Part 9 (1/2)

Greece and the world! G.o.d hate thee and destroy, That with those beautiful eyes hast blasted Troy, And made the far-famed plains a waste withal.

Quick! take him: drag him: cast him from the wall, If cast ye will! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift!

G.o.d hath undone me, and I cannot lift One hand, one hand, to save my child from death....

O, hide my head for shame: fling me beneath Your galleys' benches!...

[_She swoons: then half-rising._

Quick: I must begone To the bridal.... I have lost my child, my own!

[_The Soldiers close round her._

LEADER.

O Troy ill-starred; for one strange woman, one Abhorred kiss, how are thine hosts undone!

TALTHYBIUS (_bending over_ ANDROMACHE _and gradually taking the Child from her_).

Come, Child: let be that clasp of love Outwearied! Walk thy ways with me, Up to the crested tower, above Thy father's wall.... Where they decree Thy soul shall perish.--Hold him: hold!-- Would G.o.d some other man might ply These charges, one of duller mould, And nearer to the iron than I!

HECUBA.

O Child, they rob us of our own, Child of my Mighty One outworn: Ours, ours thou art!--Can aught be done Of deeds, can aught of pain be borne, To aid thee?--Lo, this beaten head, This bleeding bosom! These I spread As gifts to thee. I can thus much.

Woe, woe for Troy, and woe for thee!

What fall yet lacketh, ere we touch The last dead deep of misery?

[_The Child, who has started back from_ TALTHYBIUS, _is taken up by one of the Soldiers and borne back towards the city, while_ ANDROMACHE _is set again on the Chariot and driven off towards the s.h.i.+ps._ TALTHYBIUS _goes with the Child._

CHORUS.

[_Strophe I._

In Salamis, filled with the foaming[34]

Of billows and murmur of bees, Old Telamon stayed from his roaming, Long ago, on a throne of the seas; Looking out on the hills olive-laden, Enchanted, where first from the earth The grey-gleaming fruit of the Maiden Athena had birth; A soft grey crown for a city Beloved a City of Light: Yet he rested not there, nor had pity, But went forth in his might, Where Heracles wandered, the lonely Bow-bearer, and lent him his hands For the wrecking of one land only, Of Ilion, Ilion only, Most hated of lands!

[_Antistrophe_ I.

Of the bravest of h.e.l.las he made him A s.h.i.+p-folk, in wrath for the Steeds, And sailed the wide waters, and stayed him At last amid Simos' reeds; And the oars beat slow in the river, And the long ropes held in the strand, And he felt for his bow and his quiver, The wrath of his hand.

And the old king died; and the towers That Phoebus had builded did fall, And his wrath, as a flame that devours, Ran red over all; And the fields and the woodlands lay blasted, Long ago. Yea, twice hath the Sire Uplifted his hand and downcast it On the wall of the Dardan, downcast it As a sword and as fire.

[Strophe 2.

In vain, all in vain, O thou 'mid the wine-jars golden That movest in delicate joy, Ganymedes, child of Troy, The lips of the Highest drain The cup in thine hand upholden: And thy mother, thy mother that bore thee, Is wasted with fire and torn; And the voice of her sh.o.r.es is heard, Wild, as the voice of a bird, For lovers and children before thee Crying, and mothers outworn.

And the pools of thy bathing[35] are perished, And the wind-strewn ways of thy feet: Yet thy face as aforetime is cherished Of Zeus, and the breath of it sweet; Yea, the beauty of Calm is upon it In houses at rest and afar.

But thy land, He hath wrecked and o'erthrown it In the wailing of war.

[_Antistrophe_ 2.

O Love, ancient Love, Of old to the Dardan given; Love of the Lords of the Sky; How didst thou lift us high In Ilion, yea, and above All cities, as wed with heaven!

For Zeus--O leave it unspoken: But alas for the love of the Morn; Morn of the milk-white wing, The gentle, the earth-loving, That s.h.i.+neth on battlements broken In Troy, and a people forlorn!