And his white beard and limbs are foully torn By ravening dogs, there is no sadder sight.”

So the old monarch spake, and with his hands Tore his gray hair, but moved not Hector thus. Then came, with lamentations and in tears, The warrior’s mother forward. One hand laid Her bosom bare; she pressed the other hand Beneath it, sobbed, and spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“Revere this bosom, Hector, and on me Have pity. If when thou wert but a babe I ever on this bosom stilled thy cries, Think of it now, beloved child; avoid That dreadful chief; withdraw within the walls, Nor madly think to encounter him alone, Son of my love and of my womb! If he Should slay thee, I shall not lament thy death Above thy bier⁠—I, nor thy noble wife⁠— But far from us the greedy dogs will throng To mangle thee beside the Grecian fleet.”