ooms of sleep,
Lo, the desolate dark alone,
And headless things, men stumbled on.

And forth, lo, the women go,
The crown of War, the crown of Woe,
To bear the children of the foe
And weep, weep, for Ilion!

* * * * *

[_As the song ceases a chariot is seen approaching from the town, laden
with spoils. On it sits a mourning Woman with a child in her arms._

LEADER.

Lo, yonder on the heaped crest
Of a Greek wain, Andromache[31],
As one that o'er an unknown sea
Tosseth; and on her wave-borne breast
Her loved one clingeth, Hector's child,
Astyanax.... O most forlorn
Of women, whither go'st thou, borne
'Mid Hector's bronzen arms, and piled
Spoils of the dead, and pageantry
Of them that hunted Ilion down?
Aye, richly thy new lord shall crown
The mountain shrines of Thessaly!

ANDROMACHE
[_Strophe I._

Forth to the Greek I go,
Driven as a beast is driven.

HEC. Woe, woe!

AND. Nay, mine is woe:
Woe to none other given,
And the song and the crown therefor!

HEC. O Zeus!

AND. He hates thee sore!

HEC. Children!

AND. No more, no more
To aid thee: their strife is striven!

HECUBA.
[_Antistrophe I._

Troy, Troy is gone!

AND. Yea, and her treasure parted.

HEC. Gone, gone, mine own
Children, the noble-hearted!

AND. Sing sorrow....

HEC. For me, for me!

AND. Sing for the Great City,
That falleth, falleth to be
A shadow, a fire departed.

ANDROMACHE.

[_Strophe 2._

Come to me, O my lover!

HEC. The dark shroudeth him over,
My flesh, woman, not thine, not thine!

AND. Make of thine arms my cover!

HECUBA.

[_Antistrophe 2._

O thou whose wound was deepest,
Thou that my children keepest,
Priam, Priam, O age-worn King,
Gather me where thou sleepest.

ANDROMACHE (_her hands upon her heart_).

[_Strophe 3._

O here is the deep of desire,

HEC. (How? And is this not woe?)

AND. For a city burned with fire;

HEC. (It beateth, blow on blow.)

AND. God's wrath for Paris, thy son, that he died not long ago:

Who sold for his evil love
Troy and the towers thereof:
Therefore the dead men lie
Naked, beneath the eye
Of Pallas, and vultures croak
And flap for joy:
So Love hath laid his yoke
On the neck