For that mad hour when Pytho-ward he went
And claimed redress of Phœbus for his sire,
If haply prayer for those transgressions past
Might win the God's grace for the days to be. 55
Enter Handmaid.
Handmaid.
Queen,—for I shun not by this name to call
Thee, which I knew thy right in that old home,
Thine home what time in Troyland we abode,—
I love thee, as I loved thy living lord;
And now with evil tidings come to thee, 60
In dread lest any of our masters hear,
And ruth for thee; for fearful plots are laid
Of Menelaus and his child: beware!
Andromache.
Dear fellow-thrall,—for fellow-thrall thou art
To her that once was queen, is now unblest,— 65
What do they?—what new web of guile weave they
Who fain would slay the utter-wretched, me?
Handmaid.
Thy son, O hapless, are they set to slay
Whom forth the halls thou tookest privily.
Andromache.
Woe!—hath she learnt the hiding of my child? 70
How?—O unhappy, how am I undone!
Handmaid.
I know not: but themselves I heard say this.
Menelaus on his quest is now gone forth.
