Yet Agamemnon, though not a noble man, is of
large mould, and could admire this strange beauty which excited
distaste in common minds.
"_Tal_. What commands respect, and is held high
As wise, is nothing better than the mean
Of no repute; for this most potent king
Of all the Grecians, the much-honored son
Of Atreus, is enamored with his prize,
This frantic raver. I am a poor man,
Yet would I not receive her to my bed."
Cassandra answers, with a careless disdain,
"This is a busy slave."
With all the lofty decorum of manners among the ancients, how free was
their intercourse, man to man, how full the mutual understanding
between prince and "busy slave!" Not here in adversity only, but in
the pomp of power it was so. Kings were approached with ceremonious
obeisance, but not hedged round with etiquette; they could see and
know their fellows.
The Andromache here is just as lovely as that of the Iliad.
To her child whom they are about to murder, the same that was
frightened at the "glittering plume," she says,
"Dost thou weep,
My son? Hast thou a sense of thy ill fate?
Why dost thou clasp me with thy hands, why hold
My robes, and shelter thee beneath my wings,
Like a young bird? No more my Hector comes,
Returning from the tomb; he grasps no more
His glittering spear, bringing protection to thee.
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