Home, home! To die at home and rest my head!HECTOR.Nay, die not, friend. We have enough of dead.THRACIAN.How can I live? Lost, and my master slain.HECTOR.My house will shelter thee and heal thy pain.THRACIAN.Thy house? Will murderers’ nursing give me peace?HECTOR.Still the same tale! This man will never cease.THRACIAN.My curse rest—not on Hector, but on thoseWho stabbed us, as thou say’st.—Ah, Justice knows!P. 48, 1. 876, Justice knows.]—It is a clever touch to leave the Thracian still only half-convinced and grumbling.HECTOR.There, lift him.—Bear him to my house. Take pains,If care can do it, that the man complainsNo more of Troy.—Ye others, bear withalTo Priam and the Elders of the WallMy charge, that, where the cart-road from the plainBranches, they make due burial for our slain.One party of Guards lifts carefully the wounded THRACIAN and goes off bearing him: another departs with the message to Troy.

CHORUS.Back from the heights of happiness,Back, back, to labour and distressSome god that is not ours doth leadTroy and her sons; He sows the seed,Who knows the reaping?In the air at the back there appears a Vision of the MUSE holding the body of her dead son RHESUS.P. 49, 1. 882, Appearance of the Muse.]—A beautiful scene. It has been thought to come abruptly and, as it were, unskilfully on top of the familiar dialogue between Hector and the Thracian. But the movements, first of soldiers lifting and carrying the wounded man, and then of messengers taking word to Priam for burial of the men slain, make the transition much easier.Ah! Ah!