soul's far dearer part; At home he sought her, but he sought 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 charm'd him as her beauty fired, Stood in the gates, and ask'd "what way she bent Her parting step? If to the fane she went, Where late the mourning matrons made resort; Or sought 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 former way, Through streets of palaces, and walks of state; And met the mourner at the Scaean gate. With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair. His blameless wife, Aetion's wealthy heir: (Cilician Thebe great Aetion sway'd, And Hippoplacus' wide extended shade:) The nurse stood near, in whose embraces press'd, His only hope hung smiling at her breast, Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn, Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn. To this loved infant Hector gave the name Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream; Astyanax the Trojans call'd the boy, From his great father, the defence of Troy. Silent the warrior smiled, and pleased resign'd To tender passions all his mighty mind; His beauteous princess cast a mournful look, H