.
His reverend mother, and his tender wife,
Equal in love, in grief had equal ftrife:
In forrow they no moderation knew,
But, wildly wailing, to the chariot flew ;
There ftrove the rolling wheels to hold, while each
Attempted firft his breathlefs corpfe to reach ;
Aloud they beat their breafts, and tore their hair,
Rending around with fhrieks the fuffering air.
Now had the throng of people stopt the way,
Who would have there lamented all the day;
But Priam from his chariot rofe, and spake,
"Trojans, enough; truce with your forrows make;
"Give way to me, and yield the chariot room:
"First let me bear my Hector's body home,
"Then mourn your fill." At this the crowd gave way,
Yielding, like waves of a divided sea.
Idæus to the palace drove, then laid
With care the body on a fumptuous bed,
And round about were skilful fingers plac'd,
Who wept, and sigh'd, and in fad notes exprefs'd
Their moan; all in a Chorus did agree
Of univerfal mournful Harmony,
When first Andromache her paffion broke,
And thus (clofe preffing his pale cheeks) fhe spoke :
ANDROMACHE'S LAMENTATION.
my loft hufband! let me ever mourn
Thy early fate, and too untimely urn:
In the full pride of youth thy glories fade,
And thou in afhes muft with them be laid.
Why is my heart thus miferably torn Why am I thus diftrefs'd! why thus forlorn! Am I that wretched thing a widow left? Why do I live, who am of thee bereft! Yet I were bleft, were I alone undone; Alas, my child! where can an infant run? Unhappy orphan! thou in woes art nurs'd; Why were you born? -- I am with bleffings curs'd! For long ere thou fhall be to manhood grown, Wide defolation will lay waste this town: Who is there now that can protection give, Since he, who was her strength, no more doth live? Who of her reverend matrons will have care? Who faye her children from the rage of war? For he to all father and husband was,
And all are orphans now, and widows, by his loss.
Soon will the Grecians, now, infulting come,
And bear us captives to their diftant home;
I, with my child, muft the fame fortune fhare,
And all alike, be prisoners of the war;
'Mongft bafe-born wretches he his lot must have,
And be to fome inhuman lord a slave.
Elfe fome avenging Greek, with fury fill'd,
Or for an only fon or father kill'd
By Hector's hand, on him will vent his rage,
And with his blood his thirfty grief affuage;
For many fell by his relentless hand,
Biting that ground, with which their blood was stain’d. Fierce was thy father (O my child) in war,
And never did his foes in battle fpare;
Thence come thefe fufferings, which fo much have coft,
Much woe to all, but fure to me the most.
I faw him not, when in the pangs of death,
Nor did my lips receive his latest breath;
Why held he not to me his dying hand?
And why receiv'd not I his laft command?
Something he would have faid had I been there,
Which I fhould still in fad remembrance bear;
For I could never, never words forget,
Which night and day I should with tears repeat.
She fpake, and wept afrefh, when all around
A general figh diffus'd a mournful found.
Then, Hecuba, who long had been opprett
With boiling paffions in her aged breast,
Mingling her words with fighs and tears, begun
A lamentation for her darling fon.
Hector, my joy, and to my foul more dear
Than all my other numerous iffue were;
O my last comfort, and my beft-belov'd!
Thou, at whofe fall even Jove himself was mov'd,
And fent a god his dread commands to bear,
So far thou wert high heaven's peculiar care!
From fierce Achilles' chains thy corpfe was freed;
So kind a fate was for none elfe decreed:
My other fons, made prifoners by his hands,
Were fold like flaves, and shipt to foreign lands.
Thou too wert fentenc'd by his barbarous doom,
And dragg'd, when dead, about Patroclus' tomb,
His lov'd Patroclus, whom thy hands had flain :
And that cruelty was us'd in vain,
Since all could not reftore his life again.
Now fresh and glowing, ev'n in death thou art,
And fair as he who fell by Phœbus' dart.
Here weeping Hecuba her paffion stay'd,
And univerfal moan again was made;
When Helen's lamentation hers fupply'd,
And thus, aloud, that fatal beauty cry'd.
O Hector, thou wert rooted in my heart,
No brother there had half fo large a part!
Not lefs than twenty years are now país'd o'er,
Since first I landed on the Trojan fhore;
Since I with godlike Paris fied from home;
(Would I had dy'd before that day had come !)
In all which time (fo gentle was thy mind)
I ne'er could charge thee with a deed unkind;
Not one untender word, or look of fcorn,
Which I too often have from others borne.
But you from their reproach ftill fet me free,
And kindly have reprov'd their cruelty;
If by my fifters or the Queen revil'd,
(For the good King, like you, was ever mild)
Your kindness still has all my grief beguil❜d.
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