That Tyndareus planted, who shall deem of thee
As child of Zeus?  O, thou hast drawn thy breath
From many fathers, Madness, Hate, red Death,
And every rotting poison of the sky! 
Zeus knows thee not, thou vampire, draining dry. 
Greece and the world!  God 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! 
God 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 God 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 ships. 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.