 | Hector |  |
SCENE VIII.
The Combat.Hector.
Enough, Achilles, Troy has seen me fly,
But now some God within inspires anew
My soul: and bids me try, thine or my fate;
Or thou or I shall fall. But on the verge
Of this last battle let us pause a space,
And call the heavens to arbitrate the just
Conditions of our stipulated terms.
Ach.
Detested as thou art, nor pact nor oath,
Achilles plights with thee: such pacts as wolves
Make with the lambs, such leagues as lions make
With men, I make with thee. To such I call
The gods of heaven and hell. Eternal hate,
No thought but rage, nor other truce than death.
Rouse then thyself, and call up all thy heart,
Collect thy soul for this decisive strife.
Each Grecian ghost by thee deprived of breath,
Now hovers round, rejoicing at thy doom.
Hec.
The life you fancied to that jav'lin given,
Prince, you have miss'd. Thy life on mine depends.
To thee, audacious, is unknown my doom,
Or what may prove thy own: but this I know,
By no ignoble wound shall Hector die!
I shall not fall a fugitive. My soul
Shall bravely issue, but first try my arm—
A spear, O Gods! a spear! Is it so, Heaven?
But in a mighty act I will expire,
Let future ages hear and emulate.
Ach.
At length is Hector stretch'd upon the plain,
Who fear'd no vengeance when he slew my friend.
Then, Prince, you should have fear'd, and trembling known,
Achilles absent was Achilles still.
But a short space the great avenger staid,
He came, and laid thee with thy glories there.
Peaceful Patroclus sleeps, rescued from Troy,
But thee shall birds and mangling dogs devour.
Hec.
By all the holy prevalence of pray'r,
349
The common rites of earth to earth confer,
To soothe a father's and a widow's woe.
Ach.
Though Troy to bribe me offer all her store,
Though Dardan Priam, and thy weeping dame
Drain all their realms to buy thy carcase back,
They shall not rob the vultures of one limb.
Hec.
The furies thy relentless heart have steel'd,
And fill'd it with unconquerable hate,
Yet think the day will come, when thou shalt pay
The full atonement for the wreck of me.
[Dies.
Ach.
Princes and leaders of the Grecian bands,
The fates, the Gods, lo! to our arm have given
The great destroyer, the defence of Troy;
Is not already then the town our own?
Haste and survey if yon deserted towers
Hold yet another hero, meanwhile you,
My myrmidons, in triumph bear the corpse.
Lift now the harmless, once the mighty Hector,
And be your song triumphant to the shore,
“Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.”
| Hector | |