the father, grovelling on the ground, And all the eyes of Ilion stream'd around. Amidst her matrons Hecuba appears: (A mourning princess, and a train in tears;) "Ah why has Heaven prolong'd this hated breath, Patient of horrors, to behold thy death? O Hector! late thy parents' pride and joy, The boast of nations! the defence of Troy! To whom her safety and her fame she owed; Her chief, her hero, and almost her god! O fatal change! become in one sad day A senseless corse! inanimated clay!" But not as yet the fatal news had spread To fair Andromache, of Hector dead; As yet no messenger had told his fate, Not e'en his stay without the Scaean gate. Far in the close recesses of the dome, Pensive she plied the melancholy loom; A growing work employ'd her secret hours, Confusedly gay with intermingled flowers. Her fair-haired handmaids heat the brazen urn, The bath preparing for her lord's return In vain; alas! her lord returns no more; Unbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore! Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear, And all her members shake with sudden fear: Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls, And thus, astonish'd, to her maids she calls: [Illustration: THE BATH.] THE BATH. "Ah follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise Invades my ear? 'Tis sure my mother's voice. My faltering knees their trembling frame desert, A pulse unusual flutters at my heart; Some strange disaster, some reverse of fate (Ye gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state. Far be the omen which my thoughts suggest! But much I fear my Hector's dauntless breast Confronts Achilles; chased along the plain, Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain! Safe in the crowd he ever scorn'd to wait, And sought for glory in the jaws of fate: Perhaps that noble heat has cost his breath, Now quench'd for ever in the arms of death." She spoke: and furio