Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/380

362 Here, here is the lad, Ulysses, behold him; The fear of thy armies, the dread of thy fleet! [To Astyanax.] My son, thy suppliant hands upraise, And at the feet of this proud lord, Bend low in prayer, nor think it base To suffer the lot which our fortune appoints. Put out of mind thy regal birth, Thy aged grandsire's glorious rule Of wide domain; and think no more Of Hector, thy illustrious sire. Be captive alone—bend the suppliant knee; And if thine own fate move thee not, Then weep by thy mother's woe inspired. [To Ulysses.] That older Troy beheld the tears Of its youthful king, and those tears prevailed To stay the fierce threats of the victor's wrath, The mighty Hercules. Yea he, To whose vast strength all monsters had yielded, Who burst the stubborn gates of hell, And o'er that murky way returned, Even he was o'ercome by the tears of a boy. "Take the reins of the state," to the prince he said; "Reign thou on thy father's lofty throne, But reign with the scepter of power—and truth." Thus did that hero subdue his foes. And thus do thou temper thy wrath with forbearance. And let not the power of great Hercules, only, Be model to thee. Behold at thy feet, As noble a prince as Priam of old Pleads only for life! The kingdom of Troy Let fortune bestow where she will.

Ulysses [aside]: This woe-struck mother's grief doth move me sore; But still the Grecian dames must more prevail, Unto whose grief this lad is growing up. Andromache [hearing him]: What? These vast ruins of our fallen town, To very ashes brought, shall he uprear?