some Pitiless master; or perhaps some Greek Will seize thy little arm, and in his rage Will hurl thee from a tower and dash thee dead, Remembering how thy father, Hector, slew His brother, son, or father; for the hand Of Hector forced full many a Greek to bite The dust of earth. Not slow to smite was he In the fierce conflict; therefore all who dwell Within the city sorrow for his fall. Thou bringest an unutterable grief, O Hector, on thy parents, and on me The sharpest sorrows. Thou didst not stretch forth Thy hands to me, in dying, from thy couch, Nor speak a word to comfort me, which I Might ever think of night and day with tears.”
So spake the weeping wife: the women all Mingled their wail with hers, and Hecuba Took up the passionate lamentation next:—
“O Hector, thou who wert most fondly loved Of all my sons! While yet thou wert alive, Dear wert thou to the gods, who even now, When death has overtaken thee, bestow Such care upon thee. All my other sons Whom swift Achilles took in war he sold At Samos, Imbrus, by the barren sea, And Lemnos harborless. But as for thee, When he had taken with his cruel spear Thy life, he dragged thee round and