“Le joyeulx temps passé souloit estre occasion que je faisoie de plaisants diz et gracieuses chançonnetes et ballades.  Mais je me suis mis à faire cette traittié d’affliction contre ma droite nature … et suis content de l’avoir prinse, car mes douleurs me semblent en estre allegées.”—Le Romant de Troilus.

To all old Friends; to all who dwell
   Where Avon dhu and Avon gel
   Down to the western waters flow
Through valleys dear from long ago;
To all who hear the whisper’d spell
Of Ken; and Tweed like music swell
Hard by the Land Debatable,
   Or gleaming Shannon seaward go,—
      To all old Friends!

To all that yet remember well
What secrets Isis had to tell,
   How lazy Cherwell loiter’d slow
   Sweet aisles of blossom’d May below—
Whate’er befall, whate’er befell,
      To all old Friends.

Of the coming of Paris to the house of Menelaus, King of Lacedaemon, and of the tale Paris told concerning his past life.

 

I.

All day within the palace of the King
   In Lacedaemon, was there revelry,
Since Menelaus with the dawn did spring
   Forth from his carven couch, and, climbing high
   The tower of outlook, gazed along the dry
White road that runs to Pylos through the plain,
   And mark’d thin clouds of dust against the sky,
And gleaming bronze, and robes of purple stain.

 

II.

Then cried he to his serving men, and all
   Obey’d him, and their labour did not spare,
And women set out tables through the hall,
   Light polish’d tables, with the linen fair.
   And water from the well did others bear,
And the good house-wife busily brought forth
   Meats from her store, and stinted not the rare
Wine from Ismarian vineyards of the North.

 

III.

The men drave up a heifer from the field
   For sacrifice, and sheath’d her horns with gold;
And strong Boethous the axe did wield
   And smote her; on the fruitful earth she roll’d,
   And they her limbs divided; fold on fold
They laid the fat, and cast upon the fire
   The barley grain.  Such rites were wrought of old
When all was order’d as the Gods desire.

 

IV.

And now the chariots came beneath the trees
   Hard by the palace portals, in the shade,
And Menelaus knew King Diocles
   Of Pherae, sprung of an unhappy maid
   Whom the great Elian River God betray’d
In the still watches of a summer night,
   When by his deep green water-course she stray’d
And lean’d to pluck his water-lilies white.

 

V.

Besides King Diocles there sat a man
   Of all men mortal sure the fairest far,
For o’er his purple robe Sidonian
   His yellow hair shone brighter than the star
   Of the long golden locks that bodeth war;
His face was like the sunshine, and his blue
   Glad eyes no sorrow had the spell to mar
Were clear as skies the storm hath thunder’d through.

 

VI.

Then Menelaus spake unto his folk,
   And eager at his word they ran amain,
And loosed the sweating horses from the yoke,
   And cast before them spelt, and barley grain.
   And lean’d the polish’d car, with golden rein,
Against the shining spaces of the wall;
   And called the sea-rovers who follow’d fain
Within the pillar’d fore-courts of the hall.

 

VII.

The stranger-prince was follow’d by a band
   Of men, all clad like rovers of the sea,
And brown’d were they as is the desert sand,
   Loud in their mirth, and of their bearing free;
   And gifts they bore, from the deep treasury
And forests of some far-off Eastern lord,
   Vases of gold, and bronze, and ivory,
That might the Pythian fane have over-stored.

 

VIII.

Now when the King had greeted Diocles
   And him that seem’d his guest, the twain were led
To the dim polish’d baths, where, for their ease,
   Cool water o’er their lustrous limbs was shed;
   With oil anointed was each goodly head
By Asteris and Phylo fair of face;
   Next, like two gods for loveliness, they sped
To Menelaus in the banquet-place.

 

IX.

There were they seated at the King’s right hand,
   And maidens bare them bread, and meat, and wine,
Within that fair hall of the Argive land
   Whose doors and roof with gold and silver shine
   As doth the dwelling-place of Zeus divine.
And Helen came from forth her fragrant bower
   The fairest lady of immortal line,
Like morning, when the rosy dawn doth flower.

 

X.

Adraste set for her a shining chair,
   Well-wrought of cedar-wood and ivory;
And beautiful Alcippe led the fair,
   The well-beloved child, Hermione,—
   A little maiden of long summers three—
Her star-like head on Helen’s breast she laid,
   And peep’d out at the strangers wistfully
As is the wont of children half afraid.

 

XI.

Now when desire of meat and drink was done,
   And ended was the joy of minstrelsy,
Queen Helen spake, beholding how the sun
   Within the heaven of bronze was riding high:
   “Truly, my friends, methinks the hour is nigh
When men may crave to know what need doth bring
   To Lacedaemon, o’er wet ways and dry,
This prince that bears the sceptre of a king?

 

XII.

“Yea, or perchance a God is he, for still
   The great Gods wander on our mortal ways,
And watch their altars upon mead or hill
   And taste our sacrifice, and hear our lays,
   And now, perchance, will heed if any prays,
And now will vex us with unkind control,
   But anywise must man live out his days,
For Fate hath given him an enduring soul.

 

XIII.

“Then tell us, prithee, all that may be told,
   And if thou art a mortal, joy be thine!
And if thou art a God, then rich with gold
   Thine altar in our palace court shall shine,
   With roses garlanded and wet with wine,
And we shall praise thee with unceasing breath;
   Ah, then be gentle as thou art divine,
And bring not on us baneful Love or Death!”

 

XIV.

Then spake the stranger,—as when to a maid
   A young man speaks, his voice was soft and low,—
“Alas, no God am I; be not afraid,
   For even now the nodding daisies grow
   Whose seed above my grassy cairn shall blow,
When I am nothing but a drift of white
   Dust in a cruse of gold; and nothing know
But darkness, and immeasurable Night.

 

XV.

“The dawn, or noon, or twilight, draweth near
   When one shall smite me on the bridge of war,
Or with the ruthless sword, or with the spear,
   Or with the bitter arrow flying far.
   But as a man’s heart, so his good days are,
That Zeus, the Lord of Thunder, giveth him,
   Wherefore I follow Fortune, like a star,
Whate’er may wait me in the distance dim.

 

XVI.

“Now all men call me Paris, Priam’s son,
   Who widely rules a peaceful folk and still.
Nay, though ye dwell afar off, there is none
   But hears of Ilios on the windy hill,
   And of the plain that the two rivers fill
With murmuring sweet streams the whole year long,
   And walls the Gods have wrought with wondrous skill
Where cometh never man to do us wrong.

 

XVII.

“Wherefore I sail’d not here for help in war,
   Though well the Argives in such need can aid.
The force that comes on me is other far;
   One that on all men comes: I seek the maid
   Whom golden Aphrodite shall persuade
To lay her hand in mine, and follow me,
   To my white halls within the cedar shade
Beyond the waters of the barren sea.”

 

XVIII.

Then at the Goddess’ name grew Helen pale,
   Like golden stars that flicker in the dawn,
Or like a child that hears a dreadful tale,
   Or like the roses on a rich man’s lawn,
   When now the suns of Summer are withdrawn,
And the loose leaves with a sad wind are stirr’d,
   Till the wet grass is strewn with petals wan,—
So paled the golden Helen at his word.

 

XIX.

But swift the rose into her cheek return’d
   And for a little moment, like a flame,
The perfect face of Argive Helen burn’d,
   As doth a woman’s, when some spoken name
   Brings back to mind some ancient love or shame,
But none save Paris mark’d the thing, who said,
   “My tale no more must weary this fair dame,
With telling why I wander all unwed.”

 

XX.

But Helen, bending on him gracious brows,
   Besought him for the story of his quest,
“For sultry is the summer, that allows
   To mortal men no sweeter boon than rest;
   And surely such a tale as thine is best
To make the dainty-footed hours go by,
   Till sinks the sun in darkness and the West,
And soft stars lead the Night along the sky.”

 

XXI.

Then at the word of Helen Paris spoke,
   “My tale is shorter than a summer day,—
My mother, ere I saw the light, awoke,
   At dawn, in Ilios, shrieking in dismay,
   Who dream’d that ’twixt her feet there fell and lay
A flaming brand, that utterly burn’d down
   To dust of crumbling ashes red and grey,
The coronal of towers and all Troy town.

 

XXII.

“Then the interpretation of this dream
   My father sought at many priestly hands,
Where the white temple doth in Pytho gleam,
   And at the fane of Ammon in the sands,
   And where the oak tree of Dodona stands
With boughs oracular against the sky,—
   And with one voice the Gods from all the lands,
Cried out, ‘The child must die, the child must die.’

 

XXIII.

“Then was I born to sorrow; and in fear
   The dark priest took me from my sire, and bore
A wailing child through beech and pinewood drear,
   Up to the knees of Ida, and the hoar
   Rocks whence a fountain breaketh evermore,
And leaps with shining waters to the sea,
   Through black and rock-wall’d pools without a shore,—
And there they deem’d they took farewell of me.

 

XXIV.

“But round my neck they tied a golden ring
   That fell from Ganymedes when he soar’d
High over Ida on the eagle’s wing,
   To dwell for ever with the Gods adored,
   To be the cup-bearer beside the board
Of Zeus, and kneel at the eternal throne,—
   A jewel ’twas from old King Tros’s hoard,
That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.

 

XXV.

“And there they left me in that dell untrod,—
   Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,
For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God,—
   Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear
   The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,
Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy
   Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair,—
There had the priests appointed me to die.

 

XXVI.

“But vainly doth a man contend with Fate!
   My father had less pity on his son
Than wild things of the woodland desolate.
   ’Tis said that ere the Autumn day was done
   A great she-bear, that in these rocks did wonn,
Beheld a sleeping babe she did convey
   Down to a den beheld not of the sun,
The cavern where her own soft litter lay.

 

XXVII.

“And therein was I nurtured wondrously,
   So Rumour saith: I know not of these things,
For mortal men are ever wont to lie,
   Whene’er they speak of sceptre-bearing kings:
   I tell what I was told, for memory brings
No record of those days, that are as deep
   Lost as the lullaby a mother sings
In ears of children that are fallen on sleep.

 

XXVIII.

“Men say that now five autumn days had pass’d,
   When Agelaus, following a hurt deer,
Trod soft on crackling acorns, and the mast
   That lay beneath the oak and beech-wood sere,
   In dread lest angry Pan were sleeping near,
Then heard a cry from forth a cavern grey,
   And peeping round the fallen rocks in fear,
Beheld where in the wild beast’s tracks I lay.

 

XXIX.

“So Agelaus bore me from the wild,
   Down to his hut; and with his children I
Was nurtured, being, as was deem’d, the child
   Of Hermes, or some mountain deity;
   For these with the wild nymphs are wont to lie
Within the holy caverns, where the bee
   Can scarcely find a darkling path to fly
Through veils of bracken and the ivy-tree.

 

XXX.

“So with the shepherds on the hills I stray’d,
   And drave the kine to feed where rivers run,
And play’d upon the reed-pipe in the shade,
   And scarcely knew my manhood was begun,
   The pleasant years still passing one by one,
Till I was chiefest of the mountain men,
   And clomb the peaks that take the snow and sun,
And braved the anger’d lion in his den.

 

XXXI.

“Now in my herd of kine was one more dear
   By far than all the rest, and fairer far;
A milkwhite bull, the captive of my spear,
   And all the wondering shepherds called him Star:
   And still he led his fellows to the war,
When the lean wolves against the herds came down,
   Then would he charge, and drive their hosts afar
Beyond the pastures to the forests brown.

 

XXXII.

“Now so it chanced that on an autumn morn,
   King Priam sought a goodly bull to slay
In memory of his child, no sooner born
   Than midst the lonely mountains cast away,
   To die ere scarce he had beheld the day;
And Priam’s men came wandering afar
   To that green pool where by the flocks I lay,
And straight they coveted the goodly Star,

 

XXXIII.

“And drave him, no word spoken, to the town:
   One man mine arrow lit on, and he fell;
His comrades held me off, and down and down,
   Through golden windings of the autumn dell,
   They spurr’d along the beast that loved me well,
Till red were his white sides; I following,
   Wrath in my heart, their evil deeds to tell
In Ilios, at the footstool of the King.

 

XXXIV.

“But ere they came to the God-builded wall,
   They spied a meadow by the water-side,
And there the men of Troy were gathered all
   For joust and play; and Priam’s sons defied
   All other men in all Maeonia wide
To strive with them in boxing and in speed.
   Victorious with the shepherds had I vied,
So boldly followed to that flowery mead.

 

XXXV.

“Maeonia, Phrygia, Troia there were met,
   And there the King, child of Laomedon,
Rich prizes for the vanquishers had set,
   Damsels, and robes, and cups that like the sun
   Shone, but the white bull was the chiefest one;
And him the victor in the games should slay
   To Zeus, the King of Gods, when all was done,
And so with sacrifice should crown the day.

 

XXXVI.

“Now it were over long, methinks, to tell
   The contest of the heady charioteers,
Of them the goal that turn’d, and them that fell.
   But I outran the young men of my years,
   And with the bow did I out-do my peers,
And wrestling; and in boxing, over-bold,
   I strove with Hector of the ashen spears,
Yea, till the deep-voiced Heralds bade us hold.

 

XXXVII.

“Then Priam hail’d me winner of the day;
   Mine were the maid, the cup, and chiefest prize,
Mine own fair milkwhite bull was mine to slay;
   But then the murmurs wax’d to angry cries,
   And hard men set on me in deadly wise,
My brethren, though they knew it not; I turn’d,
   And fled unto the place of sacrifice,
Where altars to the God of strangers burn’d.

 

XXXVIII.

“At mine own funeral feast, had I been slain,
   But, fearing Zeus, they halted for a space,
And lo, Apollo’s priestess with a train
   Of holy maidens came into that place,
   And far did she outshine the rest in grace,
But in her eyes such dread was frozen then
   As glares eternal from the Gorgon’s face
Wherewith Athene quells the ranks of men.

 

XXXIX.

“She was old Priam’s daughter, long ago
   Apollo loved her, and did not deny
His gifts,—the things that are to be to know,
   The tongue of sooth-saying that cannot lie,
   And knowledge gave he of all birds that fly
’Neath heaven; and yet his prayer did she disdain.
   So he his gifts confounded utterly,
And sooth she saith, but evermore in vain.

 

XL.

“She, when her dark eyes fell on me, did stand
   At gaze a while, with wan lips murmuring,
And then came nigh to me, and took my hand,
   And led me to the footstool of the King,
   And call’d me ‘brother,’ and drew forth the ring
That men had found upon me in the wild,
   For still I bore it as a precious thing,
The token of a father to his child.

 

XLI.

“This sign Cassandra show’d to Priam: straight
   The King wax’d pale, and ask’d what this might be?
And she made answer, ‘Sir, and King, thy fate
   That comes to all men born hath come on thee;
   This shepherd is thine own child verily:
How like to thine his shape, his brow, his hands!
   Nay there is none but hath the eyes to see
That here the child long lost to Troia stands.’

 

XLII.

“Then the King bare me to his lofty hall,
   And there we feasted in much love and mirth,
And Priam to the mountain sent for all
   That knew me, and the manner of my birth:
   And now among the great ones of the earth
In royal robe and state behold me set,
   And one fell thing I fear not; even dearth,
Whate’er the Gods remember or forget.

 

XLIII.

“My new rich life had grown a common thing,
   The pleasant years still passing one by one,
When deep in Ida was I wandering
   The glare of well-built Ilios to shun,
   In summer, ere the day was wholly done,
When I beheld a goodly prince,—the hair
   To bloom upon his lip had scarce begun,—
The season when the flower of youth is fair.

 

XLIV.

“Then knew I Hermes by his golden wand
   Wherewith he lulls the eyes of men to sleep;
But, nodding with his brows, he bade me stand,
   And spake, ‘To-night thou hast a tryst to keep,
   With Goddesses within the forest deep;
And Paris, lovely things shalt thou behold,
   More fair than they for which men war and weep,
Kingdoms, and fame, and victories, and gold.

 

XLV.

“‘For, lo! to-night within the forest dim
   Do Aphrodite and Athene meet,
And Hera, who to thee shall bare each limb,
   Each grace from golden head to ivory feet,
   And thee, fair shepherd Paris, they entreat
As thou ’mongst men art beauteous, to declare
   Which Queen of Queens immortal is most sweet,
And doth deserve the meed of the most fair.

 

XLVI.

“‘For late between them rose a bitter strife
   In Peleus’ halls upon his wedding day,
When Peleus took him an immortal wife,
   And there was bidden all the God’s array,
   Save Discord only; yet she brought dismay,
And cast an apple on the bridal board,
   With “Let the fairest bear the prize away”
Deep on its golden rind and gleaming scored.

 

XLVII.

“‘Now in the sudden night, whenas the sun
   In Tethys’ silver arms hath slept an hour,
Shalt thou be had into the forest dun,
   And brought unto a dark enchanted bower,
   And there of Goddesses behold the flower
With very beauty burning in the night,
   And these will offer Wisdom, Love, and Power;
Then, Paris, be thou wise, and choose aright!’

 

XLVIII.

“He spake, and pass’d, and Night without a breath,
   Without a star drew on; and now I heard
The voice that in the springtime wandereth,
   The crying of Dame Hera’s shadowy bird;
   And soon the silence of the trees was stirred
By the wise fowl of Pallas; and anigh,
   More sweet than is a girl’s first loving word,
The doves of Aphrodite made reply.

 

XLIX.

“These voices did I follow through the trees,
   Threading the coppice ’neath a starless sky,
When, lo! the very Queen of Goddesses,
   In golden beauty gleaming wondrously,
   Even she that hath the Heaven for canopy,
And in the arms of mighty Zeus doth sleep,—
   And then for dread methought that I must die,
But Hera called me with soft voice and deep:

 

L.

“‘Paris, give me the prize, and thou shalt reign
   O’er many lordly peoples, far and wide,
From them that till the black and crumbling plain,
   Where the sweet waters of Aegyptus glide,
   To those that on the Northern marches ride,
And the Ceteians, and the blameless men
   That round the rising-place of Morn abide,
And all the dwellers in the Asian fen.

 

LI.

“‘And I will love fair Ilios as I love
   Argos and rich Mycenae, that doth hoard
Deep wealth; and I will make thee king above
   A hundred peoples; men shall call thee lord
   In tongues thou know’st not; thou shalt be adored
With sacrifice, as are the Gods divine,
   If only thou wilt speak a little word,
And say the prize of loveliness is mine.’

 

LII.

“Then, as I doubted, like a sudden flame
   Of silver came Athene, and methought
Beholding her, how stately, as she came,
   That dim wood to a fragrant fane was wrought;
   So pure the warlike maiden seem’d, that nought
But her own voice commanding made me raise
   Mine eyes to see her beauty, who besought
In briefest words the guerdon of all praise.

 

LIII.

“She spake: ‘Nor wealth nor crowns are in my gift;
   But wisdom, but the eyes that glance afar,
But courage, and the spirit that is swift
   To cleave her path through all the waves of war;
   Endurance that the Fates can never mar;
These, and my loving friendship,—these are thine,
   And these shall guide thee, steadfast as a star,
If thou hast eyes to know the prize is mine.’

 

LIV.

“Last, in a lovely mist of rosy fire,
   Came Aphrodite through the forest glade,
The queen of all delight and all desire,
   More fair than when her naked foot she laid
   On the blind mere’s wild wave that sank dismay’d,
What time the sea grew smoother than a lake;
   I was too happy to be sore afraid.
And like a song her voice was when she spake:

 

LV.

“‘Oh Paris, what is power?  Tantalus
   And Sisyphus were kings long time ago,
But now they lie in the Lake Dolorous,
   The hills of hell are noisy with their woe;
   Ay, swift the tides of Empire ebb and flow,
And that is quickly lost was hardly won,
   As Ilios herself o’erwell did know
When high walls help’d not King Laomedon.

 

LVI.

“‘And what are strength and courage? for the child
   Of mighty Zeus, the strong man Herakles,
Knew many days and evil, ere men piled
   The pyre in Oeta, where he got his ease
   In death, where all the ills of brave men cease.
Nay, Love I proffer thee; beyond the brine
   Of all the currents of the Western seas,
The fairest woman in the world is thine!’

 

LVII.

“She spake, and touched the prize, and all grew dim
   I heard no voice of anger’d Deity,
But round me did the night air swoon and swim,
   And, when I waken’d, lo! the sun was high,
   And in that place accursed did I lie,
Where Agelaus found the naked child;
   Then with swift foot I did arise and fly
Forth from the deeps of that enchanted wild.

 

LVIII.

“And down I sped to Ilios, down the dell
   Where, years agone, the white bull guided me,
And through green boughs beheld where foam’d and fell
   The merry waters of the Western sea;
   Of Love the sweet birds sang from sky and tree,
And swift I reach’d the haven and the shore,
   And call’d my mariners, and follow’d free
Where Love might lead across the waters hoar.

 

LIX.

“Three days with fair winds ran we, then we drave
   Before the North that made the long waves swell
Round Malea; but hardly from the wave
   We ’scaped at Pylos, Nestor’s citadel;
   And there the son of Neleus loved us well,
And brought us to the high prince, Diocles,
   Who led us hither, and it thus befell
That here, below thy roof, we sit at ease.”

 

LX.

Then all men gave the stranger thanks and praise,
   And Menelaus for red wine bade call;
And the sun fell, and dark were all the ways;
   Then maidens set forth braziers in the hall,
   And heap’d them high with lighted brands withal;
But Helen pass’d, as doth the fading day
   Pass from the world, and softly left them all
Loud o’er their wine amid the twilight grey.

 

LXI.

So night drew on with rain, nor yet they ceased
   Within the hall to drink the gleaming wine,
And late they pour’d the last cup of the feast,
   To Argus-bane, the Messenger divine;
   And last, ’neath torches tall that smoke and shine,
The maidens strew’d the beds with purple o’er,
   That Diocles and Paris might recline
All night, beneath the echoing corridor.

The coming of Aphrodite, and how she told Helen that she must depart in company with Paris, but promised withal that Helen, having fallen into a deep sleep, should awake forgetful of her old life, and ignorant of her shame, and blameless of those evil deeds that the Goddess thrust upon her.

 

I.

Now in the upper chamber o’er the gate
   Lay Menelaus on his carven bed,
And swift and sudden as the stroke of Fate
   A deep sleep fell upon his weary head.
   But the soft-wingèd God with wand of lead
Came not near Helen; wistful did she lie,
   Till dark should change to grey, and grey to red,
And golden thronèd Morn sweep o’er the sky.

 

II.

Slow pass’d the heavy night: like one who fears
   The step of murder, she lies quivering,
If any cry of the night bird she hears;
   And strains her eyes to mark some dreadful thing,
   If but the curtains of the window swing,
Stirr’d by the breath of night, and still she wept
   As she were not the daughter of a king,
And no strong king, her lord, beside her slept.

 

III.

Now in that hour, the folk who watch the night,
   Shepherds and fishermen, and they that ply
Strange arts and seek their spells in the star-light,
   Beheld a marvel in the sea and sky,
   For all the waves of all the seas that sigh
Between the straits of Hellé and the Nile,
   Flush’d with a flame of silver suddenly,
From soft Cythera to the Cyprian isle.

 

IV.

And Hesperus, the kindest star of heaven,
   That bringeth all things good, wax’d pale, and straight
There fell a flash of white malignant levin
   Among the gleaming waters desolate;
   The lights of sea and sky did mix and mate
And change to rosy flame, and thence did fly
   The lovely Queen of Love that turns to hate,
Like summer lightnings ’twixt the sea and sky.

 

V.

And now the bower of Helen fill’d with light,
   And now she knew the thing that she did fear
Was close upon her (for the black of night
   Doth burn like fire, whene’er the Gods are near);
   Then shone like flame each helm and shield and spear
That hung within the chamber of the King,
   But he,—though all the bower as day was clear,—
Slept as they sleep that know no wakening.

 

VI.

But Helen leap’d from her fair carven bed
   As some tormented thing that fear makes bold,
And on the ground she beat her golden head
   And pray’d with bitter moanings manifold.
   Yet knew that she could never move the cold
Heart of the lovely Goddess, standing there,
   Her feet upon a little cloud, a fold
Of silver cloud about her bosom bare.

 

VII.

So stood Queen Aphrodite, as she stands
   Unmoved in her bright mansion, when in vain
Some naked maiden stretches helpless hands
   And shifts the magic wheel, and burns the grain,
   And cannot win her lover back again,
Nor her old heart of quiet any more,
   Where moonlight floods the dim Sicilian main,
And the cool wavelets break along the shore.

 

VIII.

Then Helen ceased from unavailing prayer,
   And rose and faced the Goddess steadily,
Till even the laughter-loving lady fair
   Half shrank before the anger of her eye,
   And Helen cried with an exceeding cry,
“Why does Zeus live, if we indeed must be
   No more than sullen spoils of destiny,
And slaves of an adulteress like thee?

 

IX.

“What wilt thou with me, mistress of all woe?
   Say, wilt thou bear me to another land
Where thou hast other lovers?  Rise and go
   Where dark the pine trees upon Ida stand,
   For there did one unloose thy girdle band;
Or seek the forest where Adonis bled,
   Or wander, wander on the yellow sand,
Where thy first lover strew’d thy bridal bed.

 

X.

“Ah, thy first lover! who is first or last
   Of men and gods, unnumber’d and unnamed?
Lover by lover in the race is pass’d,
   Lover by lover, outcast and ashamed.
   Oh, thou of many names, and evil famed!
What wilt thou with me?  What must I endure
   Whose soul, for all thy craft, is never tamed?
Whose heart, for all thy wiles, is ever pure?

 

XI.

“Behold, my heart is purer than the plume
   Upon the stainless pinions of the swan,
And thou wilt smirch and stain it with the fume
   Of all thy hateful lusts Idalian.
   My name shall be a hissing that a man
Shall smile to speak, and women curse and hate,
   And on my little child shall come a ban,
And all my lofty home be desolate.

 

XII.

“Is it thy will that like a golden cup
   From lip to lip of heroes I must go,
And be but as a banner lifted up,
   To beckon where the winds of war may blow?
   Have I not seen fair Athens in her woe,
And all her homes aflame from sea to sea,
   When my fierce brothers wrought her overthrow
Because Athenian Theseus carried me—

 

XIII.

“Me, in my bloomless youth, a maiden child,
   From Artemis’ pure altars and her fane,
And bare me, with Pirithous the wild
   To rich Aphidna?  Many a man was slain,
   And wet with blood the fair Athenian plain,
And fired was many a goodly temple then,
   But fire nor blood can purify the stain
Nor make my name reproachless among men.”

 

XIV.

Then Helen ceased, her passion like a flame
   That slays the thing it lives by, blazed and fell,
As faint as waves at dawn, though fierce they came,
   By night to storm some rocky citadel;
   For Aphrodite answer’d,—like a spell
Her voice makes strength of mortals pass away,—
   “Dost thou not know that I have loved thee well,
And never loved thee better than to-day?

 

XV.

“Behold, thine eyes are wet, thy cheeks are wan,
   Yet art thou born of an immortal sire,
The child of Nemesis and of the Swan;
   Thy veins should run with ichor and with fire.
   Yet this is thy delight and thy desire,
To love a mortal lord, a mortal child,
   To live, unpraised of lute, unhymn’d of lyre,
As any woman pure and undefiled.

 

XVI.

“Thou art the toy of Gods, an instrument
   Wherewith all mortals shall be plagued or blest,
Even at my pleasure; yea, thou shalt be bent
   This way and that, howe’er it like me best:
   And following thee, as tides the moon, the West
Shall flood the Eastern coasts with waves of war,
   And thy vex’d soul shall scarcely be at rest,
Even in the havens where the deathless are.

 

XVII.

“The instruments of men are blind and dumb,
   And this one gift I give thee, to be blind
And heedless of the thing that is to come,
   And ignorant of that which is behind;
   Bearing an innocent forgetful mind
In each new fortune till I visit thee
   And stir thy heart, as lightning and the wind
Bear fire and tumult through a sleeping sea.

 

XVIII.

“Thou shalt forget Hermione; forget
   Thy lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin;
Thy hand within a stranger’s shalt thou set,
   And follow him, nor deem it any sin;
   And many a strange land wand’ring shalt thou win,
And thou shalt come to an unhappy town,
   And twenty long years shalt thou dwell therein,
Before the Argives mar its towery crown.

 

XIX.

“And of thine end I speak not, but thy name,—
   Thy name which thou lamentest,—that shall be
A song in all men’s speech, a tongue of flame
   Between the burning lips of Poesy;
   And the nine daughters of Mnemosyne,
With Prince Apollo, leader of the nine,
   Shall make thee deathless in their minstrelsy!
Yea, for thou shalt outlive the race divine,

 

XX.

“The race of Gods, for like the sons of men
   We Gods have but our season, and go by;
And Cronos pass’d, and Uranus, and then
   Shall Zeus and all his children utterly
   Pass, and new Gods be born, and reign, and die,—
But thee shall lovers worship evermore
   What Gods soe’er usurp the changeful sky,
Or flit to the irremeable shore.

 

XXI.

“Now sleep and dream not, sleep the long day through,
   And the brief watches of the summer night,
And then go forth amid the flowers and dew,
   Where the red rose of Dawn outburns the white.
   Then shalt thou learn my mercy and my might
Between the drowsy lily and the rose;
   There shalt thou spell the meaning of delight,
And know such gladness as a Goddess knows!”

 

XXII.

Then Sleep came floating from the Lemnian isle,
   And over Helen crush’d his poppy crown,
Her soft lids waver’d for a little while,
   Then on her carven bed she laid her down,
   And Sleep, the comforter of king and clown,
Kind Sleep the sweetest, near akin to Death,
   Held her as close as Death doth men that drown,
So close that none might hear her inward breath—

 

XXIII.

So close no man might tell she was not dead!
   And then the Goddess took her zone,—where lies
All her enchantment, love and lustihead,
   And the glad converse that beguiles the wise,
   And grace the very Gods may not despise,
And sweet Desire that doth the whole world move,—
   And therewith touch’d she Helen’s sleeping eyes
And made her lovely as the Queen of Love.

 

XXIV.

Then laughter-loving Aphrodite went
   To far Idalia, over land and sea,
And scarce the fragrant cedar-branches bent
   Beneath her footsteps, faring daintily;
   And in Idalia the Graces three
Anointed her with oil ambrosial,—
   So to her house in Sidon wended she
To mock the prayers of lovers when they call.

 

XXV.

And all day long the incense and the smoke
   Lifted, and fell, and soft and slowly roll’d,
And many a hymn and musical awoke
   Between the pillars of her house of gold,
   And rose-crown’d girls, and fair boys linen-stoled,
Did sacrifice her fragrant courts within,
   And in dark chapels wrought rites manifold
The loving favour of the Queen to win.

 

XXVI.

But Menelaus, waking suddenly,
   Beheld the dawn was white, the day was near,
And rose, and kiss’d fair Helen; no good-bye
   He spake, and never mark’d a fallen tear,—
   Men know not when they part for many a year,—
He grasp’d a bronze-shod lance in either hand,
   And merrily went forth to drive the deer,
With Paris, through the dewy morning land.

 

XXVII.

So up the steep sides of Taygetus
   They fared, and to the windy hollows came,
While from the streams of deep Oceanus
   The sun arose, and on the fields did flame;
   And through wet glades the huntsmen drave the game,
And with them Paris sway’d an ashen spear,
   Heavy, and long, and shod with bronze to tame
The mountain-dwelling goats and forest deer.

 

XXVIII.

Now in a copse a mighty boar there lay,
   For through the boughs the wet winds never blew,
Nor lit the bright sun on it with his ray,
   Nor rain might pierce the woven branches through,
   But leaves had fallen deep the lair to strew:
Then questing of the hounds and men’s foot-fall
   Aroused the boar, and forth he sprang to view,
With eyes that burn’d, at bay, before them all.

 

XXIX.

Then Paris was the first to rush on him,
   With spear aloft in his strong hand to smite,
And through the monster pierced the point; and dim
   The flame fell in his eyes, and all his might
   With his last cry went forth; forgetting fight,
Forgetting strength, he fell, and gladly then
   They gather’d round, and dealt with him aright;
Then left his body with the serving men.

 

XXX.

Now birds were long awake, that with their cry
   Were wont to waken Helen; and the dew
Where fell the sun upon the lawn was dry,
   And all the summer land was glad anew;
   And maidens’ footsteps rang the palace through,
And with their footsteps chimed their happy song,
   And one to other cried, “A marvel new
That soft-wing’d Sleep hath held the Queen so long!”

 

XXXI.

Then Phylo brought the child Hermione,
   And close unto her mother’s side she crept,
And o’er her god-like beauty tumbled she,
   Chiding her sweetly that so late she slept,
   And babbling still a merry coil she kept;
But like a woman stiff beneath her shroud
   Lay Helen; till the young child fear’d and wept,
And ran, and to her nurses cried aloud.

 

XXXII.

Then came the women quickly, and in dread
   Gather’d round Helen, but might naught avail
To wake her; moveless as a maiden dead
   That Artemis hath slain, yet nowise pale,
   She lay; but Aethra did begin the wail,
And all the women with sad voice replied,
   Who deem’d her pass’d unto the poplar vale
Wherein doth dread Persephone abide.

 

XXXIII.

Ah! slowly pass’d the miserable day
   In the rich house that late was full of pride;
Then the sun fell, and all the paths were grey,
   And Menelaus from the mountain-side
   Came, and through palace doors all open wide
Rang the wild dirge that told him of the thing
   That Helen, that the Queen had strangely died.
Then on his threshold fell he grovelling,

 

XXXIV.

And cast the dust upon his yellow hair,
   And, but that Paris leap’d and held his hand,
His hunter’s knife would he have clutch’d, and there
   Had slain himself, to follow to that land
   Where flit the ghosts of men, a shadowy band
That have no more delight, no more desire,
   When once the flesh hath burn’d down like a brand,
Drench’d by the dark wine on the funeral pyre:

 

XXXV.

So on the ashen threshold lay the king,
   And all within the house was chill and drear;
The women watchers gather’d in a ring
   About the bed of Helen and her bier;
   And much had they to tell, and much to hear,
Of happy queens and fair, untimely dead,—
   Such joy they took amid their evil cheer,—
While the low thunder muttered overhead.