Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/373

Rh For hither bends the Ithacan his course. Andromache [with a final appealing look toward the tomb]: Yawn deep, O earth, and thou, my husband, rend To even greater depths thy tomb's deep cave, And hide the sacred trust I gave to thee Within the very bosom of the pit. Now comes Ulysses, grave and slow of tread; Methinks he plotteth mischief in his heart. [Enter Ulysses.] Ulysses: As harsh fate's minister, I first implore That, though the words are uttered by my lips, Thou count them not my own. They are the voice Of all the Grecian chiefs, whom Hector's son Doth still prohibit from that homeward voyage So long delayed. And him the fates demand. A peace secure the Greeks can never feel, And ever will the backward-glancing fear Compel them on defensive arms to lean, While on thy living son, Andromache, The conquered Phrygians shall rest their hopes. So doth the augur, Calchas, prophesy. Yet, even if our Calchas spake no word, Thy Hector once declared it, and I fear Lest in his son a second Hector dwell; For ever doth a noble scion grow Into the stature of his noble sire. Behold the little comrade of the herd, His budding horns still hidden from the sight: Full soon with arching neck and lofty front, He doth command and lead his father's flock. The slender twig, just lopped from parent bough, Its mother's height and girth surpasses soon, And casts its shade abroad to earth and sky. So doth a spark within the ashes left, Leap into flame again before the wind. Thy grief, I know, must partial judgment give; Still, if thou weigh the matter, thou wilt grant That after ten long years of grievous war. A veteran soldier doeth well to fear