glancing light as air,
Made happy music through the gloom:
And fires on many an inward room
All night broad-flashing, flung their glare
  On laughing eyes and slumber-laden.

A MAIDEN.

I was among the dancers there
  To Artemis[30], and glorying sang
Her of the Hills, the Maid most fair,
  Daughter of Zeus: and, lo, there rang
A shout out of the dark, and fell
  Deathlike from street to street, and made
A silence in the citadel:
  And a child cried, as if afraid,
And hid him in his mother's veil.
  Then stalked the Slayer from his den,
The hand of Pallas served her well!
  O blood, blood of Troy was deep
  About the streets and altars then:
And in the wedded rooms of sleep,
  Lo, the desolate dark alone,
  And headless things, men stumbled on.

And forth, lo, the women go,
The crown of War, the crown of Woe,
To bear the children of the foe
  And weep, weep, for Ilion!

* * * * *

[As the song ceases a chariot is seen approaching from the town, laden with spoils. On it sits a mourning Woman with a child in her arms.

LEADER.

 Lo, yonder on the heapèd crest
   Of a Greek wain, Andromachê[31],
  As one that o'er an unknown sea
Tosseth; and on her wave-borne breast
Her loved one clingeth, Hector's child,
  Astyanax…. O most forlorn
  Of women, whither go'st thou, borne
'Mid Hector's bronzen arms, and piled
Spoils of the dead, and pageantry
  Of them that hunted Ilion down?
  Aye, richly thy new lord shall crown
The mountain shrines of Thessaly!

ANDROMACHE
                         [Strophe I.

Forth to the Greek I go,
  Driven as a beast is driven.

HEC. Woe, woe!

AND. Nay, mine is woe:
           Woe to none other given,
         And the song and the crown therefor!

HEC. O Zeus!

AND. He hates thee sore!

HEC. Children!

AND. No more, no more
           To aid thee: their strife is striven!

HECUBA.
                        [Antistrophe I.

Troy, Troy is gone!

AND. Yea, and her treasure parted.

HEC. Gone, gone, mine own
           Children, the noble-hearted!

AND. Sing sorrow….

HEC. For me, for me!

AND. Sing for the Great City,
     That falleth, falleth to be
     A shadow, a fire departed.

ANDROMACHE.

[Strophe 2.

Come to me, O my lover!

HEC. The dark shroudeth him over,
     My flesh, woman, not thine, not thine!

AND. Make of thine arms my cover!

HECUBA.

[Antistrophe 2.

O thou whose wound was deepest,
Thou that my children keepest,
Priam, Priam, O age-worn King,
Gather me where thou sleepest.

ANDROMACHE (her hands upon her heart).

[Strophe 3.

O here is the deep of desire,

HEC. (How? And is this not woe?)

AND. For a city burned with fire;

HEC. (It beateth, blow on blow.)

AND. God's wrath for Paris, thy son, that he died not long ago:

    Who sold for his evil love
    Troy and the towers thereof:
    Therefore the dead men lie
    Naked, beneath the eye
    Of Pallas, and vultures croak
      And flap for joy:
    So Love hath laid his yoke
      On the neck of Troy!

HECUBA.

[Antistrophe 3.

O mine own land, my home,

AND. (I weep for thee, left forlorn,)

HEC. See'st thou what end is come?

AND. (And the house where my babes were born.)

HEC. A desolate Mother we leave, O children, a City of scorn:

     Even as the sound of a song[32]
     Left by the way, but long
     Remembered, a tune of tears
     Falling where no man hears,
     In the old house, as rain,
       For things loved of yore:
     But the dead hath lost his pain
       And weeps no more.

LEADER.

How sweet are tears to them in bitter stress,
And sorrow, and all the songs of heaviness.

ANDROMACHE[33].

Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear Smote Greeks like chaff, see'st thou what things are here?

HECUBA.

I see God's hand, that buildeth a great crown
For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down.

ANDROMACHE.

I and my babe are driven among the droves
Of plundered cattle. O, when fortune moves
So swift, the high heart like a slave beats low.

HECUBA.

'Tis fearful to be helpless. Men but now
Have taken Cassandra, and I strove in vain.

ANDROMACHE.

Ah, woe is me; hath Ajax come again?
But other evil yet is at thy gate.

HECUBA.

Nay, Daughter, beyond number, beyond weight
My evils are! Doom raceth against doom.

ANDROMACHE.

Polyxena across Achilles' tomb
Lies slain, a gift flung to the dreamless dead.

HECUBA.

My sorrow!… 'Tis but what Talthybius said:
So plain a riddle, and I read it not.

ANDROMACHE.

I saw her lie, and stayed this chariot;
And raiment wrapt on her dead limbs, and beat
My breast for her.

HECUBA (to herself).

     O the foul sin of it!
The wickedness! My child. My child! Again
I cry to thee. How cruelly art thou slain!

ANDROMACHE.

She hath died her death, and howso dark it be,
Her death is sweeter than my misery.

HECUBA.

Death cannot be what Life is, Child; the cup
Of Death is empty, and Life hath always hope.

ANDROMACHE.

O Mother, having ears, hear thou this word
Fear-conquering, till thy heart as mine be stirred
With joy. To die is only not to be;
And better to be dead than grievously
Living. They have no pain, they ponder not
Their own wrong. But the living that is brought
From joy to heaviness, his soul doth roam,
As in a desert, lost, from its old home.
Thy daughter lieth now as one unborn,
Dead, and naught knowing of the lust and scorn
That slew her. And I … long since I drew my
  bow
Straight at the heart of good fame; and I know
My shaft hit; and for that am I the more
Fallen from peace. All that men praise us for,
I loved for Hector's sake, and sought to win.
I knew that alway, be there hurt therein
Or