Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/371

Rh And thus he oft from that high, noble brow Would backward toss his flowing locks.— But thou, O son, who cam'st too late for Phrygia's help, Too soon for me, will that time ever come, That happy day, when thou, the sole defense, And sole avenger of our conquered Troy, Shalt raise again her fallen citadel, Recall her scattered citizens from flight, And give to fatherland and Phrygians Their name and fame again?—Alas, my son, Such hopes consort not with our present state. Let the humble captive's fitter prayer be mine— The prayer for life. Ah me, what spot remote Can hold thee safe? In what dark lurking-place Can I bestow thee and abate my fears? Our city, once in pride of wealth secure, And stayed on walls the gods themselves had built, Well known of all, the envy of the world, Now deep in ashes lies, by flames laid low; And from her vast extent of temples, walls And towers, no part, no lurking-place remains, Wherein a child might hide. Where shall I choose A covert safe? Behold the mighty tomb Wherein his father's sacred ashes lie, Whose massive pile the enemy has spared. This did old Priam rear in days of power, Whose grief no stinted sepulture bestowed. Then to his father let me trust the child.— But at the very thought a chilling sweat Invades my trembling limbs, for much I fear The gruesome omen of the place of death. Old Man: In danger, haste to shelter where ye may; In safety, choose. Andromache: What hiding-place is safe From traitor's eyes? Old Man: All witnesses remove. Andromache: What if the foe inquire? Old Man: Then answer thus: