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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3229-h.zip b/3229-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f735d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/3229-h.zip diff --git a/3229-h/3229-h.htm b/3229-h/3229-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad75c2c --- /dev/null +++ b/3229-h/3229-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4122 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Helen of Troy</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Helen of Troy, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Helen of Troy, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Helen of Troy + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: October 15, 2007 [eBook #3229] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1882 George Bell and Sons edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>HELEN OF TROY</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">A. LANG</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS<br /> +YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN<br /> +1882</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">chiswick +press</span>:—<span class="smcap">charles whittingham and +co.</span>, <span class="smcap">tooks court</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">chancery lane</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“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.”—<i>Le Romant de Troilus</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To all old Friends; to all who dwell<br /> + Where Avon dhu and Avon gel<br /> + Down to the western waters flow<br /> +Through valleys dear from long ago;<br /> +To all who hear the whisper’d spell<br /> +Of Ken; and Tweed like music swell<br /> +Hard by the Land Debatable,<br /> + Or gleaming Shannon seaward go,—<br /> + To all old Friends!</p> +<p>To all that yet remember well<br /> +What secrets Isis had to tell,<br /> + How lazy Cherwell loiter’d slow<br /> + Sweet aisles of blossom’d May below—<br +/> +Whate’er befall, whate’er befell,<br /> + To <i>all</i> old Friends.</p> +<h2>BOOK I—THE COMING OF PARIS</h2> +<p>Of the coming of Paris to the house of Menelaus, King of +Lacedaemon, and of the tale Paris told concerning his past +life.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>All day within the palace of the King<br /> + In Lacedaemon, was there revelry,<br /> +Since Menelaus with the dawn did spring<br /> + Forth from his carven couch, and, climbing high<br +/> + The tower of outlook, gazed along the dry<br /> +White road that runs to Pylos through the plain,<br /> + And mark’d thin clouds of dust against the +sky,<br /> +And gleaming bronze, and robes of purple stain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Then cried he to his serving men, and all<br /> + Obey’d him, and their labour did not spare,<br +/> +And women set out tables through the hall,<br /> + Light polish’d tables, with the linen fair.<br +/> + And water from the well did others bear,<br /> +And the good house-wife busily brought forth<br /> + Meats from her store, and stinted not the rare<br /> +Wine from Ismarian vineyards of the North.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>The men drave up a heifer from the field<br /> + For sacrifice, and sheath’d her horns with +gold;<br /> +And strong Boethous the axe did wield<br /> + And smote her; on the fruitful earth she +roll’d,<br /> + And they her limbs divided; fold on fold<br /> +They laid the fat, and cast upon the fire<br /> + The barley grain. Such rites were wrought of +old<br /> +When all was order’d as the Gods desire.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>And now the chariots came beneath the trees<br /> + Hard by the palace portals, in the shade,<br /> +And Menelaus knew King Diocles<br /> + Of Pherae, sprung of an unhappy maid<br /> + Whom the great Elian River God betray’d<br /> +In the still watches of a summer night,<br /> + When by his deep green water-course she +stray’d<br /> +And lean’d to pluck his water-lilies white.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>Besides King Diocles there sat a man<br /> + Of all men mortal sure the fairest far,<br /> +For o’er his purple robe Sidonian<br /> + His yellow hair shone brighter than the star<br /> + Of the long golden locks that bodeth war;<br /> +His face was like the sunshine, and his blue<br /> + Glad eyes no sorrow had the spell to mar<br /> +Were clear as skies the storm hath thunder’d through.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Then Menelaus spake unto his folk,<br /> + And eager at his word they ran amain,<br /> +And loosed the sweating horses from the yoke,<br /> + And cast before them spelt, and barley grain.<br /> + And lean’d the polish’d car, with golden +rein,<br /> +Against the shining spaces of the wall;<br /> + And called the sea-rovers who follow’d fain<br +/> +Within the pillar’d fore-courts of the hall.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>The stranger-prince was follow’d by a band<br /> + Of men, all clad like rovers of the sea,<br /> +And brown’d were they as is the desert sand,<br /> + Loud in their mirth, and of their bearing free;<br +/> + And gifts they bore, from the deep treasury<br /> +And forests of some far-off Eastern lord,<br /> + Vases of gold, and bronze, and ivory,<br /> +That might the Pythian fane have over-stored.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Now when the King had greeted Diocles<br /> + And him that seem’d his guest, the twain were +led<br /> +To the dim polish’d baths, where, for their ease,<br /> + Cool water o’er their lustrous limbs was +shed;<br /> + With oil anointed was each goodly head<br /> +By Asteris and Phylo fair of face;<br /> + Next, like two gods for loveliness, they sped<br /> +To Menelaus in the banquet-place.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>There were they seated at the King’s right hand,<br /> + And maidens bare them bread, and meat, and wine,<br +/> +Within that fair hall of the Argive land<br /> + Whose doors and roof with gold and silver shine<br +/> + As doth the dwelling-place of Zeus divine.<br /> +And Helen came from forth her fragrant bower<br /> + The fairest lady of immortal line,<br /> +Like morning, when the rosy dawn doth flower.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Adraste set for her a shining chair,<br /> + Well-wrought of cedar-wood and ivory;<br /> +And beautiful Alcippe led the fair,<br /> + The well-beloved child, Hermione,—<br /> + A little maiden of long summers three—<br /> +Her star-like head on Helen’s breast she laid,<br /> + And peep’d out at the strangers wistfully<br +/> +As is the wont of children half afraid.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Now when desire of meat and drink was done,<br /> + And ended was the joy of minstrelsy,<br /> +Queen Helen spake, beholding how the sun<br /> + Within the heaven of bronze was riding high:<br /> + “Truly, my friends, methinks the hour is +nigh<br /> +When men may crave to know what need doth bring<br /> + To Lacedaemon, o’er wet ways and dry,<br /> +This prince that bears the sceptre of a king?</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>“Yea, or perchance a God is he, for still<br /> + The great Gods wander on our mortal ways,<br /> +And watch their altars upon mead or hill<br /> + And taste our sacrifice, and hear our lays,<br /> + And now, perchance, will heed if any prays,<br /> +And now will vex us with unkind control,<br /> + But anywise must man live out his days,<br /> +For Fate hath given him an enduring soul.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>“Then tell us, prithee, all that may be told,<br /> + And if thou art a mortal, joy be thine!<br /> +And if thou art a God, then rich with gold<br /> + Thine altar in our palace court shall shine,<br /> + With roses garlanded and wet with wine,<br /> +And we shall praise thee with unceasing breath;<br /> + Ah, then be gentle as thou art divine,<br /> +And bring not on us baneful Love or Death!”</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>Then spake the stranger,—as when to a maid<br /> + A young man speaks, his voice was soft and +low,—<br /> +“Alas, no God am I; be not afraid,<br /> + For even now the nodding daisies grow<br /> + Whose seed above my grassy cairn shall blow,<br /> +When I am nothing but a drift of white<br /> + Dust in a cruse of gold; and nothing know<br /> +But darkness, and immeasurable Night.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>“The dawn, or noon, or twilight, draweth near<br /> + When one shall smite me on the bridge of war,<br /> +Or with the ruthless sword, or with the spear,<br /> + Or with the bitter arrow flying far.<br /> + But as a man’s heart, so his good days are,<br +/> +That Zeus, the Lord of Thunder, giveth him,<br /> + Wherefore I follow Fortune, like a star,<br /> +Whate’er may wait me in the distance dim.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>“Now all men call me <span class="smcap">Paris</span>, +Priam’s son,<br /> + Who widely rules a peaceful folk and still.<br /> +Nay, though ye dwell afar off, there is none<br /> + But hears of Ilios on the windy hill,<br /> + And of the plain that the two rivers fill<br /> +With murmuring sweet streams the whole year long,<br /> + And walls the Gods have wrought with wondrous +skill<br /> +Where cometh never man to do us wrong.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>“Wherefore I sail’d not here for help in war,<br +/> + Though well the Argives in such need can aid.<br /> +The force that comes on me is other far;<br /> + One that on all men comes: I seek the maid<br /> + Whom golden Aphrodite shall persuade<br /> +To lay her hand in mine, and follow me,<br /> + To my white halls within the cedar shade<br /> +Beyond the waters of the barren sea.”</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Then at the Goddess’ name grew Helen pale,<br /> + Like golden stars that flicker in the dawn,<br /> +Or like a child that hears a dreadful tale,<br /> + Or like the roses on a rich man’s lawn,<br /> + When now the suns of Summer are withdrawn,<br /> +And the loose leaves with a sad wind are stirr’d,<br /> + Till the wet grass is strewn with petals +wan,—<br /> +So paled the golden Helen at his word.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>But swift the rose into her cheek return’d<br /> + And for a little moment, like a flame,<br /> +The perfect face of Argive Helen burn’d,<br /> + As doth a woman’s, when some spoken name<br /> + Brings back to mind some ancient love or shame,<br +/> +But none save Paris mark’d the thing, who said,<br /> + “My tale no more must weary this fair dame,<br +/> +With telling why I wander all unwed.”</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>But Helen, bending on him gracious brows,<br /> + Besought him for the story of his quest,<br /> +“For sultry is the summer, that allows<br /> + To mortal men no sweeter boon than rest;<br /> + And surely such a tale as thine is best<br /> +To make the dainty-footed hours go by,<br /> + Till sinks the sun in darkness and the West,<br /> +And soft stars lead the Night along the sky.”</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>Then at the word of Helen Paris spoke,<br /> + “My tale is shorter than a summer +day,—<br /> +My mother, ere I saw the light, awoke,<br /> + At dawn, in Ilios, shrieking in dismay,<br /> + Who dream’d that ’twixt her feet there +fell and lay<br /> +A flaming brand, that utterly burn’d down<br /> + To dust of crumbling ashes red and grey,<br /> +The coronal of towers and all Troy town.</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>“Then the interpretation of this dream<br /> + My father sought at many priestly hands,<br /> +Where the white temple doth in Pytho gleam,<br /> + And at the fane of Ammon in the sands,<br /> + And where the oak tree of Dodona stands<br /> +With boughs oracular against the sky,—<br /> + And with one voice the Gods from all the lands,<br +/> +Cried out, ‘The child must die, the child must +die.’</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>“Then was I born to sorrow; and in fear<br /> + The dark priest took me from my sire, and bore<br /> +A wailing child through beech and pinewood drear,<br /> + Up to the knees of Ida, and the hoar<br /> + Rocks whence a fountain breaketh evermore,<br /> +And leaps with shining waters to the sea,<br /> + Through black and rock-wall’d pools without a +shore,—<br /> +And there they deem’d they took farewell of me.</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>“But round my neck they tied a golden ring<br /> + That fell from Ganymedes when he soar’d<br /> +High over Ida on the eagle’s wing,<br /> + To dwell for ever with the Gods adored,<br /> + To be the cup-bearer beside the board<br /> +Of Zeus, and kneel at the eternal throne,—<br /> + A jewel ’twas from old King Tros’s +hoard,<br /> +That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>“And there they left me in that dell untrod,—<br +/> + Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,<br /> +For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God,—<br /> + Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear<br /> + The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,<br /> +Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy<br /> + Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair,—<br +/> +There had the priests appointed me to die.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>“But vainly doth a man contend with Fate!<br /> + My father had less pity on his son<br /> +Than wild things of the woodland desolate.<br /> + ’Tis said that ere the Autumn day was done<br +/> + A great she-bear, that in these rocks did wonn,<br +/> +Beheld a sleeping babe she did convey<br /> + Down to a den beheld not of the sun,<br /> +The cavern where her own soft litter lay.</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>“And therein was I nurtured wondrously,<br /> + So Rumour saith: I know not of these things,<br /> +For mortal men are ever wont to lie,<br /> + Whene’er they speak of sceptre-bearing +kings:<br /> + I tell what I was told, for memory brings<br /> +No record of those days, that are as deep<br /> + Lost as the lullaby a mother sings<br /> +In ears of children that are fallen on sleep.</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>“Men say that now five autumn days had pass’d,<br +/> + When Agelaus, following a hurt deer,<br /> +Trod soft on crackling acorns, and the mast<br /> + That lay beneath the oak and beech-wood sere,<br /> + In dread lest angry Pan were sleeping near,<br /> +Then heard a cry from forth a cavern grey,<br /> + And peeping round the fallen rocks in fear,<br /> +Beheld where in the wild beast’s tracks I lay.</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>“So Agelaus bore me from the wild,<br /> + Down to his hut; and with his children I<br /> +Was nurtured, being, as was deem’d, the child<br /> + Of Hermes, or some mountain deity;<br /> + For these with the wild nymphs are wont to lie<br /> +Within the holy caverns, where the bee<br /> + Can scarcely find a darkling path to fly<br /> +Through veils of bracken and the ivy-tree.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>“So with the shepherds on the hills I stray’d,<br +/> + And drave the kine to feed where rivers run,<br /> +And play’d upon the reed-pipe in the shade,<br /> + And scarcely knew my manhood was begun,<br /> + The pleasant years still passing one by one,<br /> +Till I was chiefest of the mountain men,<br /> + And clomb the peaks that take the snow and sun,<br +/> +And braved the anger’d lion in his den.</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>“Now in my herd of kine was one more dear<br /> + By far than all the rest, and fairer far;<br /> +A milkwhite bull, the captive of my spear,<br /> + And all the wondering shepherds called him +<i>Star</i>:<br /> + And still he led his fellows to the war,<br /> +When the lean wolves against the herds came down,<br /> + Then would he charge, and drive their hosts afar<br +/> +Beyond the pastures to the forests brown.</p> +<p>XXXII.</p> +<p>“Now so it chanced that on an autumn morn,<br /> + King Priam sought a goodly bull to slay<br /> +In memory of his child, no sooner born<br /> + Than midst the lonely mountains cast away,<br /> + To die ere scarce he had beheld the day;<br /> +And Priam’s men came wandering afar<br /> + To that green pool where by the flocks I lay,<br /> +And straight they coveted the goodly <i>Star</i>,</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>“And drave him, no word spoken, to the town:<br /> + One man mine arrow lit on, and he fell;<br /> +His comrades held me off, and down and down,<br /> + Through golden windings of the autumn dell,<br /> + They spurr’d along the beast that loved me +well,<br /> +Till red were his white sides; I following,<br /> + Wrath in my heart, their evil deeds to tell<br /> +In Ilios, at the footstool of the King.</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>“But ere they came to the God-builded wall,<br /> + They spied a meadow by the water-side,<br /> +And there the men of Troy were gathered all<br /> + For joust and play; and Priam’s sons defied<br +/> + All other men in all Maeonia wide<br /> +To strive with them in boxing and in speed.<br /> + Victorious with the shepherds had I vied,<br /> +So boldly followed to that flowery mead.</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>“Maeonia, Phrygia, Troia there were met,<br /> + And there the King, child of Laomedon,<br /> +Rich prizes for the vanquishers had set,<br /> + Damsels, and robes, and cups that like the sun<br /> + Shone, but the white bull was the chiefest one;<br +/> +And him the victor in the games should slay<br /> + To Zeus, the King of Gods, when all was done,<br /> +And so with sacrifice should crown the day.</p> +<p>XXXVI.</p> +<p>“Now it were over long, methinks, to tell<br /> + The contest of the heady charioteers,<br /> +Of them the goal that turn’d, and them that fell.<br /> + But I outran the young men of my years,<br /> + And with the bow did I out-do my peers,<br /> +And wrestling; and in boxing, over-bold,<br /> + I strove with Hector of the ashen spears,<br /> +Yea, till the deep-voiced Heralds bade us hold.</p> +<p>XXXVII.</p> +<p>“Then Priam hail’d me winner of the day;<br /> + Mine were the maid, the cup, and chiefest prize,<br +/> +Mine own fair milkwhite bull was mine to slay;<br /> + But then the murmurs wax’d to angry cries,<br +/> + And hard men set on me in deadly wise,<br /> +My brethren, though they knew it not; I turn’d,<br /> + And fled unto the place of sacrifice,<br /> +Where altars to the God of strangers burn’d.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.</p> +<p>“At mine own funeral feast, had I been slain,<br /> + But, fearing Zeus, they halted for a space,<br /> +And lo, Apollo’s priestess with a train<br /> + Of holy maidens came into that place,<br /> + And far did she outshine the rest in grace,<br /> +But in her eyes such dread was frozen then<br /> + As glares eternal from the Gorgon’s face<br /> +Wherewith Athene quells the ranks of men.</p> +<p>XXXIX.</p> +<p>“She was old Priam’s daughter, long ago<br /> + Apollo loved her, and did not deny<br /> +His gifts,—the things that are to be to know,<br /> + The tongue of sooth-saying that cannot lie,<br /> + And knowledge gave he of all birds that fly<br /> +’Neath heaven; and yet his prayer did she disdain.<br /> + So he his gifts confounded utterly,<br /> +And sooth she saith, but evermore in vain.</p> +<p>XL.</p> +<p>“She, when her dark eyes fell on me, did stand<br /> + At gaze a while, with wan lips murmuring,<br /> +And then came nigh to me, and took my hand,<br /> + And led me to the footstool of the King,<br /> + And call’d me ‘brother,’ and drew +forth the ring<br /> +That men had found upon me in the wild,<br /> + For still I bore it as a precious thing,<br /> +The token of a father to his child.</p> +<p>XLI.</p> +<p>“This sign Cassandra show’d to Priam: straight<br +/> + The King wax’d pale, and ask’d what this +might be?<br /> +And she made answer, ‘Sir, and King, thy fate<br /> + That comes to all men born hath come on thee;<br /> + This shepherd is thine own child verily:<br /> +How like to thine his shape, his brow, his hands!<br /> + Nay there is none but hath the eyes to see<br /> +That here the child long lost to Troia stands.’</p> +<p>XLII.</p> +<p>“Then the King bare me to his lofty hall,<br /> + And there we feasted in much love and mirth,<br /> +And Priam to the mountain sent for all<br /> + That knew me, and the manner of my birth:<br /> + And now among the great ones of the earth<br /> +In royal robe and state behold me set,<br /> + And one fell thing I fear not; even dearth,<br /> +Whate’er the Gods remember or forget.</p> +<p>XLIII.</p> +<p>“My new rich life had grown a common thing,<br /> + The pleasant years still passing one by one,<br /> +When deep in Ida was I wandering<br /> + The glare of well-built Ilios to shun,<br /> + In summer, ere the day was wholly done,<br /> +When I beheld a goodly prince,—the hair<br /> + To bloom upon his lip had scarce begun,—<br /> +The season when the flower of youth is fair.</p> +<p>XLIV.</p> +<p>“Then knew I Hermes by his golden wand<br /> + Wherewith he lulls the eyes of men to sleep;<br /> +But, nodding with his brows, he bade me stand,<br /> + And spake, ‘To-night thou hast a tryst to +keep,<br /> + With Goddesses within the forest deep;<br /> +And Paris, lovely things shalt thou behold,<br /> + More fair than they for which men war and weep,<br +/> +Kingdoms, and fame, and victories, and gold.</p> +<p>XLV.</p> +<p>“‘For, lo! to-night within the forest dim<br /> + Do Aphrodite and Athene meet,<br /> +And Hera, who to thee shall bare each limb,<br /> + Each grace from golden head to ivory feet,<br /> + And thee, fair shepherd Paris, they entreat<br /> +As thou ’mongst men art beauteous, to declare<br /> + Which Queen of Queens immortal is most sweet,<br /> +And doth deserve the meed of the most fair.</p> +<p>XLVI.</p> +<p>“‘For late between them rose a bitter strife<br /> + In Peleus’ halls upon his wedding day,<br /> +When Peleus took him an immortal wife,<br /> + And there was bidden all the God’s array,<br +/> + Save Discord only; yet she brought dismay,<br /> +And cast an apple on the bridal board,<br /> + With “Let the fairest bear the prize +away”<br /> +Deep on its golden rind and gleaming scored.</p> +<p>XLVII.</p> +<p>“‘Now in the sudden night, whenas the sun<br /> + In Tethys’ silver arms hath slept an hour,<br +/> +Shalt thou be had into the forest dun,<br /> + And brought unto a dark enchanted bower,<br /> + And there of Goddesses behold the flower<br /> +With very beauty burning in the night,<br /> + And these will offer Wisdom, Love, and Power;<br /> +Then, Paris, be thou wise, and choose aright!’</p> +<p>XLVIII.</p> +<p>“He spake, and pass’d, and Night without a +breath,<br /> + Without a star drew on; and now I heard<br /> +The voice that in the springtime wandereth,<br /> + The crying of Dame Hera’s shadowy bird;<br /> + And soon the silence of the trees was stirred<br /> +By the wise fowl of Pallas; and anigh,<br /> + More sweet than is a girl’s first loving +word,<br /> +The doves of Aphrodite made reply.</p> +<p>XLIX.</p> +<p>“These voices did I follow through the trees,<br /> + Threading the coppice ’neath a starless +sky,<br /> +When, lo! the very Queen of Goddesses,<br /> + In golden beauty gleaming wondrously,<br /> + Even she that hath the Heaven for canopy,<br /> +And in the arms of mighty Zeus doth sleep,—<br /> + And then for dread methought that I must die,<br /> +But Hera called me with soft voice and deep:</p> +<p>L.</p> +<p>“‘Paris, give me the prize, and thou shalt +reign<br /> + O’er many lordly peoples, far and wide,<br /> +From them that till the black and crumbling plain,<br /> + Where the sweet waters of Aegyptus glide,<br /> + To those that on the Northern marches ride,<br /> +And the Ceteians, and the blameless men<br /> + That round the rising-place of Morn abide,<br /> +And all the dwellers in the Asian fen.</p> +<p>LI.</p> +<p>“‘And I will love fair Ilios as I love<br /> + Argos and rich Mycenae, that doth hoard<br /> +Deep wealth; and I will make thee king above<br /> + A hundred peoples; men shall call thee lord<br /> + In tongues thou know’st not; thou shalt be +adored<br /> +With sacrifice, as are the Gods divine,<br /> + If only thou wilt speak a little word,<br /> +And say the prize of loveliness is mine.’</p> +<p>LII.</p> +<p>“Then, as I doubted, like a sudden flame<br /> + Of silver came Athene, and methought<br /> +Beholding her, how stately, as she came,<br /> + That dim wood to a fragrant fane was wrought;<br /> + So pure the warlike maiden seem’d, that +nought<br /> +But her own voice commanding made me raise<br /> + Mine eyes to see her beauty, who besought<br /> +In briefest words the guerdon of all praise.</p> +<p>LIII.</p> +<p>“She spake: ‘Nor wealth nor crowns are in my +gift;<br /> + But wisdom, but the eyes that glance afar,<br /> +But courage, and the spirit that is swift<br /> + To cleave her path through all the waves of war;<br +/> + Endurance that the Fates can never mar;<br /> +These, and my loving friendship,—these are thine,<br /> + And these shall guide thee, steadfast as a star,<br +/> +If thou hast eyes to know the prize is mine.’</p> +<p>LIV.</p> +<p>“Last, in a lovely mist of rosy fire,<br /> + Came Aphrodite through the forest glade,<br /> +The queen of all delight and all desire,<br /> + More fair than when her naked foot she laid<br /> + On the blind mere’s wild wave that sank +dismay’d,<br /> +What time the sea grew smoother than a lake;<br /> + I was too happy to be sore afraid.<br /> +And like a song her voice was when she spake:</p> +<p>LV.</p> +<p>“‘Oh Paris, what is power? Tantalus<br /> + And Sisyphus were kings long time ago,<br /> +But now they lie in the Lake Dolorous,<br /> + The hills of hell are noisy with their woe;<br /> + Ay, swift the tides of Empire ebb and flow,<br /> +And that is quickly lost was hardly won,<br /> + As Ilios herself o’erwell did know<br /> +When high walls help’d not King Laomedon.</p> +<p>LVI.</p> +<p>“‘And what are strength and courage? for the +child<br /> + Of mighty Zeus, the strong man Herakles,<br /> +Knew many days and evil, ere men piled<br /> + The pyre in Oeta, where he got his ease<br /> + In death, where all the ills of brave men cease.<br +/> +Nay, Love I proffer thee; beyond the brine<br /> + Of all the currents of the Western seas,<br /> +The fairest woman in the world is thine!’</p> +<p>LVII.</p> +<p>“She spake, and touched the prize, and all grew dim<br +/> + I heard no voice of anger’d Deity,<br /> +But round me did the night air swoon and swim,<br /> + And, when I waken’d, lo! the sun was high,<br +/> + And in that place accursed did I lie,<br /> +Where Agelaus found the naked child;<br /> + Then with swift foot I did arise and fly<br /> +Forth from the deeps of that enchanted wild.</p> +<p>LVIII.</p> +<p>“And down I sped to Ilios, down the dell<br /> + Where, years agone, the white bull guided me,<br /> +And through green boughs beheld where foam’d and fell<br /> + The merry waters of the Western sea;<br /> + Of Love the sweet birds sang from sky and tree,<br +/> +And swift I reach’d the haven and the shore,<br /> + And call’d my mariners, and follow’d +free<br /> +Where Love might lead across the waters hoar.</p> +<p>LIX.</p> +<p>“Three days with fair winds ran we, then we drave<br /> + Before the North that made the long waves swell<br +/> +Round Malea; but hardly from the wave<br /> + We ’scaped at Pylos, Nestor’s +citadel;<br /> + And there the son of Neleus loved us well,<br /> +And brought us to the high prince, Diocles,<br /> + Who led us hither, and it thus befell<br /> +That here, below thy roof, we sit at ease.”</p> +<p>LX.</p> +<p>Then all men gave the stranger thanks and praise,<br /> + And Menelaus for red wine bade call;<br /> +And the sun fell, and dark were all the ways;<br /> + Then maidens set forth braziers in the hall,<br /> + And heap’d them high with lighted brands +withal;<br /> +But Helen pass’d, as doth the fading day<br /> + Pass from the world, and softly left them all<br /> +Loud o’er their wine amid the twilight grey.</p> +<p>LXI.</p> +<p>So night drew on with rain, nor yet they ceased<br /> + Within the hall to drink the gleaming wine,<br /> +And late they pour’d the last cup of the feast,<br /> + To Argus-bane, the Messenger divine;<br /> + And last, ’neath torches tall that smoke and +shine,<br /> +The maidens strew’d the beds with purple o’er,<br /> + That Diocles and Paris might recline<br /> +All night, beneath the echoing corridor.</p> +<h2>BOOK II—THE SPELL OF APHRODITE</h2> +<p>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.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Now in the upper chamber o’er the gate<br /> + Lay Menelaus on his carven bed,<br /> +And swift and sudden as the stroke of Fate<br /> + A deep sleep fell upon his weary head.<br /> + But the soft-wingèd God with wand of lead<br +/> +Came not near Helen; wistful did she lie,<br /> + Till dark should change to grey, and grey to red,<br +/> +And golden thronèd Morn sweep o’er the sky.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Slow pass’d the heavy night: like one who fears<br /> + The step of murder, she lies quivering,<br /> +If any cry of the night bird she hears;<br /> + And strains her eyes to mark some dreadful thing,<br +/> + If but the curtains of the window swing,<br /> +Stirr’d by the breath of night, and still she wept<br /> + As she were not the daughter of a king,<br /> +And no strong king, her lord, beside her slept.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Now in that hour, the folk who watch the night,<br /> + Shepherds and fishermen, and they that ply<br /> +Strange arts and seek their spells in the star-light,<br /> + Beheld a marvel in the sea and sky,<br /> + For all the waves of all the seas that sigh<br /> +Between the straits of Hellé and the Nile,<br /> + Flush’d with a flame of silver suddenly,<br /> +From soft Cythera to the Cyprian isle.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>And Hesperus, the kindest star of heaven,<br /> + That bringeth all things good, wax’d pale, and +straight<br /> +There fell a flash of white malignant levin<br /> + Among the gleaming waters desolate;<br /> + The lights of sea and sky did mix and mate<br /> +And change to rosy flame, and thence did fly<br /> + The lovely Queen of Love that turns to hate,<br /> +Like summer lightnings ’twixt the sea and sky.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>And now the bower of Helen fill’d with light,<br /> + And now she knew the thing that she did fear<br /> +Was close upon her (for the black of night<br /> + Doth burn like fire, whene’er the Gods are +near);<br /> + Then shone like flame each helm and shield and +spear<br /> +That hung within the chamber of the King,<br /> + But he,—though all the bower as day was +clear,—<br /> +Slept as they sleep that know no wakening.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>But Helen leap’d from her fair carven bed<br /> + As some tormented thing that fear makes bold,<br /> +And on the ground she beat her golden head<br /> + And pray’d with bitter moanings manifold.<br +/> + Yet knew that she could never move the cold<br /> +Heart of the lovely Goddess, standing there,<br /> + Her feet upon a little cloud, a fold<br /> +Of silver cloud about her bosom bare.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>So stood Queen Aphrodite, as she stands<br /> + Unmoved in her bright mansion, when in vain<br /> +Some naked maiden stretches helpless hands<br /> + And shifts the magic wheel, and burns the grain,<br +/> + And cannot win her lover back again,<br /> +Nor her old heart of quiet any more,<br /> + Where moonlight floods the dim Sicilian main,<br /> +And the cool wavelets break along the shore.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Then Helen ceased from unavailing prayer,<br /> + And rose and faced the Goddess steadily,<br /> +Till even the laughter-loving lady fair<br /> + Half shrank before the anger of her eye,<br /> + And Helen cried with an exceeding cry,<br /> +“Why does Zeus live, if we indeed must be<br /> + No more than sullen spoils of destiny,<br /> +And slaves of an adulteress like thee?</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>“What wilt thou with me, mistress of all woe?<br /> + Say, wilt thou bear me to another land<br /> +Where thou hast other lovers? Rise and go<br /> + Where dark the pine trees upon Ida stand,<br /> + For there did one unloose thy girdle band;<br /> +Or seek the forest where Adonis bled,<br /> + Or wander, wander on the yellow sand,<br /> +Where thy first lover strew’d thy bridal bed.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>“Ah, thy first lover! who is first or last<br /> + Of men and gods, unnumber’d and unnamed?<br /> +Lover by lover in the race is pass’d,<br /> + Lover by lover, outcast and ashamed.<br /> + Oh, thou of many names, and evil famed!<br /> +What wilt thou with me? What must I endure<br /> + Whose soul, for all thy craft, is never tamed?<br /> +Whose heart, for all thy wiles, is ever pure?</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>“Behold, my heart is purer than the plume<br /> + Upon the stainless pinions of the swan,<br /> +And thou wilt smirch and stain it with the fume<br /> + Of all thy hateful lusts Idalian.<br /> + My name shall be a hissing that a man<br /> +Shall smile to speak, and women curse and hate,<br /> + And on my little child shall come a ban,<br /> +And all my lofty home be desolate.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>“Is it thy will that like a golden cup<br /> + From lip to lip of heroes I must go,<br /> +And be but as a banner lifted up,<br /> + To beckon where the winds of war may blow?<br /> + Have I not seen fair Athens in her woe,<br /> +And all her homes aflame from sea to sea,<br /> + When my fierce brothers wrought her overthrow<br /> +Because Athenian Theseus carried me—</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>“Me, in my bloomless youth, a maiden child,<br /> + From Artemis’ pure altars and her fane,<br /> +And bare me, with Pirithous the wild<br /> + To rich Aphidna? Many a man was slain,<br /> + And wet with blood the fair Athenian plain,<br /> +And fired was many a goodly temple then,<br /> + But fire nor blood can purify the stain<br /> +Nor make my name reproachless among men.”</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>Then Helen ceased, her passion like a flame<br /> + That slays the thing it lives by, blazed and +fell,<br /> +As faint as waves at dawn, though fierce they came,<br /> + By night to storm some rocky citadel;<br /> + For Aphrodite answer’d,—like a spell<br +/> +Her voice makes strength of mortals pass away,—<br /> + “Dost thou not know that I have loved thee +well,<br /> +And never loved thee better than to-day?</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>“Behold, thine eyes are wet, thy cheeks are wan,<br /> + Yet art thou born of an immortal sire,<br /> +The child of Nemesis and of the Swan;<br /> + Thy veins should run with ichor and with fire.<br /> + Yet this is thy delight and thy desire,<br /> +To love a mortal lord, a mortal child,<br /> + To live, unpraised of lute, unhymn’d of +lyre,<br /> +As any woman pure and undefiled.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>“Thou art the toy of Gods, an instrument<br /> + Wherewith all mortals shall be plagued or blest,<br +/> +Even at my pleasure; yea, thou shalt be bent<br /> + This way and that, howe’er it like me best:<br +/> + And following thee, as tides the moon, the West<br +/> +Shall flood the Eastern coasts with waves of war,<br /> + And thy vex’d soul shall scarcely be at +rest,<br /> +Even in the havens where the deathless are.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>“The instruments of men are blind and dumb,<br /> + And this one gift I give thee, to be blind<br /> +And heedless of the thing that is to come,<br /> + And ignorant of that which is behind;<br /> + Bearing an innocent forgetful mind<br /> +In each new fortune till I visit thee<br /> + And stir thy heart, as lightning and the wind<br /> +Bear fire and tumult through a sleeping sea.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>“Thou shalt forget Hermione; forget<br /> + Thy lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin;<br /> +Thy hand within a stranger’s shalt thou set,<br /> + And follow him, nor deem it any sin;<br /> + And many a strange land wand’ring shalt thou +win,<br /> +And thou shalt come to an unhappy town,<br /> + And twenty long years shalt thou dwell therein,<br +/> +Before the Argives mar its towery crown.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>“And of thine end I speak not, but thy name,—<br +/> + Thy name which thou lamentest,—that shall +be<br /> +A song in all men’s speech, a tongue of flame<br /> + Between the burning lips of Poesy;<br /> + And the nine daughters of Mnemosyne,<br /> +With Prince Apollo, leader of the nine,<br /> + Shall make thee deathless in their minstrelsy!<br /> +Yea, for thou shalt outlive the race divine,</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>“The race of Gods, for like the sons of men<br /> + We Gods have but our season, and go by;<br /> +And Cronos pass’d, and Uranus, and then<br /> + Shall Zeus and all his children utterly<br /> + Pass, and new Gods be born, and reign, and +die,—<br /> +But thee shall lovers worship evermore<br /> + What Gods soe’er usurp the changeful sky,<br +/> +Or flit to the irremeable shore.</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>“Now sleep and dream not, sleep the long day through,<br +/> + And the brief watches of the summer night,<br /> +And then go forth amid the flowers and dew,<br /> + Where the red rose of Dawn outburns the white.<br /> + Then shalt thou learn my mercy and my might<br /> +Between the drowsy lily and the rose;<br /> + There shalt thou spell the meaning of delight,<br /> +And know such gladness as a Goddess knows!”</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>Then Sleep came floating from the Lemnian isle,<br /> + And over Helen crush’d his poppy crown,<br /> +Her soft lids waver’d for a little while,<br /> + Then on her carven bed she laid her down,<br /> + And Sleep, the comforter of king and clown,<br /> +Kind Sleep the sweetest, near akin to Death,<br /> + Held her as close as Death doth men that drown,<br +/> +So close that none might hear her inward breath—</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>So close no man might tell she was not dead!<br /> + And then the Goddess took her zone,—where +lies<br /> +All her enchantment, love and lustihead,<br /> + And the glad converse that beguiles the wise,<br /> + And grace the very Gods may not despise,<br /> +And sweet Desire that doth the whole world move,—<br /> + And therewith touch’d she Helen’s +sleeping eyes<br /> +And made her lovely as the Queen of Love.</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>Then laughter-loving Aphrodite went<br /> + To far Idalia, over land and sea,<br /> +And scarce the fragrant cedar-branches bent<br /> + Beneath her footsteps, faring daintily;<br /> + And in Idalia the Graces three<br /> +Anointed her with oil ambrosial,—<br /> + So to her house in Sidon wended she<br /> +To mock the prayers of lovers when they call.</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>And all day long the incense and the smoke<br /> + Lifted, and fell, and soft and slowly +roll’d,<br /> +And many a hymn and musical awoke<br /> + Between the pillars of her house of gold,<br /> + And rose-crown’d girls, and fair boys +linen-stoled,<br /> +Did sacrifice her fragrant courts within,<br /> + And in dark chapels wrought rites manifold<br /> +The loving favour of the Queen to win.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>But Menelaus, waking suddenly,<br /> + Beheld the dawn was white, the day was near,<br /> +And rose, and kiss’d fair Helen; no good-bye<br /> + He spake, and never mark’d a fallen +tear,—<br /> + Men know not when they part for many a +year,—<br /> +He grasp’d a bronze-shod lance in either hand,<br /> + And merrily went forth to drive the deer,<br /> +With Paris, through the dewy morning land.</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>So up the steep sides of Taygetus<br /> + They fared, and to the windy hollows came,<br /> +While from the streams of deep Oceanus<br /> + The sun arose, and on the fields did flame;<br /> + And through wet glades the huntsmen drave the +game,<br /> +And with them Paris sway’d an ashen spear,<br /> + Heavy, and long, and shod with bronze to tame<br /> +The mountain-dwelling goats and forest deer.</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>Now in a copse a mighty boar there lay,<br /> + For through the boughs the wet winds never blew,<br +/> +Nor lit the bright sun on it with his ray,<br /> + Nor rain might pierce the woven branches through,<br +/> + But leaves had fallen deep the lair to strew:<br /> +Then questing of the hounds and men’s foot-fall<br /> + Aroused the boar, and forth he sprang to view,<br /> +With eyes that burn’d, at bay, before them all.</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>Then Paris was the first to rush on him,<br /> + With spear aloft in his strong hand to smite,<br /> +And through the monster pierced the point; and dim<br /> + The flame fell in his eyes, and all his might<br /> + With his last cry went forth; forgetting fight,<br +/> +Forgetting strength, he fell, and gladly then<br /> + They gather’d round, and dealt with him +aright;<br /> +Then left his body with the serving men.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>Now birds were long awake, that with their cry<br /> + Were wont to waken Helen; and the dew<br /> +Where fell the sun upon the lawn was dry,<br /> + And all the summer land was glad anew;<br /> + And maidens’ footsteps rang the palace +through,<br /> +And with their footsteps chimed their happy song,<br /> + And one to other cried, “A marvel new<br /> +That soft-wing’d Sleep hath held the Queen so +long!”</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>Then Phylo brought the child Hermione,<br /> + And close unto her mother’s side she crept,<br +/> +And o’er her god-like beauty tumbled she,<br /> + Chiding her sweetly that so late she slept,<br /> + And babbling still a merry coil she kept;<br /> +But like a woman stiff beneath her shroud<br /> + Lay Helen; till the young child fear’d and +wept,<br /> +And ran, and to her nurses cried aloud.</p> +<p>XXXII.</p> +<p>Then came the women quickly, and in dread<br /> + Gather’d round Helen, but might naught +avail<br /> +To wake her; moveless as a maiden dead<br /> + That Artemis hath slain, yet nowise pale,<br /> + She lay; but Aethra did begin the wail,<br /> +And all the women with sad voice replied,<br /> + Who deem’d her pass’d unto the poplar +vale<br /> +Wherein doth dread Persephone abide.</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>Ah! slowly pass’d the miserable day<br /> + In the rich house that late was full of pride;<br /> +Then the sun fell, and all the paths were grey,<br /> + And Menelaus from the mountain-side<br /> + Came, and through palace doors all open wide<br /> +Rang the wild dirge that told him of the thing<br /> + That Helen, that the Queen had strangely died.<br /> +Then on his threshold fell he grovelling,</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>And cast the dust upon his yellow hair,<br /> + And, but that Paris leap’d and held his +hand,<br /> +His hunter’s knife would he have clutch’d, and +there<br /> + Had slain himself, to follow to that land<br /> + Where flit the ghosts of men, a shadowy band<br /> +That have no more delight, no more desire,<br /> + When once the flesh hath burn’d down like a +brand,<br /> +Drench’d by the dark wine on the funeral pyre:</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>So on the ashen threshold lay the king,<br /> + And all within the house was chill and drear;<br /> +The women watchers gather’d in a ring<br /> + About the bed of Helen and her bier;<br /> + And much had they to tell, and much to hear,<br /> +Of happy queens and fair, untimely dead,—<br /> + Such joy they took amid their evil cheer,—<br +/> +While the low thunder muttered overhead.</p> +<h2>BOOK III—THE FLIGHT OF HELEN</h2> +<p>The flight of Helen and Paris from Lacedaemon, and of what +things befell them in their voyaging, and how they came to +Troy.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>The grey Dawn’s daughter, rosy Morn awoke<br /> + In old Tithonus’ arms, and suddenly<br /> +Let harness her swift steeds beneath the yoke,<br /> + And drave her shining chariot through the sky.<br /> + Then men might see the flocks of Thunder fly,<br /> +All gold and rose, the azure pastures through,<br /> + What time the lark was carolling on high<br /> +Above the gardens drench’d with rainy dew.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>But Aphrodite sent a slumber deep<br /> + On all in the King’s palace, young and old,<br +/> +And one by one the women fell asleep,—<br /> + Their lamentable tales left half untold,—<br +/> + Before the dawn, when folk wax weak and cold,<br /> +But Helen waken’d with the shining morn,<br /> + Forgetting quite her sorrows manifold,<br /> +And light of heart as was the day new-born.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>She had no memory of unhappy things,<br /> + She knew not of the evil days to come,<br /> +Forgotten were her ancient wanderings,<br /> + And as Lethaean waters wholly numb<br /> + The sense of spirits in Elysium,<br /> +That no remembrance may their bliss alloy,<br /> + Even so the rumour of her days was dumb,<br /> +And all her heart was ready for new joy.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>The young day knows not of an elder dawn,<br /> + Joys of old noons, old sorrows of the night,<br /> +And so from Helen was the past withdrawn,<br /> + Her lord, her child, her home forgotten quite,<br /> + Lost in the marvel of a new delight:<br /> +She was as one who knows he shall not die,<br /> + When earthly colours melt into the bright<br /> +Pure splendour of his immortality.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>Then Helen rose, and all her body fair<br /> + She bath’d in the spring water, pure and +cold,<br /> +And with her hand bound up her shining hair<br /> + And clothed her in the raiment that of old<br /> + Athene wrought with marvels manifold,<br /> +A bridal gift from an immortal hand,<br /> + And all the front was clasp’d with clasps of +gold,<br /> +And for the girdle was a golden band.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Next from her upper chamber silently<br /> + Went Helen, moving like a morning dream.<br /> +She did not know the golden roof, the high<br /> + Walls, and the shields that on the pillars gleam,<br +/> + Only she heard the murmur of the stream<br /> +That waters all the garden’s wide expanse,<br /> + This song, and cry of singing birds, did seem<br /> +To guide her feet as music guides the dance.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>The music drew her on to the glad air<br /> + From forth the chamber of enchanted death,<br /> +And lo! the world was waking everywhere;<br /> + The wind went by, a cool delicious breath,<br /> + Like that which in the gardens wandereth,<br /> +The golden gardens of the Hesperides,<br /> + And in its song unheard of things it saith,<br /> +The myriad marvels of the fairy seas.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>So through the courtyard to the garden close<br /> + Went Helen, where she heard the murmuring<br /> +Of water ’twixt the lily and the rose;<br /> + For thereby doth a double fountain spring.<br /> + To one stream do the women pitchers bring<br /> +By Menelaus’ gates, at close of day;<br /> + The other through the close doth shine and sing,<br +/> +Then to the swift Eurotas fleets away.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>And Helen sat her down upon the grass,<br /> + And pluck’d the little daisies white and +red,<br /> +And toss’d them where the running waters pass,<br /> + To watch them racing from the fountain-head,<br /> + And whirl’d about where little streams +dispread;<br /> +And still with merry birds the garden rang,<br /> + And, <i>marry</i>, <i>marry</i>, in their song they +said,<br /> +Or so do maids interpret that they sang.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Then stoop’d she down, and watch’d the crystal +stream,<br /> + And fishes poising where the waters ran,<br /> +And lo! upon the glass a golden gleam,<br /> + And purple as of robes Sidonian,<br /> + Then, sudden turning, she beheld a man,<br /> +That knelt beside her; as her own face fair<br /> + Was his, and o’er his shoulders for a span<br +/> +Fell the bright tresses of his yellow hair.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Then either look’d on other with amaze<br /> + As each had seen a God; for no long while<br /> +They marvell’d, but as in the first of days,<br /> + The first of men and maids did meet and smile,<br /> + And Aphrodite did their hearts beguile,<br /> +So hands met hands, lips lips, with no word said<br /> + Were they enchanted ’neath that leafy +aisle,<br /> +And silently were woo’d, betroth’d, and wed.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Ah, slowly did their silence wake to words<br /> + That scarce had more of meaning than the song<br /> +Pour’d forth of the innumerable birds<br /> + That fill the palace gardens all day long;<br /> + So innocent, so ignorant of wrong,<br /> +Was she, so happy each in other’s eyes,<br /> + Thus wrought the mighty Goddess that is strong,<br +/> +Even to make naught the wisdom of the wise.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Now in the midst of that enchanted place<br /> + Right gladly had they linger’d all day +through,<br /> +And fed their love upon each other’s face,<br /> + But Aphrodite had a counsel new,<br /> + And silently to Paris’ side she drew,<br /> +In guise of Aethra, whispering that the day<br /> + Pass’d on, while his ship waited, and his +crew<br /> +Impatient, in the narrow Gythian bay.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>For thither had she brought them by her skill;<br /> + But Helen saw her not,—nay, who can see<br /> +A Goddess come or go against her will?<br /> + Then Paris whisper’d, “Come, ah, Love, +with me!<br /> + Come to a shore beyond the barren sea;<br /> +There doth the bridal crown await thy head,<br /> + And there shall all the land be glad of +thee!”<br /> +Then, like a child, she follow’d where he led.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>For, like a child’s her gentle heart was glad.<br /> + So through the courtyard pass’d they to the +gate;<br /> +And even there, as Aphrodite bade,<br /> + The steeds of Paris and the chariots wait;<br /> + Then to the well-wrought car he led her straight,<br +/> +And grasped the shining whip and golden rein,<br /> + And swift they drave until the day was late<br /> +By clear Eurotas through the fruitful plain.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>But now within the halls the magic sleep<br /> + Was broken, and men sought them everywhere;<br /> +Yet Aphrodite cast a cloud so deep<br /> + About their chariot none might see them there.<br /> + And strangely did they hear the trumpets blare,<br +/> +And noise of racing wheels; yet saw they nought:<br /> + Then died the sounds upon the distant air,<br /> +And safe they won the haven that they sought.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Beneath a grassy cliff, beneath the down,<br /> + Where swift Eurotas mingles with the sea,<br /> +There climb’d the grey walls of a little town,<br /> + The sleepy waters wash’d it languidly,<br /> + For tempests in that haven might not be.<br /> +The isle across the inlet guarded all,<br /> + And the shrill winds that roam the ocean free<br /> +Broke and were broken on the rocky wall.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Then Paris did a point of hunting blow,<br /> + Nor yet the sound had died upon the hill<br /> +When round the isle they spied a scarlet prow,<br /> + And oars that flash’d into that haven +still,<br /> + The oarsmen bending forward with a will,<br /> +And swift their black ship to the haven-side<br /> + They brought, and steer’d her in with goodly +skill,<br /> +And bare on board the strange Achaean bride.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>Now while the swift ship through the waters clave,<br /> + All happy things that in the waters dwell,<br /> +Arose and gamboll’d on the glassy wave,<br /> + And Nereus led them with his sounding shell:<br /> + Yea, the sea-nymphs, their dances weaving well,<br +/> +In the green water gave them greeting free.<br /> + Ah, long light linger’d, late the darkness +fell,<br /> +That night, upon the isle of Cranaë!</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>And Hymen shook his fragrant torch on high,<br /> + Till all its waves of smoke and tongues of flame,<br +/> +Like clouds of rosy gold fulfill’d the sky;<br /> + And all the Nereids from the waters came,<br /> + Each maiden with a musical sweet name;<br /> +Doris, and Doto, and Amphithoë;<br /> + And their shrill bridal song of love and shame<br /> +Made music in the silence of the sea.</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>For this was like that night of summer weather,<br /> + When mortal men and maidens without fear,<br /> +And forest-nymphs, and forest-gods together,<br /> + Do worship Pan in the long twilight clear.<br /> + And Artemis this one night spares the deer,<br /> +And every cave and dell, and every grove<br /> + Is glad with singing soft and happy cheer,<br /> +With laughter, and with dalliance, and with love.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>Now when the golden-thronèd Dawn arose<br /> + To waken gods and mortals out of sleep,<br /> +Queen Aphrodite sent the wind that blows<br /> + From fairy gardens of the Western deep.<br /> + The sails are spread, the oars of Paris leap<br /> +Past many a headland, many a haunted fane:<br /> + And, merrily all from isle to isle they sweep<br /> +O’er the wet ways across the barren plain.</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>By many an island fort, and many a haven<br /> + They sped, and many a crowded arsenal:<br /> +They saw the loves of Gods and men engraven<br /> + On friezes of Astarte’s temple wall.<br /> + They heard that ancient shepherd Proteus call<br /> +His flock from forth the green and tumbling lea,<br /> + And saw white Thetis with her maidens all<br /> +Sweep up to high Olympus from the sea.</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>They saw the vain and weary toil of men,<br /> + The ships that win the rich man all he craves;<br /> +They pass’d the red-prow’d barks Egyptian,<br /> + And heard afar the moaning of the slaves<br /> + Pent in the dark hot hold beneath the waves;<br /> +And scatheless the Sardanian fleets among<br /> + They sail’d; by men that sow the sea with +graves,<br /> +Bearing black fate to folk of alien tongue.</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>Then all day long a rolling cloud of smoke<br /> + Would hang on the sea-limits, faint and far,<br /> +But through the night the beacon-flame upbroke<br /> + From some rich island-town begirt with war;<br /> + And all these things could neither make nor mar<br +/> +The joy of lovers wandering, but they<br /> + Sped happily, and heedless of the star<br /> +That hung o’er their glad haven, far away.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>The fisher-sentinel upon the height<br /> + Watch’d them with vacant eyes, and little +knew<br /> +They bore the fate of Troy; to him the bright<br /> + Plashed waters, with the silver shining through<br +/> + When tunny shoals came cruising in the blue,<br /> +Was more than Love that doth the world unmake;<br /> + And listless gazed he as the gulls that flew<br /> +And shriek’d and chatter’d in the vessel’s +wake.</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>So the wind drave them, and the waters bare<br /> + Across the great green plain unharvested,<br /> +Till through an after-glow they knew the fair<br /> + Faint rose of snow on distant Ida’s head.<br +/> + And swifter then the joyous oarsmen sped;<br /> +But night was ended, and the waves were fire<br /> + Beneath the fleet feet of a dawning red<br /> +Or ere they won the land of their desire.</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>Now when the folk about the haven knew<br /> + The scarlet prow of Paris, swift they ran<br /> +And the good ship within the haven drew,<br /> + And merrily their welcoming began.<br /> + But none the face of Helen dared to scan;<br /> +Their bold eyes fell before they had their fill,<br /> + For all men deem’d her that Idalian<br /> +Who loved Anchises on the lonely hill.</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>But when her sweet smile and her gentleness<br /> + And her kind speech had won them from dismay,<br /> +They changed their minds, and ’gan the Gods to bless<br /> + Who brought to Ilios that happy day.<br /> + And all the folk fair Helen must convey,<br /> +Crown’d like a bride, and clad with flame-hued pall,<br /> + Through the rich plain, along the water-way<br /> +Right to the great gates of the Ilian wall.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>And through the vines they pass’d, where old and +young<br /> + Had no more heed of the glad vintaging,<br /> +But all unpluck’d the purple clusters hung,<br /> + Nor more of Linus did the minstrel sing,<br /> + For he and all the folk were following,<br /> +Wine-stain’d and garlanded, in merry bands,<br /> + Like men when Dionysus came as king,<br /> +And led his revel from the sun-burnt lands,</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>So from afar the music and the shout<br /> + Roll’d up to Ilios and the Scaean gate,<br /> +And at the sound the city folk came out<br /> + And bore sweet Helen—such a fairy weight<br /> + As none might deem the burden of Troy’s +fate—<br /> +Across the threshold of the town, and all<br /> + Flock’d with her, where King Priam sat in +state,<br /> +Girt by his elders, on the Ilian wall.</p> +<p>XXXII.</p> +<p>No man but knew him by his crown of gold,<br /> + And golden-studded sceptre, and his throne;<br /> +Ay, strong he seem’d as those great kings of old,<br /> + Whose image is eternal on the stone<br /> + Won from the dust that once was Babylon;<br /> +But kind of mood was he withal, and mild,<br /> + And when his eyes on Argive Helen shone,<br /> +He loved her as a father doth a child.</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>Round him were set his peers, as Panthous,<br /> + Antenor, and Agenor, hardly grey,<br /> +Scarce touch’d as yet with age, nor garrulous<br /> + As are cicalas on a sunny day:<br /> + Such might they be when years had slipp’d +away,<br /> +And made them over-weak for war or joy,<br /> + Content to watch the Leaguer as it lay<br /> +Beside the ships, beneath the walls of Troy.</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>Then Paris had an easy tale to tell,<br /> + Which then might win upon men’s +wond’ring ears,<br /> +Who deem’d that Gods with mortals deign to dwell,<br /> + And that the water of the West enspheres<br /> + The happy Isles that know not Death nor tears;<br /> +Yea, and though monsters do these islands guard,<br /> + Yet men within their coasts had dwelt for years<br +/> +Uncounted, with a strange love for reward.</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>And there had Paris ventured: so said he,—<br /> + Had known the Sirens’ song, and Circe’s +wile;<br /> +And in a cove of that Hesperian sea<br /> + Had found a maiden on a lonely isle;<br /> + A sacrifice, if so men might beguile<br /> +The wrath of some beast-god they worshipp’d there,<br /> + But Paris, ’twixt the sea and strait +defile,<br /> +Had slain the beast, and won the woman fair.</p> +<p>XXXVI.</p> +<p>Then while the happy people cried “Well done,”<br +/> + And Priam’s heart was melted by the +tale—<br /> +For Paris was his best-belovèd son—<br /> + Came a wild woman, with wet eyes, and pale<br /> + Sad face, men look’d on when she cast her +veil,<br /> +Not gladly; and none mark’d the thing she said,<br /> + Yet must they hear her long and boding wail<br /> +That follow’d still, however fleet they fled.</p> +<p>XXXVII.</p> +<p>She was the priestess of Apollo’s fane,<br /> + Cassandra, and the God of prophecy<br /> +Spurr’d her to speak and rent her! but in vain<br /> + She toss’d her wasted arms against the sky,<br +/> + And brake her golden circlet angrily,<br /> +And shriek’d that they had brought within the gate<br /> + <i>Helen</i>, <i>a serpent at their hearts to +lie</i>!<br /> +<i>Helen</i>, <i>a hell of people</i>, <i>king</i>, <i>and +state</i>!</p> +<p>XXXVIII.</p> +<p>But ere the God had left her; ere she fell<br /> + And foam’d among her maidens on the ground,<br +/> +The air was ringing with a merry swell<br /> + Of flute, and pipe, and every sweetest sound,<br /> + In Aphrodite’s fane, and all around<br /> +Were roses toss’d beneath the glimmering green<br /> + Of that high roof, and Helen there was +crown’d<br /> +The Goddess of the Trojans, and their Queen.</p> +<h2>BOOK IV—THE DEATH OF CORYTHUS</h2> +<blockquote><p>How Helen was made an outcast by the Trojan women, +and how Œnone, the old love of Paris, sent her son Corythus +to him as her messenger, and how Paris slew him unwittingly; and +of the curses of Œnone, and the coming of the Argive host +against Troy.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I.</p> +<p>For long in Troia was there peace and mirth,<br /> + The pleasant hours still passing one by one;<br /> +And Helen joy’d at each fresh morning’s birth,<br /> + And almost wept at setting of the sun,<br /> + For sorrow that the happy day was done;<br /> +Nor dream’d of years when she should hate the light,<br /> + And mourn afresh for every day begun,<br /> +Nor fare abroad save shamefully by night.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>And Paris was not one to backward cast<br /> + A fearful glance; nor pluck sour fruits of sin,<br +/> +Half ripe; but seized all pleasures while they last,<br /> + Nor boded evil ere ill days begin.<br /> + Nay, nor lamented much when caught therein,<br /> +In each adventure always finding joy,<br /> + And hopeful still through waves of war to win<br /> +By strength of Hector, and the star of Troy.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Now as the storms drive white sea-birds afar<br /> + Within green upland glens to seek for rest,<br /> +So rumours pale of an approaching war<br /> + Were blown across the islands from the west:<br /> + For Agamemnon summon’d all the best<br /> +From towns and tribes he ruled, and gave command<br /> + That free men all should gather at his hest<br /> +Through coasts and islets of the Argive land.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>Sidonian merchant-men had seen the fleet<br /> + Black war-galleys that sped from town to town;<br /> +Had heard the hammers of the bronze-smiths beat<br /> + The long day through, and when the sun went down;<br +/> + And thin, said they, would show the leafy crown<br +/> +On many a sacred mountain-peak in spring,<br /> + For men had fell’d the pine-trees tall and +brown<br /> +To fashion them curved ships for seafaring.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>And still the rumour grew; for heralds came,<br /> + Old men from Argos, bearing holy boughs,<br /> +Demanding great atonement for the shame<br /> + And sore despite done Menelaus’ house;<br /> + But homeward soon they turn’d their scarlet +prows,<br /> +And all their weary voyaging was vain;<br /> + For Troy had bound herself with awful vows<br /> +To cleave to Helen till the walls were ta’en.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>And now, like swallows ere the winter weather,<br /> + The women in shrill groups were gathering,<br /> +With eager tongues still communing together,<br /> + And many a taunt at Helen would they fling,<br /> + Ay, through her innocence she felt the sting,<br /> +And shamed was now her gentle face and sweet,<br /> + For e’en the children evil songs would sing<br +/> +To mock her as she hasted down the street.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Also the men who worshipp’d her of old<br /> + As she had been a goddess from above,<br /> +Gazed at her now with lustful eyes and bold,<br /> + As she were naught but Paris’ +light-o’-love;<br /> + And though in truth they still were proud enough,<br +/> +Of that fair gem in their old city set,<br /> + Yet well she knew that wanton word and scoff<br /> +Went round the camp-fire when the warriors met.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>There came a certain holiday when Troy<br /> + Was wont to send her noble matrons all,<br /> +Young wives and old, with clamour and with joy,<br /> + To clothe Athene in her temple hall,<br /> + And robe her in a stately broider’d pall.<br +/> +But now they drove fair Helen from their train,<br /> + “Better,” they scream’d, “to +cast her from the wall,<br /> +Than mock the Gods with offerings in vain.”</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>One joy she had, that Paris yet was true,<br /> + Ay, fickle Paris, true unto the end;<br /> +And in the court of Ilios were two<br /> + Kind hearts, still eager Helen to defend,<br /> + And help and comfort in all need to lend:—<br +/> +The gentle Hector with soft speech and mild,<br /> + And the old king that ever was her friend,<br /> +And loved her as a father doth his child.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>These, though they knew not all, these blamed her not,<br /> + But cast the heavy burden on the God,<br /> +Whose wrath, they deem’d, had verily waxed hot<br /> + Against the painful race on earth that trod,<br /> + And in God’s hand was Helen but the rod<br /> +To scourge a people that, in unknown wise,<br /> + Had vex’d the far Olympian abode<br /> +With secret sin or stinted sacrifice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * *</p> +<p>XI.<br /> + <br /> +The days grew into months, and months to years,<br /> + And still the Argive army did delay,<br /> +Till folk in Troia half forgot their fears,<br /> + And almost as of old were glad and gay;<br /> + And men and maids on Ida dared to stray,<br /> +But Helen dwelt within her inmost room,<br /> + And there from dawning to declining day,<br /> +Wrought at the patient marvels of her loom.</p> +<p>XII.<br /> + <br /> +Yet even there in peace she might not be:<br /> + There was a nymph, Œnone, in the hills,<br /> +The daughter of a River-God was she,<br /> + Of Cebren,—that the mountain silence fills<br +/> + With murmur’d music, for the countless +rills<br /> +Of Ida meet him, dancing to the plain,—<br /> + Her Paris wooed, yet ignorant of ills,<br /> +Among the shepherd’s huts, nor wooed in vain.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Nay, Summer often found them by the fold<br /> + In these glad days, ere Paris was a king,<br /> +And oft the Autumn, in his car of gold,<br /> + Had pass’d them, merry at the vintaging:<br /> + And scarce they felt the breath of the white wing<br +/> +Of Winter, in the cave where they would lie<br /> + On beds of heather by the fire, till Spring<br /> +Should crown them with her buds in passing by.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>For elbow-deep their flowery bed was strown<br /> + With fragrant leaves and with crush’d +asphodel,<br /> +And sweetly still the shepherd-pipe made moan,<br /> + And many a tale of Love they had to tell,—<br +/> + How Daphnis loved the strange, shy maiden well,<br +/> +And how she loved him not, and how he died,<br /> + And oak-trees moan’d his dirge, and blossoms +fell<br /> +Like tears from lindens by the water-side!</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>But colder, fleeter than the Winter’s wing,<br /> + Time pass’d; and Paris changed, and now no +more<br /> +Œnone heard him on the mountain sing,<br /> + Not now she met him in the forest hoar.<br /> + Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore<br /> +An alien love he sought; yet was she strong<br /> + To live, who deem’d that even as of yore<br /> +In days to come might Paris love her long.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>For dark Œnone from her Father drew<br /> + A power beyond all price; the gift to deal<br /> +With wounded men, though now the dreadful dew<br /> + Of Death anoint them, and the secret seal<br /> + Of Fate be set on them; these might she heal;<br /> +And thus Œnone trusted still to save<br /> + Her lover at the point of death, and steal<br /> +His life from Helen, and the amorous grave.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>And she had borne, though Paris knew it not,<br /> + A child, fair Corythus, to be her shame,<br /> +And still she mused, whenas her heart was hot,<br /> + “He hath no child by that Achaean +dame:”<br /> + But when her boy unto his manhood came,<br /> +Then sorer yet Œnone did repine,<br /> + And bade him “fare to Ilios, and claim<br /> +Thy father’s love, and all that should be thine!”</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair<br /> + She drew, and from a green-tress’d birchen +tree<br /> +She pluck’d a strip of smooth white bark and fair,<br /> + And many signs and woful gravèd she,<br /> + A message of the evil things to be.<br /> +Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold,<br /> + And bound the tokens well and cunningly,<br /> +Three times and four times, with a thread of gold.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>“Give these to Argive Helen’s hand,” she +cried:<br /> + And so embraced her child, and with no fear<br /> +Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side,<br /> + Like a king’s son that goes to hunt the +deer,<br /> + Clad softly, and in either hand a spear,<br /> +With two swift-footed hounds that follow’d him,<br /> + So leap’d he down the grassy slopes and +sheer,<br /> +And won the precinct of the forest dim.</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>He trod that ancient path his sire had trod,<br /> + Far, far below he saw the sea, the town;<br /> +He moved as light as an immortal god,<br /> + For mansions in Olympus gliding down.<br /> + He left the shadow of the forest brown,<br /> +And through the shallow waters did he cross,<br /> + And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown<br /> +Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios.</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>Now folk that mark’d him hasting deem’d that he<br +/> + Had come to tell the host was on its way,<br /> +As one that from the hills had seen the sea<br /> + Beclouded with the Danaan array,<br /> + So straight to Paris’ house with no delay<br +/> +They led him, and did eagerly await<br /> + Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey,<br /> +To hear some certain message of their fate.</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>Now Paris was asleep upon his bed<br /> + Tired with a listless day; but all along<br /> +The palace chambers Corythus was led,<br /> + And still he heard a music, shrill and strong,<br /> + That seem’d to clamour of an old-world +wrong,<br /> +And hearts a long time broken; last they came<br /> + To Helen’s bower, the fountain of the song<br +/> +That cried so loud against an ancient shame.</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>And Helen fared before a mighty loom,<br /> + And sang, and cast her shuttle wrought of gold,<br +/> +And forth unto the utmost secret room<br /> + The wave of her wild melody was roll’d;<br /> + And still she fashion’d marvels manifold,<br +/> +Strange shapes of fish and serpent, bear and swan,<br /> + The loves of the immortal Gods of old,<br /> +Wherefrom the peoples of the world began.</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>Now Helen met the stranger graciously<br /> + With gentle speech, and bade set forth a chair<br /> +Well wrought of cedar wood and ivory<br /> + That wise Icmalius had fashion’d fair.<br /> + But when young Corythus had drunk the rare<br /> +Wine of the princes, and had broken bread,<br /> + Then Helen took the word, and bade declare<br /> +His instant tidings; and he spake and said,</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>“Lady and Queen, I have a secret word,<br /> + And bear a token sent to none but thee,<br /> +Also I bring message to my Lord<br /> + That spoken to another may not be.”<br /> + Then Helen gave a sign unto her three<br /> +Bower-maidens, and they went forth from that place,<br /> + Silent they went; and all forebodingly,<br /> +They left the man and woman face to face.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>Then from his breast the birchen scroll he took<br /> + And gave to Helen; and she read therein:<br /> +“Oh thou that on those hidden runes dost look,<br /> + Hast thou forgotten quite thine ancient sin,<br /> + Thy Lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin,<br /> +Even as thy Love forgets the words he spoke<br /> + The strong oath broken one weak heart to win,<br /> +The lips that kiss’d him, and the heart that broke?</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>“Nay, but methinks thou shalt not quite forget<br /> + The curse wherewith I curse thee till I die;<br /> +The tears that on the wood-nymph’s cheeks are wet,<br /> + Shall burn thy hateful beauty deathlessly,<br /> + Nor shall God raise up seed to thee; but I<br /> +Have borne thy love this messenger: my son,<br /> + Who yet shall make him glad, for Time goes by<br /> +And soon shall thine enchantments all be done:</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>“Ay, soon ’twixt me and Death must be his +choice,<br /> + And little in that hour will Paris care<br /> +For thy sweet lips, and for thy singing voice,<br /> + Thine arms of ivory, thy golden hair.<br /> + Nay, me will he embrace, and will not spare,<br /> +But bid the folk that hate thee have their joy,<br /> + And give thee to the mountain beasts to tear,<br /> +Or burn thy body on a tower of Troy.”</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>Even as she read, by Aphrodite’s will<br /> + The cloud roll’d back from Helen’s +memory:<br /> +She saw the city of the rifted hill,<br /> + Fair Lacedaemon, ’neath her mountain high;<br +/> + She knew the swift Eurotas running by<br /> +To mix his sacred waters with the sea,<br /> + And from the garden close she heard the cry<br /> +Of her beloved child, Hermione.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>Then instantly the horror of her shame<br /> + Fell on her, and she saw the coming years;<br /> +Famine, and fire, and plague, and all men’s blame,<br /> + The wounds of warriors and the women’s +fears;<br /> + And through her heart her sorrow smote like +spears,<br /> +And in her soul she knew the utmost smart<br /> + Of wives left lonely, sires bereaved, the tears<br +/> +Of maidens desolate, of loves that part.</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>She drain’d the dregs out of the cup of hate;<br /> + The bitterness of sorrow, shame, and scorn;<br /> +Where’er the tongues of mortals curse their fate,<br /> + She saw herself an outcast and forlorn;<br /> + And hating sore the day that she was born,<br /> +Down in the dust she cast her golden head,<br /> + There with rent raiment and fair tresses torn,<br /> +At feet of Corythus she lay for dead.</p> +<p>XXXII.</p> +<p>But Corythus, beholding her sweet face,<br /> + And her most lovely body lying low,<br /> +Had pity on her grief and on her grace,<br /> + Nor heeded now she was his mother’s foe,<br /> + But did what might be done to ease her woe,<br /> +While, as he thought, with death for life she strove,<br /> + And loosed the necklet round her neck of snow,<br /> +As who that saw had deem’d, with hands of love.</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>And there was one that saw: for Paris woke<br /> + Half-deeming and half-dreaming that the van<br /> +Of the great Argive host had scared the folk,<br /> + And down the echoing corridor he ran<br /> + To Helen’s bower, and there beheld the man<br +/> +That kneel’d beside his lady lying there:<br /> + No word he spake, but drove his sword a span<br /> +Through Corythus’ fair neck and cluster’d hair.</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>Then fell fair Corythus, as falls the tower<br /> + An earthquake shaketh from a city’s crown,<br +/> +Or as a tall white fragrant lily-flower<br /> + A child hath in the garden trampled down,<br /> + Or as a pine-tree in the forest brown,<br /> +Fell’d by the sea-rovers on mountain lands,<br /> + When they to harry foreign folk are boune,<br /> +Taking their own lives in their reckless hands.</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>But still in Paris did his anger burn,<br /> + And still his sword was lifted up to slay,<br /> +When, like a lot leap’d forth of Fate’s own urn,<br +/> + He mark’d the graven tokens where they lay,<br +/> + ’Mid Helen’s hair in golden disarray,<br +/> +And looking on them, knew what he had done,<br /> + Knew what dire thing had fallen on that day,<br /> +Knew how a father’s hand had slain a son.</p> +<p>XXXVI.</p> +<p>Then Paris on his face fell grovelling,<br /> + And the night gather’d, and the silence +grew<br /> +Within the darkened chamber of the king.<br /> + But Helen rose, and a sad breath she drew,<br /> + And her new woes came back to her anew:<br /> +Ah, where is he but knows the bitter pain<br /> + To wake from dreams, and find his sorrow true,<br /> +And his ill life returned to him again!</p> +<p>XXXVII.</p> +<p>She needed none to tell her whence it fell,<br /> + The thick red rain upon the marble floor:<br /> +She knew that in her bower she might not dwell,<br /> + Alone with her own heart for ever more;<br /> + No sacrifice, no spell, no priestly lore<br /> +Could banish quite the melancholy ghost<br /> + Of Corythus; a herald sent before<br /> +Them that should die for her, a dreadful host.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.</p> +<p>But slowly Paris raised him from the earth,<br /> + And read her face, and knew that she knew all,<br /> +No more her eyes, in tenderness or mirth,<br /> + Should answer his, in bower or in hall.<br /> + Nay, Love had fallen when his child did fall,<br /> +The stream Love cannot cross ran ’twixt them red;<br /> + No more was Helen his, whate’er befall,<br /> +Not though the Goddess drove her to his bed.</p> +<p>XXXIX.</p> +<p>This word he spake, “the Fates are hard on +us”—<br /> + Then bade the women do what must be done<br /> +To the fair body of dead Corythus.<br /> + And then he hurl’d into the night alone,<br /> + Wailing unto the spirit of his son,<br /> +That somewhere in dark mist and sighing wind<br /> + Must dwell, nor yet to Hades had it won,<br /> +Nor quite had left the world of men behind.</p> +<p>XL.</p> +<p>But wild Œnone by the mountain-path<br /> + Saw not her son returning to the wold,<br /> +And now was she in fear, and now in wrath<br /> + She cried, “He hath forgot the mountain +fold,<br /> + And goes in Ilios with a crown of gold:”<br /> +But even then she heard men’s axes smite<br /> + Against the beeches slim and ash-trees old,<br /> +These ancient trees wherein she did delight.</p> +<p>XLI.</p> +<p>Then she arose and silently as Sleep,<br /> + Unseen she follow’d the slow-rolling wain,<br +/> +Beneath an ashen sky that ’gan to weep,<br /> + Too heavy laden with the latter rain;<br /> + And all the folk of Troy upon the plain<br /> +She found, all gather’d round a funeral pyre,<br /> + And thereon lay her son, her darling slain,<br /> +The goodly Corythus, her heart’s desire!</p> +<p>XLII.</p> +<p>Among the spices and fair robes he lay,<br /> + His arm beneath his head, as though he slept.<br /> +For so the Goddess wrought that no decay,<br /> + No loathly thing about his body crept;<br /> + And all the people look’d on him and wept,<br +/> +And, weeping, Paris lit the pine-wood dry,<br /> + And lo, a rainy wind arose and swept<br /> +The flame and fragrance far into the sky.</p> +<p>XLIII.</p> +<p>But when the force of flame was burning low,<br /> + Then did they drench the pyre with ruddy wine,<br /> +And the white bones of Corythus bestow<br /> + Within a gold cruse, wrought with many a sign,<br /> + And wrapp’d the cruse about with linen fine<br +/> +And bare it to the tomb: when, lo, the wild<br /> + Œnone sprang, with burning eyes divine,<br /> +And shriek’d unto the slayer of her child:</p> +<p>XLIV.</p> +<p>“Oh Thou, that like a God art sire and slayer,<br /> + That like a God, dost give and take away!<br /> +Methinks that even now I hear the prayer<br /> + Thou shalt beseech me with, some later day;<br /> + When all the world to thy dim eyes grow grey,<br /> +And thou shalt crave thy healing at my hand,<br /> + Then gladly will I mock, and say thee nay,<br /> +And watch thine hours run down like running sand!</p> +<p>XLV.</p> +<p>“Yea, thou shalt die, and leave thy love behind,<br /> + And little shall she love thy memory!<br /> +But, oh ye foolish people, deaf and blind,<br /> + What Death is coming on you from the sea?”<br +/> + Then all men turned, and lo, upon the lee<br /> +Of Tenedos, beneath the driving rain,<br /> + The countless Argive ships were racing free,<br /> +The wind and oarsmen speeding them amain.</p> +<p>XLVI.</p> +<p>Then from the barrow and the burial,<br /> + Back like a bursting torrent all men fled<br /> +Back to the city and the sacred wall.<br /> + But Paris stood, and lifted not his head.<br /> + Alone he stood, and brooded o’er the dead,<br +/> +As broods a lion, when a shaft hath flown,<br /> + And through the strong heart of his mate hath +sped,<br /> +Then will he face the hunters all alone.</p> +<p>XLVII.</p> +<p>But soon the voice of men on the sea-sand<br /> + Came round him; and he turned, and gazed, and lo!<br +/> +The Argive ships were dashing on the strand:<br /> + Then stealthily did Paris bend his bow,<br /> + And on the string he laid a shaft of woe,<br /> +And drew it to the point, and aim’d it well.<br /> + Singing it sped, and through a shield did go,<br /> +And from his barque Protesilaus fell.</p> +<p>XLVIII.</p> +<p>Half gladdened by the omen, through the plain<br /> + Went Paris to the walls and mighty gate,<br /> +And little heeded he that arrowy rain<br /> + The Argive bowmen shower’d in helpless +hate.<br /> + Nay; not yet feather’d was the shaft of +Fate,<br /> +His bane, the gift of mighty Heracles<br /> + To Philoctetes, lying desolate,<br /> +Within a far off island of the seas.</p> +<h2>BOOK V—THE WAR</h2> +<p>The war round Troy, and how many brave men fell, and chiefly +Sarpedon, Patroclus, Hector, Memnon, and Achilles. The +coming of the Amazon, and the wounding of Paris, and his death, +and concerning the good end that Œnone made.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>For ten long years the Argive leaguer lay<br /> + Round Priam’s folk, and wrought them many +woes,<br /> +While, as a lion crouch’d above his prey,<br /> + The Trojans yet made head against their foes;<br /> + And as the swift sea-water ebbs and flows<br /> +Between the Straits of Hellé and the main,<br /> + Even so the tide of battle sank and rose,<br /> +And fill’d with waifs of war the Ilian plain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>And horse on horse was driven, as wave on wave;<br /> + Like rain upon the deep the arrows fell,<br /> +And like the wind, the war-cry of the brave<br /> + Rang out above the battle’s ebb and swell,<br +/> + And long the tale of slain, and sad to tell;<br /> +Yet seem’d the end scarce nearer than of yore<br /> + When nine years pass’d and still the +citadel<br /> +Frown’d on the Argive huts beside the shore.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>And still the watchers on the city’s crown<br /> + Afar from sacred Ilios might spy<br /> +The flame from many a fallen subject town<br /> + Flare on the starry verges of the sky,<br /> + And still from rich Maeonia came the cry<br /> +Of cities sack’d where’er Achilles led.<br /> + Yet none the more men deem’d the end was +nigh<br /> +While knightly Hector fought unvanquished.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>But ever as each dawn bore grief afar,<br /> + And further back, wax’d Paris glad and gay,<br +/> +And on the fringes of the cloud of war<br /> + His arrows, like the lightning, still would play;<br +/> + Yet fled he Menelaus on a day,<br /> +And there had died, but Aphrodite’s power<br /> + Him in a golden cloud did safe convey<br /> +Within the walls of Helen’s fragrant bower.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>But she, in longing for her lord and home,<br /> + And scorn of her wild lover, did withdraw<br /> +From all men’s eyes: but in the night would roam<br /> + Till drowsy watchmen of the city saw<br /> + A shadowy shape that chill’d the night with +awe,<br /> +Treading the battlements; and like a ghost,<br /> + She stretch’d her lovely arms without a +flaw,<br /> +In shame and longing, to the Argive host.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>But all day long within her bower she wept,<br /> + Still dreaming of the dames renown’d of +old,<br /> +Whom hate or love of the Immortals swept<br /> + Within the toils of Atê manifold;<br /> + And most she loved the ancient tales that told<br /> +How the great Gods, at length to pity stirr’d,<br /> + Changed Niobe upon the mountains cold,<br /> +To a cold stone; and Procne to a bird,</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>And Myrrha to an incense-breathing tree;—<br /> + “And ah,” she murmur’d, +“that the Gods were kind,<br /> +And bade the Harpies lay their hands on me,<br /> + And bear me with the currents of the wind<br /> + To the dim end of all things, and the blind<br /> +Land where the Ocean turneth in his bed:<br /> + Then should I leave mine evil days behind,<br /> +And Sleep should fold his wings above my head.”</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>And once she heard a Trojan woman bless<br /> + The fair-haired Menelaus, her good lord,<br /> +As brave among brave men, not merciless,<br /> + Not swift to slay the captives of his sword,<br /> + Nor wont was he to win the gold abhorr’d<br /> +Of them that sell their captives over sea,<br /> + And Helen sighed, and bless’d her for that +word,<br /> +“Yet will he ne’er be merciful to me!”</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>In no wise found she comfort; to abide<br /> + In Ilios was to dwell with shame and fear,<br /> +And if unto the Argive host she hied,<br /> + Then should she die by him that was most dear.<br /> + And still the days dragg’d on with bitter +cheer,<br /> +Till even the great Gods had little joy,<br /> + So fast their children fell beneath the spear,<br /> +Below the windy battlements of Troy.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Yet many a prince of south lands, or of east,<br /> + For dark Cassandra’s love came trooping in,<br +/> +And Priam made them merry at the feast,<br /> + And all night long they dream’d of wars to +win,<br /> + And with the morning hurl’d into the din,<br +/> +And cried their lady’s name for battle-cry,<br /> + And won no more than this: for Paris’ sin,<br +/> +By Diomede’s or Aias’ hand to die.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>But for one hour within the night of woes<br /> + The hope of Troy burn’d steadfast as a +star;<br /> +When strife among the Argive lords arose,<br /> + And dread Achilles held him from the war;<br /> + Yea, and Apollo from his golden car<br /> +And silver bow his shafts of evil sped,<br /> + And all the plain was darken’d, near and +far,<br /> +With smoke above the pyres of heroes dead.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>And many a time through vapour of that smoke<br /> + The shafts of Troy fell fast; and on the plain<br /> +All night the Trojan watch fires burn’d and broke<br /> + Like evil stars athwart a mist of rain.<br /> + And through the arms and blood, and through the +slain,<br /> +Like wolves among the fragments of the fight,<br /> + Crept spies to slay whoe’er forgat his pain<br +/> +One hour, and fell on slumber in the night.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>And once, when wounded chiefs their tents did keep,<br /> + And only Aias might his weapons wield,<br /> +Came Hector with his host, and smiting deep,<br /> + Brake bow and spear, brake axe and glaive and +shield,<br /> + Bulwark and battlement must rend and yield,<br /> +And by the ships he smote the foe and cast<br /> + Fire on the ships; and o’er the stricken +field,<br /> +The Trojans saw that flame arise at last!</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>But when Achilles saw the soaring flame,<br /> + And knew the ships in peril, suddenly<br /> +A change upon his wrathful spirit came,<br /> + Nor will’d he that the Danaans should die:<br +/> + But call’d his Myrmidons, and with a cry<br /> +They follow’d where, like foam on a sea-wave<br /> + Patroclus’ crest was dancing, white and +high,<br /> +Above the tide that back the Trojans drave.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>But like a rock amid the shifting sands,<br /> + And changing springs, and tumult of the deep,<br /> +Sarpedon stood, till ’neath Patroclus’ hands,<br /> + Smitten he fell; then Death and gentle Sleep<br /> + Bare him from forth the battle to the steep<br /> +Where shines his castle o’er the Lycian dell;<br /> + There hath he burial due, while all folk weep<br /> +Around the kindly Prince that loved them well.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone<br /> + To Hades did his soul indignant fly,<br /> +For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown<br /> + By Hector, and the God of archery;<br /> + And Hector stripp’d his shining panoply,<br /> +Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then,<br /> + Forgetful wholly of his chivalry,<br /> +Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Then Hector from the war a little space<br /> + Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles’ gear,<br +/> +And braced the gleaming helmet on his face,<br /> + And donn’d the corslet, and that mighty +spear<br /> + He grasped—the lance that makes the boldest +fear;<br /> +And home his comrades bare his arms of gold,<br /> + Those Priam once had worn, his father dear,<br /> +But in his father’s arms he waxed not old!</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Then round Patroclus’ body, like a tide<br /> + That storms the swollen outlet of a stream<br /> +When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide<br /> + The river runs, and white the breakers +gleam,—<br /> + Trojans and Argives battled till the beam<br /> +Of Helios was sinking to the wave,<br /> + And now they near’d the ships: yet few could +deem<br /> +That arms of Argos might the body save.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>But even then the tidings sore were borne<br /> + To great Achilles, of Patroclus dead,<br /> +And all his goodly raiment hath he torn,<br /> + And cast the dust upon his golden head,<br /> + And many a tear and bitter did he shed.<br /> +Ay; there by his own sword had he been slain,<br /> + But swift his Goddess-mother, Thetis, sped<br /> +Forth with her lovely sea-nymphs from the main.</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>For, as a mother when her young child calls<br /> + Hearkens to that, and hath no other care:<br /> +So Thetis, from her green and windless halls<br /> + Rose, at the first word of Achilles’ +prayer,<br /> + To comfort him, and promise gifts of fair<br /> +New armour wrought by an immortal hand;<br /> + Then like a silver cloud she scaled the air,<br /> +Where bright the dwellings of Olympus stand.</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>But, as a beacon from a ’leaguer’d town<br /> + Within a sea-girt isle, leaps suddenly,<br /> +A cloud by day; but when the sun goes down,<br /> + The tongues of fire flash out, and soar on high,<br +/> + To summon warlike men that dwell thereby<br /> +And bid them bring a rescue over-seas,—<br /> + So now Athene sent a flame to fly<br /> +From brow and temples of Aeacides.</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>Then all unarm’d he sped, and through the throng,<br /> + He pass’d to the dyke’s edge, beyond the +wall,<br /> +Nor leap’d the ranks of fighting men among,<br /> + But shouted clearer than the clarion’s call<br +/> + When foes on a beleaguer’d city fall.<br /> +Three times he cried, and terror fell on these<br /> + That heard him; and the Trojans, one and all,<br /> +Fled from that shouting of Aeacides.</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>Backward the Trojans reel’d in headlong flight,<br /> + Chariots and men, and left their bravest slain;<br +/> +And the sun fell; but Troy through all the night<br /> + Watch’d by her fires upon the Ilian plain,<br +/> + For Hector did the sacred walls disdain<br /> +Of Ilios; nor knew that he should stand<br /> + Ere night return’d, and burial crave in +vain,<br /> +Unarm’d, forsaken, at Achilles’ hand.</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>But all that night within his chamber high<br /> + Hephaestus made his iron anvils ring;<br /> +And, ere the dawn, had wrought a panoply,<br /> + The goodliest ever worn by mortal king.<br /> + This to the Argive camp did Thetis bring,<br /> +And when her child had proved it, like the star<br /> + That heralds day, he went forth summoning<br /> +The host Achaean to delight of war.</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed,<br /> + And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate,<br /> +Or as a forest-fire, that overhead<br /> + Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate,<br /> + So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate;<br /> +And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain,<br /> + Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate<br /> +What war and wave had spared upon the plain.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke<br /> + Between the wind’s voice and the water’s +cry,<br /> +The battle shouting of the Trojans broke,<br /> + And reached the Ilian walls confusedly,<br /> + But over soon the folk that watch’d might +spy<br /> +Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death,<br /> + Yet many a man beneath the spear must die,<br /> +Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath.</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>And as when fire doth on a forest fall<br /> + And hot winds bear it raging in its flight,<br /> +And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin’d all,<br /> + So raged Achilles’ anger in that fight;<br /> + And many an empty car, with none to smite<br /> +The madden’d horses, o’er the bridge of war<br /> + Was wildly whirled, and many a maid’s +delight<br /> +That day to the red wolves was dearer far.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong,<br /> + Homer! who whisper’d thee that Hector fled<br +/> +Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long;<br /> + Nay, when he saw his people vanquishèd<br /> + Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped<br /> +One moment, to the struggle of the spear,<br /> + And, by the Gods deserted, fell and bled,<br /> +A warrior stainless of reproach and fear.</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>Then all the people from the battlement<br /> + Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought,<br /> +For on the body his revenge he spent,<br /> + The anger of the high Gods heeding nought,<br /> + To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought,<br /> +Of all the Trojan men that were their joy,<br /> + But now no more their favour might be bought<br /> +By savour of his hecatombs in Troy.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host,<br /> + And now Patroclus hath to Hades won,<br /> +But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost<br /> + Must wail where waters of Cocytus run;<br /> + Till Priam did what no man born hath done,<br /> +Who dared to pass among the Argive bands,<br /> + And clasp’d the knees of him that slew his +son,<br /> +And kiss’d his awful homicidal hands.</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>At such a price was Hector’s body sent<br /> + To Ilios, where the women wail’d him +shrill;<br /> +And Helen’s sorrow brake into lament<br /> + As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill,<br /> + For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who +still<br /> +Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart,<br /> + The sword of war, pure faith, and steadfast will,<br +/> +That strove to keep all evil things apart.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>XXXII.<br /> + <br /> +And so men buried Hector. But they came,<br /> + The Amazons, from frozen fields afar.<br /> +A match for heroes in the dreadful game<br /> + Of spears, the darlings of the God of War,<br /> + Whose coming was to Priam dearer far<br /> +Than light to him that is a long while blind,<br /> + When leech’s hand hath taën away the +bar<br /> +That vex’d him, or the healing God is kind;</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>And Troy was glad, and with the morning light<br /> + The Amazons went forth to slay and slay;<br /> +And wondrously they drave the foe in flight,<br /> + Until the Sun had wander’d half his way;<br /> + But when he stoop’d to twilight and the +grey<br /> +Hour when men loose the steer beneath the yoke,<br /> + No more Achilles held him from the fray,<br /> +But dreadful through the women’s ranks he broke.</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield,<br /> + And death on them that bear it, and they fall<br /> +One here, one there, about the stricken field,<br /> + As in that art, of Love memorial,<br /> + Which moulders on the holy Carian wall.<br /> +Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there<br /> + The warrior-maids, so brave, so god-like tall,<br /> +In Time’s despite imperishably fair.</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>But, as a dove that braves a falcon, stood<br /> + Penthesilea, wrath outcasting fear,<br /> +Or as a hind, that in the darkling wood<br /> + Withstands a lion for her younglings dear;<br /> + So stood the girl before Achilles’ spear;<br +/> +In vain, for singing from his hand it sped,<br /> + And crash’d through shield and breastplate +till the sheer<br /> +Cold bronze drank blood, and down the queen fell dead.</p> +<p>XXXVI.</p> +<p>Then from her locks the helm Achilles tore<br /> + And boasted o’er the slain; but lo, the +face<br /> +Of her thus lying in the dust and gore<br /> + Seem’d lovelier than is the maiden grace<br /> + Of Artemis, when weary from the chase,<br /> +She sleepeth in a haunted dell unknown.<br /> + And all the Argives marvell’d for a space,<br +/> +But most Achilles made a heavy moan:</p> +<p>XXXVII.</p> +<p>And in his heart there came the weary thought<br /> + Of all that was, and all that might have been,<br /> +Of all the sorrow that his sword had wrought,<br /> + Of Death that now drew near him: of the green<br /> + Vales of Larissa, where, with such a queen,<br /> +With such a love as now his spear had slain,<br /> + He had been happy, who must wind the skein<br /> +Of grievous wars, and ne’er be glad again.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.</p> +<p>Yea, now wax’d Fate half weary of her game,<br /> + And had no care but aye to kill and kill,<br /> +And many young kings to the battle came,<br /> + And of that joy they quickly had their fill,<br /> + And last came Memnon: and the Trojans still<br /> +Took heart, like wearied mariners that see<br /> + (Long toss’d on unknown waves at the +winds’ will)<br /> +Through clouds the gleaming crest of Helikê.</p> +<p>XXXIX.</p> +<p>For Memnon was the child of the bright Dawn,<br /> + A Goddess wedded to a mortal king,<br /> +Who dwells for ever on the shores withdrawn<br /> + That border on the land of sun-rising;<br /> + And he was nurtured nigh the sacred spring<br /> +That is the hidden fountain of all seas,<br /> + By them that in the Gods’ own garden sing,<br +/> +The lily-maidens call’d Hesperides.</p> +<p>XL.</p> +<p>But him the child of Thetis in the fight<br /> + Met on a windy winter day, when high<br /> +The dust was whirled, and wrapp’d them like the night<br /> + That falleth on the mountains stealthily<br /> + When the floods come, and down their courses dry<br +/> +The torrents roar, and lightning flasheth far:<br /> + So rang, so shone their harness terribly<br /> +Beneath the blinding thunder-cloud of war.</p> +<p>XLI.</p> +<p>Then the Dawn shudder’d on her golden throne,<br /> + And called unto the West Wind, and he blew<br /> +And brake the cloud asunder; and alone<br /> + Achilles stood, but Memnon, smitten through,<br /> + Lay beautiful amid the dreadful dew<br /> +Of battle, and a deathless heart was fain<br /> + Of tears, to Gods impossible, that drew<br /> +From mortal hearts a little of their pain.</p> +<p>XLII.</p> +<p>But now, their leader slain, the Trojans fled,<br /> + And fierce Achilles drove them in his hate,<br /> +Avenging still his dear Patroclus dead,<br /> + Nor knew the hour with his own doom was great,<br /> + Nor trembled, standing in the Scaean gate,<br /> +Where ancient prophecy foretold his fall;<br /> + Then suddenly there sped the bolt of Fate,<br /> +And smote Achilles by the Ilian wall:</p> +<p>XLIII.</p> +<p>From Paris’ bow it sped, and even there,<br /> + Even as he grasp’d the skirts of victory,<br +/> +Achilles fell, nor any man might dare<br /> + From forth the Trojan gateway to draw nigh;<br /> + But, as the woodmen watch a lion die,<br /> +Pierced with the hunter’s arrow, nor come near<br /> + Till Death hath veil’d his eyelids utterly,<br +/> +Even so the Trojans held aloof in fear.</p> +<p>XLIV.</p> +<p>But there his fellows on his wondrous shield<br /> + Laid the fair body of Achilles slain,<br /> +And sadly bare him through the trampled field,<br /> + And lo! the deathless maidens of the main<br /> + Rose up, with Thetis, from the windy plain,<br /> +And round the dead man beautiful they cried,<br /> + Lamenting, and with melancholy strain<br /> +The sweet-voiced Muses mournfully replied.</p> +<p>XLV.</p> +<p>Yea, Muses and Sea-maidens sang his dirge,<br /> + And mightily the chant arose and shrill,<br /> +And wondrous echoes answer’d from the surge<br /> + Of the grey sea, and from the holy hill<br /> + Of Ida; and the heavy clouds and chill<br /> +Were gathering like mourners, sad and slow,<br /> + And Zeus did thunder mightily, and fill<br /> +The dells and glades of Ida deep with snow.</p> +<p>XLVI.</p> +<p>Now Paris was not sated with the fame<br /> + And rich reward Troy gave his archery;<br /> +But o’er the wine he boasted that the game<br /> + That very night he deem’d to win, or die;<br +/> + “For scarce their watch the tempest will +defy,”<br /> +He said, “and all undream’d of might we go,<br /> + And fall upon the Argives where they lie,<br /> +Unseen, unheard, amid the silent snow.”</p> +<p>XLVII.</p> +<p>So, flush’d with wine, and clad in raiment white<br /> + Above their mail, the young men follow’d +him,<br /> +Their guide a fading camp-fire in the night,<br /> + And the sea’s moaning in the distance dim.<br +/> + And still with eddying snow the air did swim,<br /> +And darkly did they wend they knew not where,<br /> + White in that cursed night: an army grim,<br /> +’Wilder’d with wine, and blind with whirling air.</p> +<p>XLVIII.</p> +<p>There was an outcast in the Argive host,<br /> + One Philoctetes; whom Odysseus’ wile,<br /> +(For, save he help’d, the Leaguer all was lost,)<br /> + Drew from his lair within the Lemnian isle.<br /> + But him the people, as a leper vile,<br /> +Hated, and drave to a lone hut afar,<br /> + For wounded sore was he, and many a while<br /> +His cries would wake the host foredone with war.</p> +<p>XLIX.</p> +<p>Now Philoctetes was an archer wight;<br /> + But in his quiver had he little store<br /> +Of arrows tipp’d with bronze, and feather’d +bright;<br /> + Nay, his were blue with mould, and fretted +o’er<br /> + With many a spell Melampus wrought of yore,<br /> +Singing above his task a song of bane;<br /> + And they were venom’d with the Centaur’s +gore,<br /> +And tipp’d with bones of men a long while slain.</p> +<p>L.</p> +<p>This wretch for very pain might seldom sleep,<br /> + And that night slept not: in the moaning blast<br /> +He deem’d the dead about his hut did creep,<br /> + And silently he rose, and round him cast<br /> + His raiment foul, and from the door he +pass’d,<br /> +And peer’d into the night, and soothly heard<br /> + A whisper’d voice; then gripp’d his +arrows fast<br /> +And strung his bow, and cried a bitter word:</p> +<p>LI.</p> +<p>“Art thou a gibbering ghost with war outworn,<br /> + And thy faint life in Hades not begun?<br /> +Art thou a man that holdst my grief in scorn,<br /> + And yet dost live, and look upon the sun?<br /> + If man,—methinks thy pleasant days are +done,<br /> +And thou shalt writhe in torment worse than mine;<br /> + If ghost,—new pain in Hades hast thou won,<br +/> +And there with double woe shalt surely pine.”</p> +<p>LII.</p> +<p>He spake, and drew the string, and sent a shaft<br /> + At venture through the midnight and the snow,<br /> +A little while he listen’d, then he laugh’d<br /> + Within himself, a dreadful laugh and low;<br /> + For over well the answer did he know<br /> +That midnight gave his message, the sharp cry<br /> + And armour rattling on a fallen foe<br /> +That now was learning what it is to die.</p> +<p>LIII.</p> +<p>Then Philoctetes crawl’d into his den<br /> + And hugg’d himself against the bitter cold,<br +/> +While round their leader came the Trojan men<br /> + And bound his wound, and bare him o’er the +wold,<br /> + Back to the lights of Ilios; but the gold<br /> +Of Dawn was breaking on the mountains white,<br /> + Or ere they won within the guarded fold,<br /> +Long ’wilder’d in the tempest and the night.</p> +<p>LIV.</p> +<p>And through the gate, and through the silent street,<br /> + And houses where men dream’d of war no +more,<br /> +The bearers wander’d with their weary feet,<br /> + And Paris to his high-roof’d house they +bore.<br /> + But vainly leeches on his wound did pore,<br /> +And vain was Argive Helen’s magic song,<br /> + Ah, vain her healing hands, and all her lore,<br /> +To help the life that wrought her endless wrong.</p> +<p>LV.</p> +<p>Slow pass’d the fever’d hours, until the grey<br +/> + Cold light was paling, and a sullen glow<br /> +Of livid yellow crown’d the dying day,<br /> + And brooded on the wastes of mournful snow.<br /> + Then Paris whisper’d faintly, “I must +go<br /> +And face that wild wood-maiden of the hill;<br /> + For none but she can win from overthrow<br /> +Troy’s life, and mine that guards it, if she +will.”</p> +<p>LVI.</p> +<p>So through the dumb white meadows, deep with snow,<br /> + They bore him on a pallet shrouded white,<br /> +And sore they dreaded lest an ambush’d foe<br /> + Should hear him moan, or mark the moving light<br /> + That waved before their footsteps in the night;<br +/> +And much they joy’d when Ida’s knees were won,<br /> + And ’neath the pines upon an upland height,<br +/> +They watch’d the star that heraldeth the sun.</p> +<p>LVII.</p> +<p>For under woven branches of the pine,<br /> + The soft dry needles like a carpet spread,<br /> +And high above the arching boughs did shine<br /> + In frosty fret of silver, that the red<br /> + New dawn fired into gold-work overhead:<br /> +Within that vale where Paris oft had been<br /> + With fair Œnone, ere the hills he fled<br /> +To be the sinful lover of a Queen.</p> +<p>LVIII.</p> +<p>Not here they found Œnone: “Nay, not +here,”<br /> + Said Paris, faint and low, “shall she be +found;<br /> +Nay, bear me up the mountain, where the drear<br /> + Winds walk for ever on a haunted ground.<br /> + Methinks I hear her sighing in their sound;<br /> +Or some God calls me there, a dying man.<br /> + Perchance my latest journeying is bound<br /> +Back where the sorrow of my life began.”</p> +<p>LIX.</p> +<p>They reach’d the gateway of that highest glen<br /> + And halted, wond’ring what the end should +be;<br /> +But Paris whisper’d Helen, while his men<br /> + Fell back: “Here judged I Gods, here shalt +thou see<br /> + What judgment mine old love will pass on me.<br /> +But hide thee here; thou soon the end shalt know,<br /> + Whether the Gods at length will set thee free<br /> +From that old net they wove so long ago.”</p> +<p>LX.</p> +<p>Ah, there with wide snows round her like a pall,<br /> + Œnone crouch’d in sable robes; as +still<br /> +As Winter brooding o’er the Summer’s fall,<br /> + Or Niobe upon her haunted hill,<br /> + A woman changed to stone by grief, where chill<br /> +The rain-drops fall like tears, and the wind sighs:<br /> + And Paris deem’d he saw a deadly will<br /> +Unmoved in wild Œnone’s frozen eyes.</p> +<p>LXI.</p> +<p>“Nay, prayer to her were vain as prayer to +Fate,”<br /> + He murmur’d, almost glad that it was so,<br /> +Like some sick man that need no longer wait,<br /> + But his pain lulls as Death draws near his woe.<br +/> + And Paris beckon’d to his men, and slow<br /> +They bore him dying from that fatal place,<br /> + And did not turn again, and did not know<br /> +The soft repentance on Œnone’s face.</p> +<p>LXII.</p> +<p>But Paris spake to Helen: “Long ago,<br /> + Dear, we were glad, who never more shall be<br /> +Together, where the west winds fainter blow<br /> + Round that Elysian island of the sea,<br /> + Where Zeus from evil days shall set thee free.<br /> +Nay, kiss me once, it is a weary while,<br /> + Ten weary years since thou hast smiled on me,<br /> +But, Helen, say good-bye, with thine old smile!”</p> +<p>LXIII.</p> +<p>And as the dying sunset through the rain<br /> + Will flush with rosy glow a mountain height,<br /> +Even so, at his last smile, a blush again<br /> + Pass’d over Helen’s face, so changed and +white;<br /> + And through her tears she smiled, his last +delight,<br /> +The last of pleasant life he knew, for grey<br /> + The veil of darkness gather’d, and the +night<br /> +Closed o’er his head, and Paris pass’d away.</p> +<p>LXIV.</p> +<p>Then for one hour in Helen’s heart re-born,<br /> + Awoke the fatal love that was of old,<br /> +Ere she knew all, and the cold cheeks outworn,<br /> + She kiss’d, she kiss’d the hair of +wasted gold,<br /> + The hands that ne’er her body should +enfold;<br /> +Then slow she follow’d where the bearers led,<br /> + Follow’d dead Paris through the frozen wold<br +/> +Back to the town where all men wish’d her dead.</p> +<p>LXV.</p> +<p>Perchance it was a sin, I know not, this!<br /> + Howe’er it be, she had a woman’s +heart,<br /> +And not without a tear, without a kiss,<br /> + Without some strange new birth of the old smart,<br +/> + From her old love of the brief days could part<br /> +For ever; though the dead meet, ne’er shall they<br /> + Meet, and be glad by Aphrodite’s art,<br /> +Whose souls have wander’d each its several way.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>LXVI.</p> +<p>And now was come the day when on a pyre<br /> + Men laid fair Paris, in a broider’d pall,<br +/> +And fragrant spices cast into the fire,<br /> + And round the flame slew many an Argive thrall.<br +/> + When, like a ghost, there came among them all,<br /> +A woman, once beheld by them of yore,<br /> + When first through storm and driving rain the +tall<br /> +Black ships of Argos dash’d upon the shore.</p> +<p>LXVII.</p> +<p>Not now in wrath Œnone came; but fair<br /> + Like a young bride when nigh her bliss she knows,<br +/> +And in the soft night of her fallen hair<br /> + Shone flowers like stars, more white than +Ida’s snows,<br /> + And scarce men dared to look on her, of those<br /> +The pyre that guarded; suddenly she came,<br /> + And sprang upon the pyre, and shrill arose<br /> +Her song of death, like incense through the flame.</p> +<p>LXVIII.</p> +<p>And still the song, and still the flame went up,<br /> + But when the flame wax’d fierce, the singing +died;<br /> +And soon with red wine from a golden cup<br /> + Priests drench’d the pyre; but no man might +divide<br /> + The ashes of the Bridegroom from the Bride.<br /> +Nay, they were wedded, and at rest again,<br /> + As in those old days on the mountain-side,<br /> +Before the promise of their youth was vain.</p> +<h2>BOOK VI—THE SACK OF TROY. THE RETURN OF +HELEN</h2> +<p>The sack of Troy, and of how Menelaus would have let stone +Helen, but Aphrodite saved her, and made them at one again, and +how they came home to Lacedaemon, and of their translation to +Elysium.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>There came a day, when Trojan spies beheld<br /> + How, o’er the Argive leaguer, all the air<br +/> +Was pure of smoke, no battle-din there swell’d,<br /> + Nor any clarion-call was sounding there!<br /> + Yea, of the serried ships the strand was bare,<br /> +And sea and shore were still, as long ago<br /> + When Ilios knew not Helen, and the fair<br /> +Sweet face that makes immortal all her woe.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>So for a space the watchers on the wall<br /> + Were silent, wond’ring what these things might +mean.<br /> +But, at the last, sent messengers to call<br /> + Priam, and all the elders, and the lean<br /> + Remnant of goodly chiefs, that once had been<br /> +The shield and stay of Ilios, and her joy,<br /> + Nor yet despair’d, but trusted Gods unseen,<br +/> +And cast their spears, and shed their blood for Troy.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>They came, the more part grey, grown early old,<br /> + In war and plague; but with them was the young<br /> +Coroebus, that but late had left the fold<br /> + And flocks of sheep Maeonian hills among,<br /> + And valiantly his lot with Priam flung,<br /> +For love of a lost cause and a fair face,—<br /> + The eyes that once the God of Pytho sung,<br /> +That now look’d darkly to the slaughter-place.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>Now while the elders kept their long debate,<br /> + Coroebus stole unheeded to his band,<br /> +And led a handful by a postern gate<br /> + Across the plain, across the barren land<br /> + Where once the happy vines were wont to stand,<br /> +And ’mid the clusters once did maidens sing,—<br /> + But now the plain was waste on every hand,<br /> +Though here and there a flower would breathe of Spring.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>So swift across the trampled battle-field<br /> + Unchallenged still, but wary, did they pass,<br /> +By many a broken spear or shatter’d shield<br /> + That in Fate’s hour appointed faithless +was:<br /> + Only the heron cried from the morass<br /> +By Xanthus’ side, and ravens, and the grey<br /> + Wolves left their feasting in the tangled grass,<br +/> +Grudging; and loiter’d, nor fled far away.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>There lurk’d no spears in the high river-banks,<br /> + No ambush by the cairns of men outworn,<br /> +But empty stood the huts, in dismal ranks,<br /> + Where men through all these many years had borne<br +/> + Fierce summer, and the biting winter’s +scorn;<br /> +And here a sword was left, and there a bow,<br /> + But ruinous seem’d all things and forlorn,<br +/> +As in some camp forsaken long ago.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Gorged wolves crept round the altars, and did eat<br /> + The flesh of victims that the priests had slain,<br +/> +And wild dogs fought above the sacred meat<br /> + Late offer’d to the deathless Gods in vain,<br +/> + By men that, for reward of all their pain,<br /> +Must haul the ropes, and weary at the oar,<br /> + Or, drowning, clutch at foam amid the main,<br /> +Nor win their haven on the Argive shore.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Not long the young men marvell’d at the sight,<br /> + But grasping one a sword, and one the spear<br /> +Aias, or Tydeus’ son, had borne in fight,<br /> + They sped, and fill’d the town with merry +cheer,<br /> + For folk were quick the happy news to hear,<br /> +And pour’d through all the gates into the plain,<br /> + Rejoicing as they wander’d far and near,<br /> +O’er the long Argive toils endured in vain.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>Ah, sweet it was, without the city walls,<br /> + To hear the doves coo, and the finches sing;<br /> +Ah, sweet, to twine their true-loves coronals<br /> + Of woven wind-flowers, and each fragrant thing<br /> + That blossoms in the footsteps of the spring;<br /> +And sweet, to lie, forgetful of their grief,<br /> + Where violets trail by waters wandering,<br /> +And the wild fig-tree putteth forth his leaf!</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Now while they wander’d as they would, they found<br /> + A wondrous thing: a marvel of man’s skill,<br +/> +That stood within a vale of hollow ground,<br /> + And bulk’d scarce smaller than the +bitter-hill,—<br /> + The common barrow that the dead men fill<br /> +Who died in the long leaguer,—not of earth,<br /> + Was this new portent, but of tree, and still<br /> +The Trojans stood, and marvell’d ’mid their +mirth.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Ay, much they wonder’d what this thing might be,<br /> + Shaped like a Horse it was; and many a stain<br /> +There show’d upon the mighty beams of tree,<br /> + For some with fire were blacken’d, some with +rain<br /> + Were dank and dark amid white planks of plane,<br /> +New cut among the trees that now were few<br /> + On wasted Ida; but men gazed in vain,<br /> +Nor truth thereof for all their searching knew.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>At length they deem’d it was a sacred thing,<br /> + Vow’d to Poseidon, monarch of the deep,<br /> +And that herewith the Argives pray’d the King<br /> + Of wind and wave to lull the seas to sleep;<br /> + So this, they cried, within the sacred keep<br /> +Of Troy must rest, memorial of the war;<br /> + And sturdily they haled it up the steep,<br /> +And dragg’d the monster to their walls afar.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>All day they wrought: and children crown’d with +flowers<br /> + Laid light hands on the ropes; old men would ply<br +/> +Their feeble force; so through the merry hours<br /> + They toil’d, midst laughter and sweet +minstrelsy,<br /> + And late they drew the great Horse to the high<br /> +Crest of the hill, and wide the tall gates swang;<br /> + But thrice, for all their force, it stood thereby<br +/> +Unmoved, and thrice like smitten armour rang.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>Natheless they wrought their will; then altar fires<br /> + The Trojans built, and did the Gods implore<br /> +To grant fulfilment of all glad desires.<br /> + But from the cups the wine they might not pour,<br +/> + The flesh upon the spits did writhe and roar,<br /> +The smoke grew red as blood, and many a limb<br /> + Of victims leap’d upon the temple floor,<br /> +Trembling; and groans amid the chapels dim</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>Rang low, and from the fair Gods’ images<br /> + And from their eyes, dropp’d sweat and many a +tear;<br /> +The walls with blood were dripping, and on these<br /> + That sacrificed, came horror and great fear;<br /> + The holy laurels to Apollo dear<br /> +Beside his temple faded suddenly,<br /> + And wild wolves from the mountains drew anear,<br /> +And ravens through the temples seem’d to fly.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>Yet still the men of Troy were glad at heart,<br /> + And o’er strange meat they revell’d, +like folk fey,<br /> +Though each would shudder if he glanced apart,<br /> + For round their knees the mists were gather’d +grey,<br /> + Like shrouds on men that Hell-ward take their +way;<br /> +But merrily withal they feasted thus,<br /> + And laugh’d with crooked lips, and oft would +say<br /> +Some evil-sounding word and ominous.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>And Hecuba among her children spake,<br /> + “Let each man choose the meat he liketh +best,<br /> +For bread no more together shall we break.<br /> + Nay, soon from all my labour must I rest,<br /> + But eat ye well, and drink the red wine, lest<br /> +Ye blame my house-wifery among men dead.”<br /> + And all they took her saying for a jest,<br /> +And sweetly did they laugh at that she said.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Then, like a raven on the of night,<br /> + The wild Cassandra flitted far and near,<br /> +Still crying, “Gather, gather for the fight,<br /> + And brace the helmet on, and grasp the spear,<br /> + For lo, the legions of the Night are here!”<br +/> +So shriek’d the dreadful prophetess divine.<br /> + But all men mock’d, and were of merry +cheer;<br /> +Safe as the Gods they deem’d them, o’er their +wine.</p> +<p>XIX.</p> +<p>For now with minstrelsy the air was sweet,<br /> + The soft spring air, and thick with incense +smoke;<br /> +And bands of happy dancers down the street<br /> + Flew from the flower-crown’d doors, and +wheel’d, and broke;<br /> + And loving words the youths and maidens spoke,<br /> +For Aphrodite did their hearts beguile,<br /> + As when beneath grey cavern or green oak<br /> +The shepherd men and maidens meet and smile.</p> +<p>XX.</p> +<p>No guard they set, for truly to them all<br /> + Did Love and slumber seem exceeding good;<br /> +There was no watch by open gate nor wall,<br /> + No sentinel by Pallas’ image stood;<br /> + But silence grew, as in an autumn wood<br /> +When tempests die, and the vex’d boughs have ease,<br /> + And wind and sunlight fade, and soft the mood<br /> +Of sacred twilight falls upon the trees.</p> +<p>XXI.</p> +<p>Then the stars cross’d the zenith, and there came<br /> + On Troy that hour when slumber is most deep,<br /> +But any man that watch’d had seen a flame<br /> + Spring from the tall crest of the Trojan keep;<br /> + While from the belly of the Horse did leap<br /> +Men arm’d, and to the gates went stealthily,<br /> + While up the rocky way to Ilios creep<br /> +The Argives, new return’d across the sea.</p> +<p>XXII.</p> +<p>Now when the silence broke, and in that hour<br /> + When first the dawn of war was blazing red,<br /> +There came a light in Helen’s fragrant bower,<br /> + As on that evil night before she fled<br /> + From Lacedaemon and her marriage bed;<br /> +And Helen in great fear lay still and cold,<br /> + For Aphrodite stood above her head,<br /> +And spake in that sweet voice she knew of old:</p> +<p>XXIII.</p> +<p>“Beloved one that dost not love me, wake!<br /> + Helen, the night is over, the dawn is near,<br /> +And safely shalt thou fare with me, and take<br /> + Thy way through fire and blood, and have no fear:<br +/> + A little hour, and ended is the drear<br /> +Tale of thy sorrow and thy wandering.<br /> + Nay, long hast thou to live in happy cheer,<br /> +By fair Eurotas, with thy lord, the King.”</p> +<p>XXIV.</p> +<p>Then Helen rose, and in a cloud of gold,<br /> + Unseen amid the vapour of the fire,<br /> +Did Aphrodite veil her, fold on fold;<br /> + And through the darkness, thronged with faces +dire,<br /> + And o’er men’s bodies fallen in a +mire<br /> +Of new spilt blood and wine, the twain did go<br /> + Where Lust and Hate were mingled in desire,<br /> +And dreams and death were blended in one woe.</p> +<p>XXV.</p> +<p>Fire and the foe were masters now: the sky<br /> + Flared like the dawn of that last day of all,<br /> +When men for pity to the sea shall cry,<br /> + And vainly on the mountain tops shall call<br /> + To fall and end the horror in their fall;<br /> +And through the vapour dreadful things saw they,<br /> + The maidens leaping from the city wall,<br /> +The sleeping children murder’d where they lay.</p> +<p>XXVI.</p> +<p>Yea, cries like those that make the hills of Hell<br /> + Ring and re-echo, sounded through the night,<br /> +The screams of burning horses, and the yell<br /> + Of young men leaping naked into fight,<br /> + And shrill the women shriek’d, as in their +flight<br /> +Shriek the wild cranes, when overhead they spy<br /> + Between the dusky cloud-land and the bright<br /> +Blue air, an eagle stooping from the sky.</p> +<p>XXVII.</p> +<p>And now the red glare of the burning shone<br /> + On deeds so dire the pure Gods might not bear,<br /> +Save Ares only, long to look thereon,<br /> + But with a cloud they darken’d all the air.<br +/> + And, even then, within the temple fair<br /> +Of chaste Athene, did Cassandra cower,<br /> + And cried aloud an unavailing prayer;<br /> +For Aias was the master in that hour.</p> +<p>XXVIII.</p> +<p>Man’s lust won what a God’s love might not win,<br +/> + And heroes trembled, and the temple floor<br /> +Shook, when one cry went up into the din,<br /> + And shamed the night to silence; then the roar<br /> + Of war and fire wax’d great as heretofore,<br +/> +Till each roof fell, and every palace gate<br /> + Was shatter’d, and the King’s blood +shed; nor more<br /> +Remain’d to do, for Troy was desolate.</p> +<p>XXIX.</p> +<p>Then dawn drew near, and changed to clouds of rose<br /> + The dreadful smoke that clung to Ida’s +head;<br /> +But Ilios was ashes, and the foes<br /> + Had left the embers and the plunder’d dead;<br +/> + And down the steep they drove the prey, and sped<br +/> +Back to the swift ships, with a captive train,—<br /> + While Menelaus, slow, with drooping head,<br /> +Follow’d, like one lamenting, through the plain.</p> +<p>XXX.</p> +<p>Where death might seem the surest, by the gate<br /> + Of Priam, where the spears raged, and the tall<br /> +Towers on the foe were falling, sought he fate<br /> + To look on Helen once, and then to fall,<br /> + Nor see with living eyes the end of all,<br /> +What time the host their vengeance should fulfil,<br /> + And cast her from the cliff below the wall,<br /> +Or burn her body on the windy hill.</p> +<p>XXXI.</p> +<p>But Helen found he never, where the flame<br /> + Sprang to the roofs, and Helen ne’er he +found<br /> +Where flock’d the wretched women in their shame<br /> + The helpless altars of the Gods around,<br /> + Nor lurk’d she in deep chambers +underground,<br /> +Where the priests trembled o’er their hidden gold,<br /> + Nor where the armed feet of foes resound<br /> +In shrines to silence consecrate of old.</p> +<p>XXXII.</p> +<p>So wounded to his hut and wearily<br /> + Came Menelaus; and he bow’d his head<br /> +Beneath the lintel neither fair nor high;<br /> + And, lo! Queen Helen lay upon his bed,<br /> + Flush’d like a child in sleep, and +rosy-red,<br /> +And at his footstep did she wake and smile,<br /> + And spake: “My lord, how hath thy hunting +sped,<br /> +Methinks that I have slept a weary while!”</p> +<p>XXXIII.</p> +<p>For Aphrodite made the past unknown<br /> + To Helen, as of old, when in the dew<br /> +Of that fair dawn the net was round her thrown:<br /> + Nay, now no memory of Troy brake through<br /> + The mist that veil’d from her sweet eyes and +blue<br /> +The dreadful days and deeds all over-past,<br /> + And gladly did she greet her lord anew,<br /> +And gladly would her arms have round him cast.</p> +<p>XXXIV.</p> +<p>Then leap’d she up in terror, for he stood<br /> + Before her, like a lion of the wild,<br /> +His rusted armour all bestain’d with blood,<br /> + His mighty hands with blood of men defiled,<br /> + And strange was all she saw: the spears, the +piled<br /> +Raw skins of slaughter’d beasts with many a stain;<br /> + And low he spake, and bitterly he smiled,<br /> +“The hunt is ended, and the spoil is +ta’en.”</p> +<p>XXXV.</p> +<p>No more he spake; for certainly he deem’d<br /> + That Aphrodite brought her to that place,<br /> +And that of her loved archer Helen dream’d,<br /> + Of Paris; at that thought the mood of grace<br /> + Died in him, and he hated her fair face,<br /> +And bound her hard, not slacking for her tears;<br /> + Then silently departed for a space,<br /> +To seek the ruthless counsel of his peers.</p> +<p>XXXVI.</p> +<p>Now all the Kings were feasting in much joy,<br /> + Seated or couch’d upon the carpets fair<br /> +That late had strown the palace floors of Troy,<br /> + And lovely Trojan ladies served them there,<br /> + And meat from off the spits young princes bare;<br +/> +But Menelaus burst among them all,<br /> + Strange, ’mid their revelry, and did not +spare,<br /> +But bade the Kings a sudden council call.</p> +<p>XXXVII.</p> +<p>To mar their feast the Kings had little will,<br /> + Yet did they as he bade, in grudging wise,<br /> +And heralds call’d the host unto the hill<br /> + Heap’d of sharp stones, where ancient Ilus +lies.<br /> + And forth the people flock’d, as +throng’d as flies<br /> +That buzz about the milking-pails in spring,<br /> + When life awakens under April skies,<br /> +And birds from dawning into twilight sing.</p> +<p>XXXVIII.</p> +<p>Then Helen through the camp was driven and thrust,<br /> + Till even the Trojan women cried in glee,<br /> +“Ah, where is she in whom thou put’st thy trust,<br +/> + The Queen of love and laughter, where is she?<br /> + Behold the last gift that she giveth thee,<br /> +Thou of the many loves! to die alone,<br /> + And round thy flesh for robes of price to be<br /> +The cold close-clinging raiment of sharp stone.”</p> +<p>XXXIX.</p> +<p>Ah, slowly through that trodden field and bare<br /> + They pass’d, where scarce the daffodil might +spring,<br /> +For war had wasted all, but in the air<br /> + High overhead the mounting lark did sing;<br /> + Then all the army gather’d in a ring<br /> +Round Helen, round their torment, trapp’d at last,<br /> + And many took up mighty stones to fling<br /> +From shards and flints on Ilus’ barrow cast.</p> +<p>XL.</p> +<p>Then Menelaus to the people spoke,<br /> + And swift his wing’d words came as whirling +snow,<br /> +“Oh ye that overlong have borne the yoke,<br /> + Behold the very fountain of your woe!<br /> + For her ye left your dear homes long ago,<br /> +On Argive valley or Boeotian plain;<br /> + But now the black ships rot from stern to prow,<br +/> +Who knows if ye shall see your own again?</p> +<p>XLI.</p> +<p>“Ay, and if home ye win, ye yet may find,<br /> + Ye that the winds waft, and the waters bear<br /> +To Argos! ye are quite gone out of mind;<br /> + Your fathers, dear and old, dishonour’d +there;<br /> + Your children deem you dead, and will not share<br +/> +Their lands with you; on mainland or on isle,<br /> + Strange men are wooing now the women fair,<br /> +And love doth lightly woman’s heart beguile.</p> +<p>XLII.</p> +<p>“These sorrows hath this woman wrought alone:<br /> + So fall upon her straightway that she die,<br /> +And clothe her beauty in a cloak of stone!”<br /> + He spake, and truly deem’d to hear her cry<br +/> + And see the sharp flints straight and deadly fly;<br +/> +But each man stood and mused on Helen’s face,<br /> + And her undream’d-of beauty, brought so +nigh<br /> +On that bleak plain, within that ruin’d place.</p> +<p>LXIII.</p> +<p>And as in far off days that were to be,<br /> + The sense of their own sin did men constrain,<br /> +That they must leave the sinful woman free<br /> + Who, by their law, had verily been slain,<br /> + So Helen’s beauty made their anger vain,<br /> +And one by one his gather’d flints let fall;<br /> + And like men shamed they stole across the plain,<br +/> +Back to the swift ships and their festival.</p> +<p>XLIV.</p> +<p>But Menelaus look’d on her and said,<br /> + “Hath no man then condemn’d +thee,—is there none<br /> +To shed thy blood for all that thou hast shed,<br /> + To wreak on thee the wrongs that thou hast done.<br +/> + Nay, as mine own soul liveth, there is one<br /> +That will not set thy barren beauty free,<br /> + But slay thee to Poseidon and the Sun<br /> +Before a ship Achaian takes the sea!”</p> +<p>XLV.</p> +<p>Therewith he drew his sharp sword from his thigh<br /> + As one intent to slay her: but behold,<br /> +A sudden marvel shone across the sky!<br /> + A cloud of rosy fire, a flood of gold,<br /> + And Aphrodite came from forth the fold<br /> +Of wondrous mist, and sudden at her feet<br /> + Lotus and crocus on the trampled wold<br /> +Brake, and the slender hyacinth was sweet.</p> +<p>XLVI.</p> +<p>Then fell the point that never bloodless fell<br /> + When spear bit harness in the battle din,<br /> +For Aphrodite spake, and like a spell<br /> + Wrought her sweet voice persuasive, till within<br +/> + His heart there lived no memory of sin,<br /> +No thirst for vengeance more, but all grew plain,<br /> + And wrath was molten in desire to win<br /> +The golden heart of Helen once again.</p> +<p>XLVII.</p> +<p>Then Aphrodite vanish’d as the day<br /> + Passes, and leaves the darkling earth behind;<br /> +And overhead the April sky was grey,<br /> + But Helen’s arms about her lord were +twined,<br /> + And his round her as clingingly and kind,<br /> +As when sweet vines and ivy in the spring<br /> + Join their glad leaves, nor tempests may unbind<br +/> +The woven boughs, so lovingly they cling.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>XLVIII.<br /> + <br /> +Noon long was over-past, but sacred night<br /> + Beheld them not upon the Ilian shore;<br /> +Nay, for about the waning of the light<br /> + Their swift ships wander’d on the waters +hoar,<br /> + Nor stay’d they the Olympians to adore,<br /> +So eagerly they left that cursed land,<br /> + But many a toil, and tempests great and sore,<br /> +Befell them ere they won the Argive strand.</p> +<p>XLIX.</p> +<p>To Cyprus and Phoenicia wandering<br /> + They came, and many a ship, and many a man<br /> +They lost, and perish’d many a precious thing<br /> + While bare before the stormy North they ran,<br /> + And further far than when their quest began<br /> +From Argos did they seem,—a weary while,—<br /> + Becalm’d in sultry seas Egyptian,<br /> +A long day’s voyage from the mouths of Nile.</p> +<p>L.</p> +<p>But there the Gods had pity on them, and there<br /> + The ancient Proteus taught them how to flee<br /> +From that so distant deep,—the fowls of air<br /> + Scarce in one year can measure out that sea;<br /> + Yet first within Aegyptus must they be,<br /> +And hecatombs must offer,—quickly then<br /> + The Gods abated of their jealousy,<br /> +Wherewith they scourge the negligence of men.</p> +<p>LI.</p> +<p>And strong and fair the south wind blew, and fleet<br /> + Their voyaging, so merrily they fled<br /> +To win that haven where the waters sweet<br /> + Of clear Eurotas with the brine are wed,<br /> + And swift their chariots and their horses sped<br /> +To pleasant Lacedaemon, lying low<br /> + Grey in the shade of sunset, but the head<br /> +Of tall Taygetus like fire did glow.</p> +<p>LII.</p> +<p>And what but this is sweet: at last to win<br /> + The fields of home, that change not while we +change;<br /> +To hear the birds their ancient song begin;<br /> + To wander by the well-loved streams that range<br /> + Where not one pool, one moss-clad stone is +strange,<br /> +Nor seem we older than long years ago,<br /> + Though now beneath the grey roof of the grange<br /> +The children dwell of them we used to know?</p> +<p>LIII.</p> +<p>Came there no trouble in the later days<br /> + To mar the life of Helen, when the old<br /> +Crowns and dominions perish’d, and the blaze<br /> + Lit by returning Heraclidae roll’d<br /> + Through every vale and every happy fold<br /> +Of all the Argive land? Nay, peacefully<br /> + Did Menelaus and the Queen behold<br /> +The counted years of mortal life go by.</p> +<p>LIV.</p> +<p>“Death ends all tales,” but this he endeth not;<br +/> + They grew not grey within the valley fair<br /> +Of hollow Lacedaemon, but were brought<br /> + To Rhadamanthus of the golden hair,<br /> + Beyond the wide world’s end; ah never there<br +/> +Comes storm nor snow; all grief is left behind,<br /> + And men immortal, in enchanted air,<br /> +Breathe the cool current of the Western wind.</p> +<p>LV.</p> +<p>But Helen was a Saint in Heathendom,<br /> + A kinder Aphrodite; without fear<br /> +Maidens and lovers to her shrine would come<br /> + In fair Therapnae, by the waters clear<br /> + Of swift Eurotas; gently did she hear<br /> +All prayers of love, and not unheeded came<br /> + The broken supplication, and the tear<br /> +Of man or maiden overweigh’d with shame.</p> +<p><br /> +O’er Helen’s shrine the grass is growing green,<br /> + In desolate Therapnae; none the less<br /> +Her sweet face now unworshipp’d and unseen<br /> + Abides the symbol of all loveliness,<br /> + Of Beauty ever stainless in the stress<br /> +Of warring lusts and fears;—and still divine,<br /> + Still ready with immortal peace to bless<br /> +Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine.</p> +<h2>NOTE</h2> +<p>[In this story in rhyme of the fortunes of Helen, the theory +that she was an unwilling victim of the Gods has been +preferred. Many of the descriptions of manners are +versified from the Iliad and the Odyssey. The description +of the events after the death of Hector, and the account of the +sack of Troy, is chiefly borrowed from Quintus Smyrnaeus.]</p> +<p>The character and history of Helen of Troy have been conceived +of in very different ways by poets and mythologists. In +attempting to trace the chief current of ancient traditions about +Helen, we cannot really get further back than the Homeric poems, +the Iliad and Odyssey. Philological conjecture may assure +us that Helen, like most of the characters of old romance, is +“merely the Dawn,” or Light, or some other bright +being carried away by Paris, who represents Night, or Winter, or +the Cloud, or some other power of darkness. Without +discussing these ideas, it may be said that the Greek poets (at +all events before allegorical explanations of mythology came in, +about five hundred years before Christ) regarded Helen simply as +a woman of wonderful beauty. Homer was not thinking of the +Dawn, or the Cloud when he described Helen among the Elders on +the Ilian walls, or repeated her lament over the dead body of +Hector. The Homeric poems are our oldest literary documents +about Helen, but it is probable enough that the poet has modified +and purified more ancient traditions which still survive in +various fragments of Greek legend. In Homer Helen is always +the daughter of Zeus. Isocrates tells us +(“Helena,” 211 b) that “while many of the +demigods were children of Zeus, he thought the paternity of none +of his daughters worth claiming, save that of Helen +only.” In Homer, then, Helen is the daughter of Zeus, +but Homer says nothing of the famous legend which makes Zeus +assume the form of a swan to woo the mother of Helen. +Unhomeric as this myth is, we may regard it as extremely +ancient. Very similar tales of pursuit and metamorphosis, +for amatory or other purposes, among the old legends of Wales, +and in the “Arabian Nights,” as well as in the myths +of Australians and Red Indians. Again, the belief that +different families of mankind descend from animals, as from the +Swan, or from gods in the shape of animals, is found in every +quarter of the world, and among the rudest races. Many +Australian natives of to-day claim descent, like the royal house +of Sparta, from the Swan. The Greek myths hesitated as to +whether Nemesis or Leda was the bride of the Swan. Homer +only mentions Leda among “the wives and daughters of mighty +men,” whose ghosts Odysseus beheld in Hades: “And I +saw Leda, the famous bedfellow of Tyndareus, who bare to +Tyndareus two sons, hardy of heart, Castor, tamer of steeds, and +the boxer Polydeuces.” These heroes Helen, in the +Iliad (iii. 238), describes as her mother’s sons. +Thus, if Homer has any distinct view on the subject, he holds +that Leda is the mother of Helen by Zeus, of the Dioscuri by +Tyndareus.</p> +<p>Greek ideas as to the character of Helen varied with the +various moods of Greek literature. Homer’s own ideas +about his heroine are probably best expressed in the words with +which Priam greets her as she appears among the assembled elders, +who are watching the Argive heroes from the wall of +Troy:—“In nowise, dear child, do I blame thee; nay, +the Gods are to blame, who have roused against me the woful war +of the Achaeans.” Homer, like Priam, throws the guilt +of Helen on the Gods, but it is not very easy to understand +exactly what he means by saying “the Gods are to +blame.” In the first place, Homer avoids the +psychological problems in which modern poetry revels, by +attributing almost all changes of the moods of men to divine +inspiration. Thus when Achilles, in a famous passage of the +first book of the Iliad, puts up his half-drawn sword in the +sheath, and does not slay Agamemnon, Homer assigns his repentance +to the direct influence of Athene. Again, he says in the +Odyssey, about Clytemnestra, that “she would none of the +foul deed;” that is of the love of Aegisthus, till +“the doom of the Gods bound her to her ruin.” +So far the same excuse is made for the murderous Clytemnestra as +for the amiable Helen. Again, Homer is, in the strictest +sense, and in strong contrast to the Greek tragedians and to +Virgil, a chivalrous poet. It would probably be impossible +to find a passage in which he speaks harshly or censoriously of +the conduct of any fair and noble lady. The sordid +treachery of Eriphyle, who sold her lord for gold, wins for her +the epithet “hateful;” and Achilles, in a moment of +strong grief, applies a term of abhorrence to Helen. But +Homer is too chivalrous to judge the life of any lady, and only +shows the other side of the chivalrous character—its +cruelty to persons not of noble birth—in describing the +“foul death” of the waiting women of Penelope. +“God forbid that I should take these women’s lives by +a clean death,” says Telemachus (Odyssey, xxii. 462). +So “about all their necks nooses were cast that they might +die by the death most pitiful. And they writhed with their +feet for a little space, but for no long while.” In +trying to understand Homer’s estimate of Helen, therefore, +we must make allowance for his theory of divine intervention, and +for his chivalrous judgment of ladies. But there are two +passages in the Iliad which may be taken as indicating +Homer’s opinion that Helen was literally a victim, an +unwilling victim, of Aphrodite, and that she was carried away by +force a captive from Lacedaemon. These passages are in the +Iliad, ii. 356, 590. In the former text Nestor says, +“let none be eager to return home ere he has couched with a +Trojan’s wife, and <i>avenged the longings and sorrows of +Helen</i>”—τίσσθαι +δΈλένης +ορμηματα τε +στοναχας +τε. It is thus that Mr. Gladstone, a notable +champion of Helen’s, would render this passage, and the +same interpretation was favoured by the ancient +“Separatists” (Chorizontes), who wished to prove that +the Iliad and Odyssey were by different authors; but many +authorities prefer to translate “to avenge our labours and +sorrows for Helen’s sake”—“to avenge all +that we have endured in the attempt to win back +Helen.” Thus the evidence of this passage is +ambiguous. The fairer way to seek for Homer’s real +view of Helen is to examine all the passages in which she +occurs. The result will be something like this:—Homer +sees in Helen a being of the rarest personal charm and grace of +character; a woman who imputes to herself guilt much greater than +the real measure of her offence. She is ever gentle except +with the Goddess who betrayed her, and the unworthy lover whose +lot she is compelled to share. Against them her helpless +anger breaks out in flashes of eloquent scorn. Homer was +apparently acquainted with the myth of Helen’s capture by +Theseus, a myth illustrated in the decorations of the coffer of +Cypselus. But we first see Helen, the cause of the war, +when Menelaus and Paris are about to fight their duel for her +sake, in the tenth year of the Leaguer (Iliad, iii. 121). +Iris is sent to summon Helen to the walls. She finds Helen +in her chamber, weaving at a mighty loom, and embroidering on +tapestry the adventures of the siege—the battles of +horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans. The message +of Iris renews in Helen’s heart “a sweet desire for +her lord and her own city, and them that begat her;” so, +draped in silvery white, Helen goes with her three maidens to the +walls. There, above the gate, like some king in the Old +Testament, Paris sits among his counsellors, and they are all +amazed at Helen’s beauty; “no marvel is it that +Trojans and Achaeans suffer long and weary toils for such a +woman, so wondrous like to the immortal goddesses.” +Then Priam, assuring Helen that he holds her blameless, bids her +name to him her kinsfolk and the other Achaean warriors. In +her reply, Helen displays that grace of penitence which is +certainly not often found in ancient +literature:—“Would that evil death had been my +choice, when I followed thy son, and left my bridal bower and my +kin, and my daughter dear, and the maidens of like age with +me.” Agamemnon she calls, “the husband’s +brother of me shameless; alas, that such an one should +be.” She names many of the warriors, but misses her +brothers Castor and Polydeuces, “own brothers of mine, one +mother bare us. Either they followed not from pleasant +Lacedaemon, or hither they followed in swift ships, but now they +have no heart to go down into the battle for dread of the shame +and many reproaches that are mine.”</p> +<p>“So spake she, but already the life-giving earth did +cover them, there in Lacedaemon, in their own dear +country.”</p> +<p>Menelaus and Paris fought out their duel, the Trojan was +discomfited, but was rescued from death and carried to +Helen’s bower by Aphrodite. Then the Goddess came in +disguise to seek Helen on the wall, and force her back into the +arms of her defeated lover. Helen turned on the Goddess +with an abruptness and a force of sarcasm and invective which +seem quite foreign to her gentle nature. “Wilt thou +take me further yet to some city of Phrygia or pleasant Maeonia, +if there any man is dear to thee . . . Nay, go thyself and sit +down by Paris, and forswear the paths of the Gods, but ever +lament for him and cherish him, till he make thee his wife, yea, +or perchance his slave, but to him will I never go.” +But this anger of Helen is soon overcome by fear, when the +Goddess, in turn, waxes wrathful, and Helen is literally driven +by threats—“for the daughter of Zeus was +afraid,”—into the arms of Paris. Yet even so +she taunts her lover with his cowardice, a cowardice which she +never really condones. In the sixth book of the Iliad she +has been urging him to return to the war. She then +expresses her penitence to Hector, “would that the fury of +the wind had borne me afar to the mountains, or the wave of the +roaring sea—ere ever these ill deeds were +done!” In this passage too, she prophesies that her +fortunes will be +αοίδιμοι +εσσομένοισι +famous in the songs, good or evil, of men unborn. In the +last book of the Iliad we meet Helen once more, as she laments +over the dead body of Hector. “‘Never, in all +the twenty years since I came hither, have I heard from thee one +taunt or one evil word: nay, but if any other rebuked me in the +halls, any one of my husband’s brothers, or of their +sisters, or their wives, or the mother of my husband (but the +king was ever gentle to me as a father), then wouldst thou +restrain them with thy loving kindness and thy gentle +speech.’ So spake she; weeping.”</p> +<p>In the Odyssey, Helen is once more in Lacedaemon, the honoured +but still penitent wife of Menelaus. How they became +reconciled (an extremely difficult point in the story), there is +nothing in Homer to tell us.</p> +<p>Sir John Lubbock has conjectured that in the morals of the +heroic age Helen was not really regarded as guilty. She was +lawfully married, by “capture,” to Paris. +Unfortunately for this theory there is abundant proof that, in +the heroic age, wives were nominally <i>bought</i> for so many +cattle, or given as a reward for great services. There is +no sign of marriage by capture, and, again, marriage by capture +is a savage institution which applies to unmarried women, not to +women already wedded, as Helen was to Menelaus. Perhaps the +oldest evidence we have for opinion about the later relations of +Helen and Menelaus, is derived from Pausanias’s (174. <span +class="smcap">a.d.</span>) description of the Chest of +Cypselus. This ancient coffer, a work of the seventh +century, <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, was still preserved at +Olympia, in the time of Pausanias. On one of the bands of +cedar or of ivory, was represented (Pausanias, v. 18), +“Menelaus with a sword in his hand, rushing on to kill +Helen—clearly at the sacking of Ilios.” How +Menelaus passed from a desire to kill Helen to his absolute +complacency in the Odyssey, Homer does not tell us. +According to a statement attributed to Stesichorus (635, 554, +<span class="smcap">b.c.</span>?), the army of the Achaeans +purposed to stone Helen, but was overawed and compelled to relent +by her extraordinary beauty: “when they beheld her, they +cast down their stones on the ground.” It may be +conjectured that the reconciliation followed this futile attempt +at punishing a daughter of Zeus. Homer, then, leaves us +without information about the adventures of Helen, between the +sack of Tiny and the reconciliation with Menelaus. He hints +that she was married to Deiphobus, after the death of Paris, and +alludes to the tradition that she mimicked the voices of the +wives of the heroes, and so nearly tempted them to leave their +ambush in the wooden horse. But in the fourth book of the +Odyssey, when Telemachus visits Lacedaemon, he finds Helen the +honoured wife of Menelaus, rich in the marvellous gifts bestowed +on her, in her wanderings from Troy, by the princes of Egypt.</p> +<p>“While yet he pondered these things in his mind and in +his heart, Helen came forth from her fragrant vaulted chamber, +like Artemis of the golden arrows; and with her came Adraste and +set for her the well-wrought chair, and Alcippe bare a rug of +soft wool, and Phylo bare a silver basket which Alcandre gave +her, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt in Thebes of Egypt, where is +the chiefest store of wealth in the houses. He gave two +silver baths to Menelaus, and tripods twain, and ten talents of +gold. And besides all this, his wife bestowed on Helen +lovely gifts; a golden distaff did she give, and a silver basket +with wheels beneath, and the rims thereof were finished with +gold. This it was that the handmaid Phylo bare and set +beside her, filled with dressed yarn, and across it was laid a +distaff charged with wool of violet blue. So Helen sat her +down in the chair, and beneath was a footstool for the +feet.”</p> +<p>When the host and guests begin to weep the ready tears of the +heroic age over the sorrows of the past, and dread of the dim +future, Helen comforts them with a magical potion.</p> +<p>“Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new +thoughts. Presently she cast a drug into the wine whereof +they drank, a drug to lull all pain and anger, and bring +forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should drink a draught +thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day he would let +no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and his +father died, not though men slew his brother or dear son with the +sword before his face, and his own eyes beheld it. +Medicines of such virtue and so helpful had the daughter of Zeus, +which Polydamna, the wife of Thon, had given her, a woman of +Egypt, where Earth the grain-giver yields herbs in greatest +plenty, many that are healing in the cup, and many +baneful.”</p> +<p>So Telemachus was kindly entertained by Helen and Menelaus, +and when he left them it was not without a gift.</p> +<p>“And Helen stood by the coffers wherein were her robes +of curious needlework which she herself had wrought. Then +Helen, the fair lady, lifted one and brought it out, the widest +and most beautifully embroidered of all, and it shone like a +star, and lay far beneath the rest.”</p> +<p>Presently, we read, “Helen of the fair face came up with +the robe in her hands, and spake: ‘Lo! I too give +thee this gift, dear child, a memorial of the hands of Helen, for +thy bride to wear upon the day of thy desire, even of thy +marriage. But meanwhile let it lie with thy mother in her +chamber. And may joy go with thee to thy well-builded +house, and thine own country.’”</p> +<p>Helen’s last words, in Homer, are words of good omen, +her prophecy to Telemachus that Odysseus shall return home after +long wanderings, and take vengeance on the rovers. We see +Helen no more, but Homer does not leave us in doubt as to her +later fortunes. He quotes the prophecy which Proteus, the +ancient one of the sea, delivered to Menelaus:—</p> +<p>“But thou, Menelaus, son of Zeus, art not ordained to +die and meet thy fate in Argos, the pasture-land of horses, but +the deathless gods will convey thee to the Elysian plain and the +world’s end, where is Rhadamanthus of the fair hair, where +life is easiest for men. No snow is there, nor yet great +storm, nor any rain; but alway ocean sendeth forth the breeze of +the shrill West to blow cool on men: yea, for thou hast Helen to +wife, and thereby they deem thee to be son of Zeus.”</p> +<p>We must believe, with Isocrates, that Helen was translated, +with her lord, to that field of Elysium, “where falls not +hail, or rain, or any snow.” This version of the end +of Helen’s history we have adopted, but many other legends +were known in Greece. Pausanias tells us that, in a battle +between the Crotoniats and the Locrians, one Leonymus charged the +empty space in the Locrian line, which was entrusted to the care +of the ghost of Aias. Leonymus was wounded by the invisible +spear of the hero, and could not be healed of the hurt. The +Delphian oracle bade him seek the Isle of Leuke in the Euxine +Sea, where Aias would appear to him, and heal him. When +Leonymus returned from Leuke he told how Achilles dwelt there +with his ancient comrades, and how he was now wedded to Helen of +Troy. Yet the local tradition of Lacedaemon showed the +sepulchre of Helen in Therapnae. According to a Rhodian +legend (adopted by the author of the “Epic of +Hades”), Helen was banished from Sparta by the sons of +Menelaus, came wandering to Rhodes, and was there strangled by +the servants of the queen Polyxo, who thus avenged the death of +her husband at Troy. It is certain, as we learn both from +Herodotus (vi. 61) and from Isocrates, that Helen was worshipped +in Therapnae. In the days of Ariston the king, a deformed +child was daily brought by her nurse to the shrine of +Helen. And it is said that, as the nurse was leaving the +shrine, a woman appeared unto her, and asked what she bore in her +arms, who said, “she bore a child.” Then the +woman said, “show it to me,” which the nurse refused, +for the parents of the child had forbidden that she should be +seen of any. But the woman straitly commanding that the +child should be shown, and the other beholding her eagerness, at +length the nurse showed the child, and the woman caressed its +face and said, “she shall be the fairest woman in +Sparta.” And from that day the fashion of its +countenance was changed, “and the child became the fairest +of all the Spartan women.”</p> +<p>It is a characteristic of Greek literature that, with the rise +of democracy, the old epic conception of the ancient heroes +altered. We can scarcely recognize the Odysseus of Homer in +the Odysseus of Sophocles. The kings are regarded by the +tragedians with some of the distrust and hatred which the +unconstitutional tyrants of Athens had aroused. Just as the +later <i>chansons de geste</i> of France, the poems written in an +age of feudal opposition to central authority, degraded heroes +like Charles, so rhetorical, republican, and sophistical Greece +put its quibbles into the lips of Agamemnon and Helen, and +slandered the stainless and fearless Patroclus and Achilles.</p> +<p>The Helen of Euripides, in the “Troades,” is a +pettifogging sophist, who pleads her cause to Menelaus with +rhetorical artifice. In the “Helena,” again, +Euripides quite deserts the Homeric traditions, and adopts the +late myths which denied that Helen ever went to Troy. She +remained in Egypt, and Achaeans and Trojans fought for a mere +shadow, formed by the Gods out of clouds and wind. In the +“Cyclops” of Euripides, a satirical drama, the +cynical giant is allowed to speak of Helen in a strain of coarse +banter. Perhaps the essay of Isocrates on Helen may be +regarded as a kind of answer to the attacks of several speakers +in the works of the tragedians. Isocrates defends Helen +simply on the plea of her beauty: “To Heracles Zeus gave +strength, to Helen beauty, which naturally rules over even +strength itself.” Beauty, he declares, the Gods +themselves consider the noblest thing in the world, as the +Goddesses showed when they contended for the prize of +loveliness. And so marvellous, says Isocrates, was the +beauty of Helen, that for her glory Zeus did not spare his +beloved son, Sarpedon; and Thetis saw Achilles die, and the Dawn +bewailed her Memnon. “Beauty has raised more mortals +to immortality than all the other virtues together.” +And that Helen is now a Goddess, Isocrates proves by the fact +that the sacrifices offered to her in Therapnae, are such as are +given, not to heroes, but to immortal Gods.</p> +<p>When Rome took up the legends of Greece, she did so in no +chivalrous spirit. Few poets are less chivalrous than +Virgil; no hero has less of chivalry than his pious and tearful +Aeneas. In the second book of the Aeneid, the pious one +finds Helen hiding in the shrine of Vesta, and determines to slay +“the common curse of Troy and of her own +country.” There is no glory, he admits, in murdering +a woman:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Extinxisse nefas tamen et sumpsisse merentis<br /> +Laudabor poenas, animumqne explesse juvabit<br /> +Ultricis flammae, et cineres satiasse meorum.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But Venus appears and rescues the unworthy lover of Dido from +the crowning infamy which he contemplates. Hundreds of +years later, Helen found a worthier poet in Quintus Smyrnaeus, +who in a late age sang the swan-song of Greek epic +minstrelsy. It is thus that (in the fourth century <span +class="smcap">a.d.</span>) Quintus describes Helen, as she is led +with the captive women of Ilios, to the ships of the +Achaeans:—“Now Helen lamented not, but shame dwelt in +her dark eyes, and reddened her lovely cheeks, . . . while around +her the people marvelled as they beheld the flawless grace and +winsome beauty of the woman, and none dared upbraid her with +secret taunt or open rebuke. Nay, as she had been a Goddess +they beheld her gladly, for dear and desired was she in their +sight. And as when their own country appeareth to men long +wandering on the sea, and they, being escaped from death and the +deep, gladly put forth their hands to greet their own native +place; even so all the Danaans were glad at the sight of her, and +had no more memory of all their woful toil, and the din of war: +such a spirit did Cytherea put into their hearts, out of favour +to fair Helen and father Zeus.” Thus Quintus makes +amends for the trivial verses in which Coluthus describes the +flight of a frivolous Helen with an effeminate Paris.</p> +<p>To follow the fortunes of Helen through the middle ages would +demand much space and considerable research. The poets who +read Dares Phrygius believed, with the scholar of Dr. Faustus, +that “Helen of Greece was the admirablest lady that ever +lived.” When English poetry first found the secret of +perfect music, her sweetest numbers were offered by Marlowe at +the shrine of Helen. The speech of Faustus is almost too +hackneyed to be quoted, and altogether too beautiful to be +omitted:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Was this the face that launched a thousand +ships,<br /> +And burnt the topless towers of Ilium!<br /> +Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.<br /> +Her lips suck forth my soul! see where it flies;<br /> +Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again;<br /> +Here will I dwell, for heaven is in those lips,<br /> +And all is dross that is not Helena.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Oh thou art fairer than the evening air<br /> +Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The loves of Faustus and Helen are readily allegorized into +the passion of the Renaissance for classical beauty, the passion +to which all that is not beauty seemed very dross. This is +the idea of the second part of “Faust,” in which +Helen once more became, as she prophesied in the Iliad, a song in +the mouths of later men. Almost her latest apparition in +English poetry, is in the “Hellenics” of +Landor. The sweetness of the character of Helen; the +tragedy of the death of Corythus by the hand of his father Paris; +and the omnipotence of beauty and charm which triumph over the +wrath of Menelaus, are the subjects of Landor’s +verse. But Helen, as a woman, has hardly found a nobler +praise, in three thousand years, than Helen, as a child, has +received from Mr. Swinburne in “Atalanta in +Calydon.” Meleager is the speaker:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Even such (for sailing hither I saw far hence,<br +/> +And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock<br /> +Nigh Sparta, with a strenuous-hearted stream)<br /> +Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white,<br /> +The little Helen, and less fair than she<br /> +Fair Clytemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns<br /> +Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles,<br /> +As one smitten with love or wrung with joy,<br /> +She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then<br /> +Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too,<br /> +And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks naught,<br /> +But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her<br /> +Laughing, so fare they, as in their bloomless bud<br /> +And full of unblown life, the blood of gods.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There is all the irony of Fate in Althaeas’ reply</p> +<blockquote><p>Sweet days befall them and good loves and +lords,<br /> +Tender and temperate honours of the hearths,<br /> +Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3229-h.htm or 3229-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/2/3229 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Helen of Troy + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: October 15, 2007 [eBook #3229] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1882 George Bell and Sons edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +HELEN OF TROY + + +BY + +A. LANG + +LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS +YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN +1882 + +CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, +CHANCERY LANE. + + "Le joyeulx temps passe souloit estre occasion que je faisoie de + plaisants diz et gracieuses chanconnetes et ballades. Mais je me suis + mis a faire cette traittie d'affliction contre ma droite nature . . . + et suis content de l'avoir prinse, car mes douleurs me semblent en + estre allegees."--_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. + + + + +BOOK I--THE COMING OF PARIS + + +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. + + + + +BOOK II--THE SPELL OF APHRODITE + + +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-winged 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 throned 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 Helle 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. + + + + +BOOK III--THE FLIGHT OF HELEN + + +The flight of Helen and Paris from Lacedaemon, and of what things befell +them in their voyaging, and how they came to Troy. + +I. + +The grey Dawn's daughter, rosy Morn awoke + In old Tithonus' arms, and suddenly +Let harness her swift steeds beneath the yoke, + And drave her shining chariot through the sky. + Then men might see the flocks of Thunder fly, +All gold and rose, the azure pastures through, + What time the lark was carolling on high +Above the gardens drench'd with rainy dew. + +II. + +But Aphrodite sent a slumber deep + On all in the King's palace, young and old, +And one by one the women fell asleep,-- + Their lamentable tales left half untold,-- + Before the dawn, when folk wax weak and cold, +But Helen waken'd with the shining morn, + Forgetting quite her sorrows manifold, +And light of heart as was the day new-born. + +III. + +She had no memory of unhappy things, + She knew not of the evil days to come, +Forgotten were her ancient wanderings, + And as Lethaean waters wholly numb + The sense of spirits in Elysium, +That no remembrance may their bliss alloy, + Even so the rumour of her days was dumb, +And all her heart was ready for new joy. + +IV. + +The young day knows not of an elder dawn, + Joys of old noons, old sorrows of the night, +And so from Helen was the past withdrawn, + Her lord, her child, her home forgotten quite, + Lost in the marvel of a new delight: +She was as one who knows he shall not die, + When earthly colours melt into the bright +Pure splendour of his immortality. + +V. + +Then Helen rose, and all her body fair + She bath'd in the spring water, pure and cold, +And with her hand bound up her shining hair + And clothed her in the raiment that of old + Athene wrought with marvels manifold, +A bridal gift from an immortal hand, + And all the front was clasp'd with clasps of gold, +And for the girdle was a golden band. + +VI. + +Next from her upper chamber silently + Went Helen, moving like a morning dream. +She did not know the golden roof, the high + Walls, and the shields that on the pillars gleam, + Only she heard the murmur of the stream +That waters all the garden's wide expanse, + This song, and cry of singing birds, did seem +To guide her feet as music guides the dance. + +VII. + +The music drew her on to the glad air + From forth the chamber of enchanted death, +And lo! the world was waking everywhere; + The wind went by, a cool delicious breath, + Like that which in the gardens wandereth, +The golden gardens of the Hesperides, + And in its song unheard of things it saith, +The myriad marvels of the fairy seas. + +VIII. + +So through the courtyard to the garden close + Went Helen, where she heard the murmuring +Of water 'twixt the lily and the rose; + For thereby doth a double fountain spring. + To one stream do the women pitchers bring +By Menelaus' gates, at close of day; + The other through the close doth shine and sing, +Then to the swift Eurotas fleets away. + +IX. + +And Helen sat her down upon the grass, + And pluck'd the little daisies white and red, +And toss'd them where the running waters pass, + To watch them racing from the fountain-head, + And whirl'd about where little streams dispread; +And still with merry birds the garden rang, + And, _marry_, _marry_, in their song they said, +Or so do maids interpret that they sang. + +X. + +Then stoop'd she down, and watch'd the crystal stream, + And fishes poising where the waters ran, +And lo! upon the glass a golden gleam, + And purple as of robes Sidonian, + Then, sudden turning, she beheld a man, +That knelt beside her; as her own face fair + Was his, and o'er his shoulders for a span +Fell the bright tresses of his yellow hair. + +XI. + +Then either look'd on other with amaze + As each had seen a God; for no long while +They marvell'd, but as in the first of days, + The first of men and maids did meet and smile, + And Aphrodite did their hearts beguile, +So hands met hands, lips lips, with no word said + Were they enchanted 'neath that leafy aisle, +And silently were woo'd, betroth'd, and wed. + +XII. + +Ah, slowly did their silence wake to words + That scarce had more of meaning than the song +Pour'd forth of the innumerable birds + That fill the palace gardens all day long; + So innocent, so ignorant of wrong, +Was she, so happy each in other's eyes, + Thus wrought the mighty Goddess that is strong, +Even to make naught the wisdom of the wise. + +XIII. + +Now in the midst of that enchanted place + Right gladly had they linger'd all day through, +And fed their love upon each other's face, + But Aphrodite had a counsel new, + And silently to Paris' side she drew, +In guise of Aethra, whispering that the day + Pass'd on, while his ship waited, and his crew +Impatient, in the narrow Gythian bay. + +XIV. + +For thither had she brought them by her skill; + But Helen saw her not,--nay, who can see +A Goddess come or go against her will? + Then Paris whisper'd, "Come, ah, Love, with me! + Come to a shore beyond the barren sea; +There doth the bridal crown await thy head, + And there shall all the land be glad of thee!" +Then, like a child, she follow'd where he led. + +XV. + +For, like a child's her gentle heart was glad. + So through the courtyard pass'd they to the gate; +And even there, as Aphrodite bade, + The steeds of Paris and the chariots wait; + Then to the well-wrought car he led her straight, +And grasped the shining whip and golden rein, + And swift they drave until the day was late +By clear Eurotas through the fruitful plain. + +XVI. + +But now within the halls the magic sleep + Was broken, and men sought them everywhere; +Yet Aphrodite cast a cloud so deep + About their chariot none might see them there. + And strangely did they hear the trumpets blare, +And noise of racing wheels; yet saw they nought: + Then died the sounds upon the distant air, +And safe they won the haven that they sought. + +XVII. + +Beneath a grassy cliff, beneath the down, + Where swift Eurotas mingles with the sea, +There climb'd the grey walls of a little town, + The sleepy waters wash'd it languidly, + For tempests in that haven might not be. +The isle across the inlet guarded all, + And the shrill winds that roam the ocean free +Broke and were broken on the rocky wall. + +XVIII. + +Then Paris did a point of hunting blow, + Nor yet the sound had died upon the hill +When round the isle they spied a scarlet prow, + And oars that flash'd into that haven still, + The oarsmen bending forward with a will, +And swift their black ship to the haven-side + They brought, and steer'd her in with goodly skill, +And bare on board the strange Achaean bride. + +XIX. + +Now while the swift ship through the waters clave, + All happy things that in the waters dwell, +Arose and gamboll'd on the glassy wave, + And Nereus led them with his sounding shell: + Yea, the sea-nymphs, their dances weaving well, +In the green water gave them greeting free. + Ah, long light linger'd, late the darkness fell, +That night, upon the isle of Cranae! + +XX. + +And Hymen shook his fragrant torch on high, + Till all its waves of smoke and tongues of flame, +Like clouds of rosy gold fulfill'd the sky; + And all the Nereids from the waters came, + Each maiden with a musical sweet name; +Doris, and Doto, and Amphithoe; + And their shrill bridal song of love and shame +Made music in the silence of the sea. + +XXI. + +For this was like that night of summer weather, + When mortal men and maidens without fear, +And forest-nymphs, and forest-gods together, + Do worship Pan in the long twilight clear. + And Artemis this one night spares the deer, +And every cave and dell, and every grove + Is glad with singing soft and happy cheer, +With laughter, and with dalliance, and with love. + +* * * * * + +XXII. + +Now when the golden-throned Dawn arose + To waken gods and mortals out of sleep, +Queen Aphrodite sent the wind that blows + From fairy gardens of the Western deep. + The sails are spread, the oars of Paris leap +Past many a headland, many a haunted fane: + And, merrily all from isle to isle they sweep +O'er the wet ways across the barren plain. + +XXIII. + +By many an island fort, and many a haven + They sped, and many a crowded arsenal: +They saw the loves of Gods and men engraven + On friezes of Astarte's temple wall. + They heard that ancient shepherd Proteus call +His flock from forth the green and tumbling lea, + And saw white Thetis with her maidens all +Sweep up to high Olympus from the sea. + +XXIV. + +They saw the vain and weary toil of men, + The ships that win the rich man all he craves; +They pass'd the red-prow'd barks Egyptian, + And heard afar the moaning of the slaves + Pent in the dark hot hold beneath the waves; +And scatheless the Sardanian fleets among + They sail'd; by men that sow the sea with graves, +Bearing black fate to folk of alien tongue. + +XXV. + +Then all day long a rolling cloud of smoke + Would hang on the sea-limits, faint and far, +But through the night the beacon-flame upbroke + From some rich island-town begirt with war; + And all these things could neither make nor mar +The joy of lovers wandering, but they + Sped happily, and heedless of the star +That hung o'er their glad haven, far away. + +XXVI. + +The fisher-sentinel upon the height + Watch'd them with vacant eyes, and little knew +They bore the fate of Troy; to him the bright + Plashed waters, with the silver shining through + When tunny shoals came cruising in the blue, +Was more than Love that doth the world unmake; + And listless gazed he as the gulls that flew +And shriek'd and chatter'd in the vessel's wake. + +XXVII. + +So the wind drave them, and the waters bare + Across the great green plain unharvested, +Till through an after-glow they knew the fair + Faint rose of snow on distant Ida's head. + And swifter then the joyous oarsmen sped; +But night was ended, and the waves were fire + Beneath the fleet feet of a dawning red +Or ere they won the land of their desire. + +XXVIII. + +Now when the folk about the haven knew + The scarlet prow of Paris, swift they ran +And the good ship within the haven drew, + And merrily their welcoming began. + But none the face of Helen dared to scan; +Their bold eyes fell before they had their fill, + For all men deem'd her that Idalian +Who loved Anchises on the lonely hill. + +XXIX. + +But when her sweet smile and her gentleness + And her kind speech had won them from dismay, +They changed their minds, and 'gan the Gods to bless + Who brought to Ilios that happy day. + And all the folk fair Helen must convey, +Crown'd like a bride, and clad with flame-hued pall, + Through the rich plain, along the water-way +Right to the great gates of the Ilian wall. + +XXX. + +And through the vines they pass'd, where old and young + Had no more heed of the glad vintaging, +But all unpluck'd the purple clusters hung, + Nor more of Linus did the minstrel sing, + For he and all the folk were following, +Wine-stain'd and garlanded, in merry bands, + Like men when Dionysus came as king, +And led his revel from the sun-burnt lands, + +XXXI. + +So from afar the music and the shout + Roll'd up to Ilios and the Scaean gate, +And at the sound the city folk came out + And bore sweet Helen--such a fairy weight + As none might deem the burden of Troy's fate-- +Across the threshold of the town, and all + Flock'd with her, where King Priam sat in state, +Girt by his elders, on the Ilian wall. + +XXXII. + +No man but knew him by his crown of gold, + And golden-studded sceptre, and his throne; +Ay, strong he seem'd as those great kings of old, + Whose image is eternal on the stone + Won from the dust that once was Babylon; +But kind of mood was he withal, and mild, + And when his eyes on Argive Helen shone, +He loved her as a father doth a child. + +XXXIII. + +Round him were set his peers, as Panthous, + Antenor, and Agenor, hardly grey, +Scarce touch'd as yet with age, nor garrulous + As are cicalas on a sunny day: + Such might they be when years had slipp'd away, +And made them over-weak for war or joy, + Content to watch the Leaguer as it lay +Beside the ships, beneath the walls of Troy. + +XXXIV. + +Then Paris had an easy tale to tell, + Which then might win upon men's wond'ring ears, +Who deem'd that Gods with mortals deign to dwell, + And that the water of the West enspheres + The happy Isles that know not Death nor tears; +Yea, and though monsters do these islands guard, + Yet men within their coasts had dwelt for years +Uncounted, with a strange love for reward. + +XXXV. + +And there had Paris ventured: so said he,-- + Had known the Sirens' song, and Circe's wile; +And in a cove of that Hesperian sea + Had found a maiden on a lonely isle; + A sacrifice, if so men might beguile +The wrath of some beast-god they worshipp'd there, + But Paris, 'twixt the sea and strait defile, +Had slain the beast, and won the woman fair. + +XXXVI. + +Then while the happy people cried "Well done," + And Priam's heart was melted by the tale-- +For Paris was his best-beloved son-- + Came a wild woman, with wet eyes, and pale + Sad face, men look'd on when she cast her veil, +Not gladly; and none mark'd the thing she said, + Yet must they hear her long and boding wail +That follow'd still, however fleet they fled. + +XXXVII. + +She was the priestess of Apollo's fane, + Cassandra, and the God of prophecy +Spurr'd her to speak and rent her! but in vain + She toss'd her wasted arms against the sky, + And brake her golden circlet angrily, +And shriek'd that they had brought within the gate + _Helen_, _a serpent at their hearts to lie_! +_Helen_, _a hell of people_, _king_, _and state_! + +XXXVIII. + +But ere the God had left her; ere she fell + And foam'd among her maidens on the ground, +The air was ringing with a merry swell + Of flute, and pipe, and every sweetest sound, + In Aphrodite's fane, and all around +Were roses toss'd beneath the glimmering green + Of that high roof, and Helen there was crown'd +The Goddess of the Trojans, and their Queen. + + + + +BOOK IV--THE DEATH OF CORYTHUS + + + How Helen was made an outcast by the Trojan women, and how OEnone, the + old love of Paris, sent her son Corythus to him as her messenger, and + how Paris slew him unwittingly; and of the curses of OEnone, and the + coming of the Argive host against Troy. + +I. + +For long in Troia was there peace and mirth, + The pleasant hours still passing one by one; +And Helen joy'd at each fresh morning's birth, + And almost wept at setting of the sun, + For sorrow that the happy day was done; +Nor dream'd of years when she should hate the light, + And mourn afresh for every day begun, +Nor fare abroad save shamefully by night. + +II. + +And Paris was not one to backward cast + A fearful glance; nor pluck sour fruits of sin, +Half ripe; but seized all pleasures while they last, + Nor boded evil ere ill days begin. + Nay, nor lamented much when caught therein, +In each adventure always finding joy, + And hopeful still through waves of war to win +By strength of Hector, and the star of Troy. + +III. + +Now as the storms drive white sea-birds afar + Within green upland glens to seek for rest, +So rumours pale of an approaching war + Were blown across the islands from the west: + For Agamemnon summon'd all the best +From towns and tribes he ruled, and gave command + That free men all should gather at his hest +Through coasts and islets of the Argive land. + +IV. + +Sidonian merchant-men had seen the fleet + Black war-galleys that sped from town to town; +Had heard the hammers of the bronze-smiths beat + The long day through, and when the sun went down; + And thin, said they, would show the leafy crown +On many a sacred mountain-peak in spring, + For men had fell'd the pine-trees tall and brown +To fashion them curved ships for seafaring. + +V. + +And still the rumour grew; for heralds came, + Old men from Argos, bearing holy boughs, +Demanding great atonement for the shame + And sore despite done Menelaus' house; + But homeward soon they turn'd their scarlet prows, +And all their weary voyaging was vain; + For Troy had bound herself with awful vows +To cleave to Helen till the walls were ta'en. + +VI. + +And now, like swallows ere the winter weather, + The women in shrill groups were gathering, +With eager tongues still communing together, + And many a taunt at Helen would they fling, + Ay, through her innocence she felt the sting, +And shamed was now her gentle face and sweet, + For e'en the children evil songs would sing +To mock her as she hasted down the street. + +VII. + +Also the men who worshipp'd her of old + As she had been a goddess from above, +Gazed at her now with lustful eyes and bold, + As she were naught but Paris' light-o'-love; + And though in truth they still were proud enough, +Of that fair gem in their old city set, + Yet well she knew that wanton word and scoff +Went round the camp-fire when the warriors met. + +VIII. + +There came a certain holiday when Troy + Was wont to send her noble matrons all, +Young wives and old, with clamour and with joy, + To clothe Athene in her temple hall, + And robe her in a stately broider'd pall. +But now they drove fair Helen from their train, + "Better," they scream'd, "to cast her from the wall, +Than mock the Gods with offerings in vain." + +IX. + +One joy she had, that Paris yet was true, + Ay, fickle Paris, true unto the end; +And in the court of Ilios were two + Kind hearts, still eager Helen to defend, + And help and comfort in all need to lend:-- +The gentle Hector with soft speech and mild, + And the old king that ever was her friend, +And loved her as a father doth his child. + +X. + +These, though they knew not all, these blamed her not, + But cast the heavy burden on the God, +Whose wrath, they deem'd, had verily waxed hot + Against the painful race on earth that trod, + And in God's hand was Helen but the rod +To scourge a people that, in unknown wise, + Had vex'd the far Olympian abode +With secret sin or stinted sacrifice. + +* * * * * * + +XI. + +The days grew into months, and months to years, + And still the Argive army did delay, +Till folk in Troia half forgot their fears, + And almost as of old were glad and gay; + And men and maids on Ida dared to stray, +But Helen dwelt within her inmost room, + And there from dawning to declining day, +Wrought at the patient marvels of her loom. + +XII. + +Yet even there in peace she might not be: + There was a nymph, OEnone, in the hills, +The daughter of a River-God was she, + Of Cebren,--that the mountain silence fills + With murmur'd music, for the countless rills +Of Ida meet him, dancing to the plain,-- + Her Paris wooed, yet ignorant of ills, +Among the shepherd's huts, nor wooed in vain. + +XIII. + +Nay, Summer often found them by the fold + In these glad days, ere Paris was a king, +And oft the Autumn, in his car of gold, + Had pass'd them, merry at the vintaging: + And scarce they felt the breath of the white wing +Of Winter, in the cave where they would lie + On beds of heather by the fire, till Spring +Should crown them with her buds in passing by. + +XIV. + +For elbow-deep their flowery bed was strown + With fragrant leaves and with crush'd asphodel, +And sweetly still the shepherd-pipe made moan, + And many a tale of Love they had to tell,-- + How Daphnis loved the strange, shy maiden well, +And how she loved him not, and how he died, + And oak-trees moan'd his dirge, and blossoms fell +Like tears from lindens by the water-side! + +XV. + +But colder, fleeter than the Winter's wing, + Time pass'd; and Paris changed, and now no more +OEnone heard him on the mountain sing, + Not now she met him in the forest hoar. + Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore +An alien love he sought; yet was she strong + To live, who deem'd that even as of yore +In days to come might Paris love her long. + +XVI. + +For dark OEnone from her Father drew + A power beyond all price; the gift to deal +With wounded men, though now the dreadful dew + Of Death anoint them, and the secret seal + Of Fate be set on them; these might she heal; +And thus OEnone trusted still to save + Her lover at the point of death, and steal +His life from Helen, and the amorous grave. + +XVII. + +And she had borne, though Paris knew it not, + A child, fair Corythus, to be her shame, +And still she mused, whenas her heart was hot, + "He hath no child by that Achaean dame:" + But when her boy unto his manhood came, +Then sorer yet OEnone did repine, + And bade him "fare to Ilios, and claim +Thy father's love, and all that should be thine!" + +XVIII. + +Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair + She drew, and from a green-tress'd birchen tree +She pluck'd a strip of smooth white bark and fair, + And many signs and woful graved she, + A message of the evil things to be. +Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold, + And bound the tokens well and cunningly, +Three times and four times, with a thread of gold. + +XIX. + +"Give these to Argive Helen's hand," she cried: + And so embraced her child, and with no fear +Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side, + Like a king's son that goes to hunt the deer, + Clad softly, and in either hand a spear, +With two swift-footed hounds that follow'd him, + So leap'd he down the grassy slopes and sheer, +And won the precinct of the forest dim. + +XX. + +He trod that ancient path his sire had trod, + Far, far below he saw the sea, the town; +He moved as light as an immortal god, + For mansions in Olympus gliding down. + He left the shadow of the forest brown, +And through the shallow waters did he cross, + And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown +Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios. + +XXI. + +Now folk that mark'd him hasting deem'd that he + Had come to tell the host was on its way, +As one that from the hills had seen the sea + Beclouded with the Danaan array, + So straight to Paris' house with no delay +They led him, and did eagerly await + Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey, +To hear some certain message of their fate. + +XXII. + +Now Paris was asleep upon his bed + Tired with a listless day; but all along +The palace chambers Corythus was led, + And still he heard a music, shrill and strong, + That seem'd to clamour of an old-world wrong, +And hearts a long time broken; last they came + To Helen's bower, the fountain of the song +That cried so loud against an ancient shame. + +XXIII. + +And Helen fared before a mighty loom, + And sang, and cast her shuttle wrought of gold, +And forth unto the utmost secret room + The wave of her wild melody was roll'd; + And still she fashion'd marvels manifold, +Strange shapes of fish and serpent, bear and swan, + The loves of the immortal Gods of old, +Wherefrom the peoples of the world began. + +XXIV. + +Now Helen met the stranger graciously + With gentle speech, and bade set forth a chair +Well wrought of cedar wood and ivory + That wise Icmalius had fashion'd fair. + But when young Corythus had drunk the rare +Wine of the princes, and had broken bread, + Then Helen took the word, and bade declare +His instant tidings; and he spake and said, + +XXV. + +"Lady and Queen, I have a secret word, + And bear a token sent to none but thee, +Also I bring message to my Lord + That spoken to another may not be." + Then Helen gave a sign unto her three +Bower-maidens, and they went forth from that place, + Silent they went; and all forebodingly, +They left the man and woman face to face. + +XXVI. + +Then from his breast the birchen scroll he took + And gave to Helen; and she read therein: +"Oh thou that on those hidden runes dost look, + Hast thou forgotten quite thine ancient sin, + Thy Lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin, +Even as thy Love forgets the words he spoke + The strong oath broken one weak heart to win, +The lips that kiss'd him, and the heart that broke? + +XXVII. + +"Nay, but methinks thou shalt not quite forget + The curse wherewith I curse thee till I die; +The tears that on the wood-nymph's cheeks are wet, + Shall burn thy hateful beauty deathlessly, + Nor shall God raise up seed to thee; but I +Have borne thy love this messenger: my son, + Who yet shall make him glad, for Time goes by +And soon shall thine enchantments all be done: + +XXVIII. + +"Ay, soon 'twixt me and Death must be his choice, + And little in that hour will Paris care +For thy sweet lips, and for thy singing voice, + Thine arms of ivory, thy golden hair. + Nay, me will he embrace, and will not spare, +But bid the folk that hate thee have their joy, + And give thee to the mountain beasts to tear, +Or burn thy body on a tower of Troy." + +XXIX. + +Even as she read, by Aphrodite's will + The cloud roll'd back from Helen's memory: +She saw the city of the rifted hill, + Fair Lacedaemon, 'neath her mountain high; + She knew the swift Eurotas running by +To mix his sacred waters with the sea, + And from the garden close she heard the cry +Of her beloved child, Hermione. + +XXX. + +Then instantly the horror of her shame + Fell on her, and she saw the coming years; +Famine, and fire, and plague, and all men's blame, + The wounds of warriors and the women's fears; + And through her heart her sorrow smote like spears, +And in her soul she knew the utmost smart + Of wives left lonely, sires bereaved, the tears +Of maidens desolate, of loves that part. + +XXXI. + +She drain'd the dregs out of the cup of hate; + The bitterness of sorrow, shame, and scorn; +Where'er the tongues of mortals curse their fate, + She saw herself an outcast and forlorn; + And hating sore the day that she was born, +Down in the dust she cast her golden head, + There with rent raiment and fair tresses torn, +At feet of Corythus she lay for dead. + +XXXII. + +But Corythus, beholding her sweet face, + And her most lovely body lying low, +Had pity on her grief and on her grace, + Nor heeded now she was his mother's foe, + But did what might be done to ease her woe, +While, as he thought, with death for life she strove, + And loosed the necklet round her neck of snow, +As who that saw had deem'd, with hands of love. + +XXXIII. + +And there was one that saw: for Paris woke + Half-deeming and half-dreaming that the van +Of the great Argive host had scared the folk, + And down the echoing corridor he ran + To Helen's bower, and there beheld the man +That kneel'd beside his lady lying there: + No word he spake, but drove his sword a span +Through Corythus' fair neck and cluster'd hair. + +XXXIV. + +Then fell fair Corythus, as falls the tower + An earthquake shaketh from a city's crown, +Or as a tall white fragrant lily-flower + A child hath in the garden trampled down, + Or as a pine-tree in the forest brown, +Fell'd by the sea-rovers on mountain lands, + When they to harry foreign folk are boune, +Taking their own lives in their reckless hands. + +XXXV. + +But still in Paris did his anger burn, + And still his sword was lifted up to slay, +When, like a lot leap'd forth of Fate's own urn, + He mark'd the graven tokens where they lay, + 'Mid Helen's hair in golden disarray, +And looking on them, knew what he had done, + Knew what dire thing had fallen on that day, +Knew how a father's hand had slain a son. + +XXXVI. + +Then Paris on his face fell grovelling, + And the night gather'd, and the silence grew +Within the darkened chamber of the king. + But Helen rose, and a sad breath she drew, + And her new woes came back to her anew: +Ah, where is he but knows the bitter pain + To wake from dreams, and find his sorrow true, +And his ill life returned to him again! + +XXXVII. + +She needed none to tell her whence it fell, + The thick red rain upon the marble floor: +She knew that in her bower she might not dwell, + Alone with her own heart for ever more; + No sacrifice, no spell, no priestly lore +Could banish quite the melancholy ghost + Of Corythus; a herald sent before +Them that should die for her, a dreadful host. + +XXXVIII. + +But slowly Paris raised him from the earth, + And read her face, and knew that she knew all, +No more her eyes, in tenderness or mirth, + Should answer his, in bower or in hall. + Nay, Love had fallen when his child did fall, +The stream Love cannot cross ran 'twixt them red; + No more was Helen his, whate'er befall, +Not though the Goddess drove her to his bed. + +XXXIX. + +This word he spake, "the Fates are hard on us"-- + Then bade the women do what must be done +To the fair body of dead Corythus. + And then he hurl'd into the night alone, + Wailing unto the spirit of his son, +That somewhere in dark mist and sighing wind + Must dwell, nor yet to Hades had it won, +Nor quite had left the world of men behind. + +XL. + +But wild OEnone by the mountain-path + Saw not her son returning to the wold, +And now was she in fear, and now in wrath + She cried, "He hath forgot the mountain fold, + And goes in Ilios with a crown of gold:" +But even then she heard men's axes smite + Against the beeches slim and ash-trees old, +These ancient trees wherein she did delight. + +XLI. + +Then she arose and silently as Sleep, + Unseen she follow'd the slow-rolling wain, +Beneath an ashen sky that 'gan to weep, + Too heavy laden with the latter rain; + And all the folk of Troy upon the plain +She found, all gather'd round a funeral pyre, + And thereon lay her son, her darling slain, +The goodly Corythus, her heart's desire! + +XLII. + +Among the spices and fair robes he lay, + His arm beneath his head, as though he slept. +For so the Goddess wrought that no decay, + No loathly thing about his body crept; + And all the people look'd on him and wept, +And, weeping, Paris lit the pine-wood dry, + And lo, a rainy wind arose and swept +The flame and fragrance far into the sky. + +XLIII. + +But when the force of flame was burning low, + Then did they drench the pyre with ruddy wine, +And the white bones of Corythus bestow + Within a gold cruse, wrought with many a sign, + And wrapp'd the cruse about with linen fine +And bare it to the tomb: when, lo, the wild + OEnone sprang, with burning eyes divine, +And shriek'd unto the slayer of her child: + +XLIV. + +"Oh Thou, that like a God art sire and slayer, + That like a God, dost give and take away! +Methinks that even now I hear the prayer + Thou shalt beseech me with, some later day; + When all the world to thy dim eyes grow grey, +And thou shalt crave thy healing at my hand, + Then gladly will I mock, and say thee nay, +And watch thine hours run down like running sand! + +XLV. + +"Yea, thou shalt die, and leave thy love behind, + And little shall she love thy memory! +But, oh ye foolish people, deaf and blind, + What Death is coming on you from the sea?" + Then all men turned, and lo, upon the lee +Of Tenedos, beneath the driving rain, + The countless Argive ships were racing free, +The wind and oarsmen speeding them amain. + +XLVI. + +Then from the barrow and the burial, + Back like a bursting torrent all men fled +Back to the city and the sacred wall. + But Paris stood, and lifted not his head. + Alone he stood, and brooded o'er the dead, +As broods a lion, when a shaft hath flown, + And through the strong heart of his mate hath sped, +Then will he face the hunters all alone. + +XLVII. + +But soon the voice of men on the sea-sand + Came round him; and he turned, and gazed, and lo! +The Argive ships were dashing on the strand: + Then stealthily did Paris bend his bow, + And on the string he laid a shaft of woe, +And drew it to the point, and aim'd it well. + Singing it sped, and through a shield did go, +And from his barque Protesilaus fell. + +XLVIII. + +Half gladdened by the omen, through the plain + Went Paris to the walls and mighty gate, +And little heeded he that arrowy rain + The Argive bowmen shower'd in helpless hate. + Nay; not yet feather'd was the shaft of Fate, +His bane, the gift of mighty Heracles + To Philoctetes, lying desolate, +Within a far off island of the seas. + + + + +BOOK V--THE WAR + + +The war round Troy, and how many brave men fell, and chiefly Sarpedon, +Patroclus, Hector, Memnon, and Achilles. The coming of the Amazon, and +the wounding of Paris, and his death, and concerning the good end that +OEnone made. + +I. + +For ten long years the Argive leaguer lay + Round Priam's folk, and wrought them many woes, +While, as a lion crouch'd above his prey, + The Trojans yet made head against their foes; + And as the swift sea-water ebbs and flows +Between the Straits of Helle and the main, + Even so the tide of battle sank and rose, +And fill'd with waifs of war the Ilian plain. + +II. + +And horse on horse was driven, as wave on wave; + Like rain upon the deep the arrows fell, +And like the wind, the war-cry of the brave + Rang out above the battle's ebb and swell, + And long the tale of slain, and sad to tell; +Yet seem'd the end scarce nearer than of yore + When nine years pass'd and still the citadel +Frown'd on the Argive huts beside the shore. + +III. + +And still the watchers on the city's crown + Afar from sacred Ilios might spy +The flame from many a fallen subject town + Flare on the starry verges of the sky, + And still from rich Maeonia came the cry +Of cities sack'd where'er Achilles led. + Yet none the more men deem'd the end was nigh +While knightly Hector fought unvanquished. + +IV. + +But ever as each dawn bore grief afar, + And further back, wax'd Paris glad and gay, +And on the fringes of the cloud of war + His arrows, like the lightning, still would play; + Yet fled he Menelaus on a day, +And there had died, but Aphrodite's power + Him in a golden cloud did safe convey +Within the walls of Helen's fragrant bower. + +V. + +But she, in longing for her lord and home, + And scorn of her wild lover, did withdraw +From all men's eyes: but in the night would roam + Till drowsy watchmen of the city saw + A shadowy shape that chill'd the night with awe, +Treading the battlements; and like a ghost, + She stretch'd her lovely arms without a flaw, +In shame and longing, to the Argive host. + +VI. + +But all day long within her bower she wept, + Still dreaming of the dames renown'd of old, +Whom hate or love of the Immortals swept + Within the toils of Ate manifold; + And most she loved the ancient tales that told +How the great Gods, at length to pity stirr'd, + Changed Niobe upon the mountains cold, +To a cold stone; and Procne to a bird, + +VII. + +And Myrrha to an incense-breathing tree;-- + "And ah," she murmur'd, "that the Gods were kind, +And bade the Harpies lay their hands on me, + And bear me with the currents of the wind + To the dim end of all things, and the blind +Land where the Ocean turneth in his bed: + Then should I leave mine evil days behind, +And Sleep should fold his wings above my head." + +VIII. + +And once she heard a Trojan woman bless + The fair-haired Menelaus, her good lord, +As brave among brave men, not merciless, + Not swift to slay the captives of his sword, + Nor wont was he to win the gold abhorr'd +Of them that sell their captives over sea, + And Helen sighed, and bless'd her for that word, +"Yet will he ne'er be merciful to me!" + +IX. + +In no wise found she comfort; to abide + In Ilios was to dwell with shame and fear, +And if unto the Argive host she hied, + Then should she die by him that was most dear. + And still the days dragg'd on with bitter cheer, +Till even the great Gods had little joy, + So fast their children fell beneath the spear, +Below the windy battlements of Troy. + +X. + +Yet many a prince of south lands, or of east, + For dark Cassandra's love came trooping in, +And Priam made them merry at the feast, + And all night long they dream'd of wars to win, + And with the morning hurl'd into the din, +And cried their lady's name for battle-cry, + And won no more than this: for Paris' sin, +By Diomede's or Aias' hand to die. + +XI. + +But for one hour within the night of woes + The hope of Troy burn'd steadfast as a star; +When strife among the Argive lords arose, + And dread Achilles held him from the war; + Yea, and Apollo from his golden car +And silver bow his shafts of evil sped, + And all the plain was darken'd, near and far, +With smoke above the pyres of heroes dead. + +XII. + +And many a time through vapour of that smoke + The shafts of Troy fell fast; and on the plain +All night the Trojan watch fires burn'd and broke + Like evil stars athwart a mist of rain. + And through the arms and blood, and through the slain, +Like wolves among the fragments of the fight, + Crept spies to slay whoe'er forgat his pain +One hour, and fell on slumber in the night. + +XIII. + +And once, when wounded chiefs their tents did keep, + And only Aias might his weapons wield, +Came Hector with his host, and smiting deep, + Brake bow and spear, brake axe and glaive and shield, + Bulwark and battlement must rend and yield, +And by the ships he smote the foe and cast + Fire on the ships; and o'er the stricken field, +The Trojans saw that flame arise at last! + +XIV. + +But when Achilles saw the soaring flame, + And knew the ships in peril, suddenly +A change upon his wrathful spirit came, + Nor will'd he that the Danaans should die: + But call'd his Myrmidons, and with a cry +They follow'd where, like foam on a sea-wave + Patroclus' crest was dancing, white and high, +Above the tide that back the Trojans drave. + +XV. + +But like a rock amid the shifting sands, + And changing springs, and tumult of the deep, +Sarpedon stood, till 'neath Patroclus' hands, + Smitten he fell; then Death and gentle Sleep + Bare him from forth the battle to the steep +Where shines his castle o'er the Lycian dell; + There hath he burial due, while all folk weep +Around the kindly Prince that loved them well. + +XVI. + +Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone + To Hades did his soul indignant fly, +For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown + By Hector, and the God of archery; + And Hector stripp'd his shining panoply, +Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then, + Forgetful wholly of his chivalry, +Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men. + +XVII. + +Then Hector from the war a little space + Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles' gear, +And braced the gleaming helmet on his face, + And donn'd the corslet, and that mighty spear + He grasped--the lance that makes the boldest fear; +And home his comrades bare his arms of gold, + Those Priam once had worn, his father dear, +But in his father's arms he waxed not old! + +XVIII. + +Then round Patroclus' body, like a tide + That storms the swollen outlet of a stream +When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide + The river runs, and white the breakers gleam,-- + Trojans and Argives battled till the beam +Of Helios was sinking to the wave, + And now they near'd the ships: yet few could deem +That arms of Argos might the body save. + +XIX. + +But even then the tidings sore were borne + To great Achilles, of Patroclus dead, +And all his goodly raiment hath he torn, + And cast the dust upon his golden head, + And many a tear and bitter did he shed. +Ay; there by his own sword had he been slain, + But swift his Goddess-mother, Thetis, sped +Forth with her lovely sea-nymphs from the main. + +XX. + +For, as a mother when her young child calls + Hearkens to that, and hath no other care: +So Thetis, from her green and windless halls + Rose, at the first word of Achilles' prayer, + To comfort him, and promise gifts of fair +New armour wrought by an immortal hand; + Then like a silver cloud she scaled the air, +Where bright the dwellings of Olympus stand. + +XXI. + +But, as a beacon from a 'leaguer'd town + Within a sea-girt isle, leaps suddenly, +A cloud by day; but when the sun goes down, + The tongues of fire flash out, and soar on high, + To summon warlike men that dwell thereby +And bid them bring a rescue over-seas,-- + So now Athene sent a flame to fly +From brow and temples of Aeacides. + +XXII. + +Then all unarm'd he sped, and through the throng, + He pass'd to the dyke's edge, beyond the wall, +Nor leap'd the ranks of fighting men among, + But shouted clearer than the clarion's call + When foes on a beleaguer'd city fall. +Three times he cried, and terror fell on these + That heard him; and the Trojans, one and all, +Fled from that shouting of Aeacides. + +XXIII. + +Backward the Trojans reel'd in headlong flight, + Chariots and men, and left their bravest slain; +And the sun fell; but Troy through all the night + Watch'd by her fires upon the Ilian plain, + For Hector did the sacred walls disdain +Of Ilios; nor knew that he should stand + Ere night return'd, and burial crave in vain, +Unarm'd, forsaken, at Achilles' hand. + +XXIV. + +But all that night within his chamber high + Hephaestus made his iron anvils ring; +And, ere the dawn, had wrought a panoply, + The goodliest ever worn by mortal king. + This to the Argive camp did Thetis bring, +And when her child had proved it, like the star + That heralds day, he went forth summoning +The host Achaean to delight of war. + +XXV. + +And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed, + And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate, +Or as a forest-fire, that overhead + Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate, + So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate; +And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain, + Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate +What war and wave had spared upon the plain. + +XXVI. + +Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke + Between the wind's voice and the water's cry, +The battle shouting of the Trojans broke, + And reached the Ilian walls confusedly, + But over soon the folk that watch'd might spy +Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death, + Yet many a man beneath the spear must die, +Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath. + +XXVII. + +And as when fire doth on a forest fall + And hot winds bear it raging in its flight, +And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin'd all, + So raged Achilles' anger in that fight; + And many an empty car, with none to smite +The madden'd horses, o'er the bridge of war + Was wildly whirled, and many a maid's delight +That day to the red wolves was dearer far. + +* * * * * + +XXVIII. + +Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong, + Homer! who whisper'd thee that Hector fled +Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long; + Nay, when he saw his people vanquished + Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped +One moment, to the struggle of the spear, + And, by the Gods deserted, fell and bled, +A warrior stainless of reproach and fear. + +XXIX. + +Then all the people from the battlement + Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought, +For on the body his revenge he spent, + The anger of the high Gods heeding nought, + To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought, +Of all the Trojan men that were their joy, + But now no more their favour might be bought +By savour of his hecatombs in Troy. + +XXX. + +So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host, + And now Patroclus hath to Hades won, +But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost + Must wail where waters of Cocytus run; + Till Priam did what no man born hath done, +Who dared to pass among the Argive bands, + And clasp'd the knees of him that slew his son, +And kiss'd his awful homicidal hands. + +XXXI. + +At such a price was Hector's body sent + To Ilios, where the women wail'd him shrill; +And Helen's sorrow brake into lament + As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill, + For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who still +Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart, + The sword of war, pure faith, and steadfast will, +That strove to keep all evil things apart. + +* * * * * + +XXXII. + +And so men buried Hector. But they came, + The Amazons, from frozen fields afar. +A match for heroes in the dreadful game + Of spears, the darlings of the God of War, + Whose coming was to Priam dearer far +Than light to him that is a long while blind, + When leech's hand hath taen away the bar +That vex'd him, or the healing God is kind; + +XXXIII. + +And Troy was glad, and with the morning light + The Amazons went forth to slay and slay; +And wondrously they drave the foe in flight, + Until the Sun had wander'd half his way; + But when he stoop'd to twilight and the grey +Hour when men loose the steer beneath the yoke, + No more Achilles held him from the fray, +But dreadful through the women's ranks he broke. + +XXXIV. + +Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield, + And death on them that bear it, and they fall +One here, one there, about the stricken field, + As in that art, of Love memorial, + Which moulders on the holy Carian wall. +Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there + The warrior-maids, so brave, so god-like tall, +In Time's despite imperishably fair. + +XXXV. + +But, as a dove that braves a falcon, stood + Penthesilea, wrath outcasting fear, +Or as a hind, that in the darkling wood + Withstands a lion for her younglings dear; + So stood the girl before Achilles' spear; +In vain, for singing from his hand it sped, + And crash'd through shield and breastplate till the sheer +Cold bronze drank blood, and down the queen fell dead. + +XXXVI. + +Then from her locks the helm Achilles tore + And boasted o'er the slain; but lo, the face +Of her thus lying in the dust and gore + Seem'd lovelier than is the maiden grace + Of Artemis, when weary from the chase, +She sleepeth in a haunted dell unknown. + And all the Argives marvell'd for a space, +But most Achilles made a heavy moan: + +XXXVII. + +And in his heart there came the weary thought + Of all that was, and all that might have been, +Of all the sorrow that his sword had wrought, + Of Death that now drew near him: of the green + Vales of Larissa, where, with such a queen, +With such a love as now his spear had slain, + He had been happy, who must wind the skein +Of grievous wars, and ne'er be glad again. + +XXXVIII. + +Yea, now wax'd Fate half weary of her game, + And had no care but aye to kill and kill, +And many young kings to the battle came, + And of that joy they quickly had their fill, + And last came Memnon: and the Trojans still +Took heart, like wearied mariners that see + (Long toss'd on unknown waves at the winds' will) +Through clouds the gleaming crest of Helike. + +XXXIX. + +For Memnon was the child of the bright Dawn, + A Goddess wedded to a mortal king, +Who dwells for ever on the shores withdrawn + That border on the land of sun-rising; + And he was nurtured nigh the sacred spring +That is the hidden fountain of all seas, + By them that in the Gods' own garden sing, +The lily-maidens call'd Hesperides. + +XL. + +But him the child of Thetis in the fight + Met on a windy winter day, when high +The dust was whirled, and wrapp'd them like the night + That falleth on the mountains stealthily + When the floods come, and down their courses dry +The torrents roar, and lightning flasheth far: + So rang, so shone their harness terribly +Beneath the blinding thunder-cloud of war. + +XLI. + +Then the Dawn shudder'd on her golden throne, + And called unto the West Wind, and he blew +And brake the cloud asunder; and alone + Achilles stood, but Memnon, smitten through, + Lay beautiful amid the dreadful dew +Of battle, and a deathless heart was fain + Of tears, to Gods impossible, that drew +From mortal hearts a little of their pain. + +XLII. + +But now, their leader slain, the Trojans fled, + And fierce Achilles drove them in his hate, +Avenging still his dear Patroclus dead, + Nor knew the hour with his own doom was great, + Nor trembled, standing in the Scaean gate, +Where ancient prophecy foretold his fall; + Then suddenly there sped the bolt of Fate, +And smote Achilles by the Ilian wall: + +XLIII. + +From Paris' bow it sped, and even there, + Even as he grasp'd the skirts of victory, +Achilles fell, nor any man might dare + From forth the Trojan gateway to draw nigh; + But, as the woodmen watch a lion die, +Pierced with the hunter's arrow, nor come near + Till Death hath veil'd his eyelids utterly, +Even so the Trojans held aloof in fear. + +XLIV. + +But there his fellows on his wondrous shield + Laid the fair body of Achilles slain, +And sadly bare him through the trampled field, + And lo! the deathless maidens of the main + Rose up, with Thetis, from the windy plain, +And round the dead man beautiful they cried, + Lamenting, and with melancholy strain +The sweet-voiced Muses mournfully replied. + +XLV. + +Yea, Muses and Sea-maidens sang his dirge, + And mightily the chant arose and shrill, +And wondrous echoes answer'd from the surge + Of the grey sea, and from the holy hill + Of Ida; and the heavy clouds and chill +Were gathering like mourners, sad and slow, + And Zeus did thunder mightily, and fill +The dells and glades of Ida deep with snow. + +XLVI. + +Now Paris was not sated with the fame + And rich reward Troy gave his archery; +But o'er the wine he boasted that the game + That very night he deem'd to win, or die; + "For scarce their watch the tempest will defy," +He said, "and all undream'd of might we go, + And fall upon the Argives where they lie, +Unseen, unheard, amid the silent snow." + +XLVII. + +So, flush'd with wine, and clad in raiment white + Above their mail, the young men follow'd him, +Their guide a fading camp-fire in the night, + And the sea's moaning in the distance dim. + And still with eddying snow the air did swim, +And darkly did they wend they knew not where, + White in that cursed night: an army grim, +'Wilder'd with wine, and blind with whirling air. + +XLVIII. + +There was an outcast in the Argive host, + One Philoctetes; whom Odysseus' wile, +(For, save he help'd, the Leaguer all was lost,) + Drew from his lair within the Lemnian isle. + But him the people, as a leper vile, +Hated, and drave to a lone hut afar, + For wounded sore was he, and many a while +His cries would wake the host foredone with war. + +XLIX. + +Now Philoctetes was an archer wight; + But in his quiver had he little store +Of arrows tipp'd with bronze, and feather'd bright; + Nay, his were blue with mould, and fretted o'er + With many a spell Melampus wrought of yore, +Singing above his task a song of bane; + And they were venom'd with the Centaur's gore, +And tipp'd with bones of men a long while slain. + +L. + +This wretch for very pain might seldom sleep, + And that night slept not: in the moaning blast +He deem'd the dead about his hut did creep, + And silently he rose, and round him cast + His raiment foul, and from the door he pass'd, +And peer'd into the night, and soothly heard + A whisper'd voice; then gripp'd his arrows fast +And strung his bow, and cried a bitter word: + +LI. + +"Art thou a gibbering ghost with war outworn, + And thy faint life in Hades not begun? +Art thou a man that holdst my grief in scorn, + And yet dost live, and look upon the sun? + If man,--methinks thy pleasant days are done, +And thou shalt writhe in torment worse than mine; + If ghost,--new pain in Hades hast thou won, +And there with double woe shalt surely pine." + +LII. + +He spake, and drew the string, and sent a shaft + At venture through the midnight and the snow, +A little while he listen'd, then he laugh'd + Within himself, a dreadful laugh and low; + For over well the answer did he know +That midnight gave his message, the sharp cry + And armour rattling on a fallen foe +That now was learning what it is to die. + +LIII. + +Then Philoctetes crawl'd into his den + And hugg'd himself against the bitter cold, +While round their leader came the Trojan men + And bound his wound, and bare him o'er the wold, + Back to the lights of Ilios; but the gold +Of Dawn was breaking on the mountains white, + Or ere they won within the guarded fold, +Long 'wilder'd in the tempest and the night. + +LIV. + +And through the gate, and through the silent street, + And houses where men dream'd of war no more, +The bearers wander'd with their weary feet, + And Paris to his high-roof'd house they bore. + But vainly leeches on his wound did pore, +And vain was Argive Helen's magic song, + Ah, vain her healing hands, and all her lore, +To help the life that wrought her endless wrong. + +LV. + +Slow pass'd the fever'd hours, until the grey + Cold light was paling, and a sullen glow +Of livid yellow crown'd the dying day, + And brooded on the wastes of mournful snow. + Then Paris whisper'd faintly, "I must go +And face that wild wood-maiden of the hill; + For none but she can win from overthrow +Troy's life, and mine that guards it, if she will." + +LVI. + +So through the dumb white meadows, deep with snow, + They bore him on a pallet shrouded white, +And sore they dreaded lest an ambush'd foe + Should hear him moan, or mark the moving light + That waved before their footsteps in the night; +And much they joy'd when Ida's knees were won, + And 'neath the pines upon an upland height, +They watch'd the star that heraldeth the sun. + +LVII. + +For under woven branches of the pine, + The soft dry needles like a carpet spread, +And high above the arching boughs did shine + In frosty fret of silver, that the red + New dawn fired into gold-work overhead: +Within that vale where Paris oft had been + With fair OEnone, ere the hills he fled +To be the sinful lover of a Queen. + +LVIII. + +Not here they found OEnone: "Nay, not here," + Said Paris, faint and low, "shall she be found; +Nay, bear me up the mountain, where the drear + Winds walk for ever on a haunted ground. + Methinks I hear her sighing in their sound; +Or some God calls me there, a dying man. + Perchance my latest journeying is bound +Back where the sorrow of my life began." + +LIX. + +They reach'd the gateway of that highest glen + And halted, wond'ring what the end should be; +But Paris whisper'd Helen, while his men + Fell back: "Here judged I Gods, here shalt thou see + What judgment mine old love will pass on me. +But hide thee here; thou soon the end shalt know, + Whether the Gods at length will set thee free +From that old net they wove so long ago." + +LX. + +Ah, there with wide snows round her like a pall, + OEnone crouch'd in sable robes; as still +As Winter brooding o'er the Summer's fall, + Or Niobe upon her haunted hill, + A woman changed to stone by grief, where chill +The rain-drops fall like tears, and the wind sighs: + And Paris deem'd he saw a deadly will +Unmoved in wild OEnone's frozen eyes. + +LXI. + +"Nay, prayer to her were vain as prayer to Fate," + He murmur'd, almost glad that it was so, +Like some sick man that need no longer wait, + But his pain lulls as Death draws near his woe. + And Paris beckon'd to his men, and slow +They bore him dying from that fatal place, + And did not turn again, and did not know +The soft repentance on OEnone's face. + +LXII. + +But Paris spake to Helen: "Long ago, + Dear, we were glad, who never more shall be +Together, where the west winds fainter blow + Round that Elysian island of the sea, + Where Zeus from evil days shall set thee free. +Nay, kiss me once, it is a weary while, + Ten weary years since thou hast smiled on me, +But, Helen, say good-bye, with thine old smile!" + +LXIII. + +And as the dying sunset through the rain + Will flush with rosy glow a mountain height, +Even so, at his last smile, a blush again + Pass'd over Helen's face, so changed and white; + And through her tears she smiled, his last delight, +The last of pleasant life he knew, for grey + The veil of darkness gather'd, and the night +Closed o'er his head, and Paris pass'd away. + +LXIV. + +Then for one hour in Helen's heart re-born, + Awoke the fatal love that was of old, +Ere she knew all, and the cold cheeks outworn, + She kiss'd, she kiss'd the hair of wasted gold, + The hands that ne'er her body should enfold; +Then slow she follow'd where the bearers led, + Follow'd dead Paris through the frozen wold +Back to the town where all men wish'd her dead. + +LXV. + +Perchance it was a sin, I know not, this! + Howe'er it be, she had a woman's heart, +And not without a tear, without a kiss, + Without some strange new birth of the old smart, + From her old love of the brief days could part +For ever; though the dead meet, ne'er shall they + Meet, and be glad by Aphrodite's art, +Whose souls have wander'd each its several way. + +* * * * * + +LXVI. + +And now was come the day when on a pyre + Men laid fair Paris, in a broider'd pall, +And fragrant spices cast into the fire, + And round the flame slew many an Argive thrall. + When, like a ghost, there came among them all, +A woman, once beheld by them of yore, + When first through storm and driving rain the tall +Black ships of Argos dash'd upon the shore. + +LXVII. + +Not now in wrath OEnone came; but fair + Like a young bride when nigh her bliss she knows, +And in the soft night of her fallen hair + Shone flowers like stars, more white than Ida's snows, + And scarce men dared to look on her, of those +The pyre that guarded; suddenly she came, + And sprang upon the pyre, and shrill arose +Her song of death, like incense through the flame. + +LXVIII. + +And still the song, and still the flame went up, + But when the flame wax'd fierce, the singing died; +And soon with red wine from a golden cup + Priests drench'd the pyre; but no man might divide + The ashes of the Bridegroom from the Bride. +Nay, they were wedded, and at rest again, + As in those old days on the mountain-side, +Before the promise of their youth was vain. + + + + +BOOK VI--THE SACK OF TROY. THE RETURN OF HELEN + + +The sack of Troy, and of how Menelaus would have let stone Helen, but +Aphrodite saved her, and made them at one again, and how they came home +to Lacedaemon, and of their translation to Elysium. + +I. + +There came a day, when Trojan spies beheld + How, o'er the Argive leaguer, all the air +Was pure of smoke, no battle-din there swell'd, + Nor any clarion-call was sounding there! + Yea, of the serried ships the strand was bare, +And sea and shore were still, as long ago + When Ilios knew not Helen, and the fair +Sweet face that makes immortal all her woe. + +II. + +So for a space the watchers on the wall + Were silent, wond'ring what these things might mean. +But, at the last, sent messengers to call + Priam, and all the elders, and the lean + Remnant of goodly chiefs, that once had been +The shield and stay of Ilios, and her joy, + Nor yet despair'd, but trusted Gods unseen, +And cast their spears, and shed their blood for Troy. + +III. + +They came, the more part grey, grown early old, + In war and plague; but with them was the young +Coroebus, that but late had left the fold + And flocks of sheep Maeonian hills among, + And valiantly his lot with Priam flung, +For love of a lost cause and a fair face,-- + The eyes that once the God of Pytho sung, +That now look'd darkly to the slaughter-place. + +IV. + +Now while the elders kept their long debate, + Coroebus stole unheeded to his band, +And led a handful by a postern gate + Across the plain, across the barren land + Where once the happy vines were wont to stand, +And 'mid the clusters once did maidens sing,-- + But now the plain was waste on every hand, +Though here and there a flower would breathe of Spring. + +V. + +So swift across the trampled battle-field + Unchallenged still, but wary, did they pass, +By many a broken spear or shatter'd shield + That in Fate's hour appointed faithless was: + Only the heron cried from the morass +By Xanthus' side, and ravens, and the grey + Wolves left their feasting in the tangled grass, +Grudging; and loiter'd, nor fled far away. + +VI. + +There lurk'd no spears in the high river-banks, + No ambush by the cairns of men outworn, +But empty stood the huts, in dismal ranks, + Where men through all these many years had borne + Fierce summer, and the biting winter's scorn; +And here a sword was left, and there a bow, + But ruinous seem'd all things and forlorn, +As in some camp forsaken long ago. + +VII. + +Gorged wolves crept round the altars, and did eat + The flesh of victims that the priests had slain, +And wild dogs fought above the sacred meat + Late offer'd to the deathless Gods in vain, + By men that, for reward of all their pain, +Must haul the ropes, and weary at the oar, + Or, drowning, clutch at foam amid the main, +Nor win their haven on the Argive shore. + +VIII. + +Not long the young men marvell'd at the sight, + But grasping one a sword, and one the spear +Aias, or Tydeus' son, had borne in fight, + They sped, and fill'd the town with merry cheer, + For folk were quick the happy news to hear, +And pour'd through all the gates into the plain, + Rejoicing as they wander'd far and near, +O'er the long Argive toils endured in vain. + +IX. + +Ah, sweet it was, without the city walls, + To hear the doves coo, and the finches sing; +Ah, sweet, to twine their true-loves coronals + Of woven wind-flowers, and each fragrant thing + That blossoms in the footsteps of the spring; +And sweet, to lie, forgetful of their grief, + Where violets trail by waters wandering, +And the wild fig-tree putteth forth his leaf! + +X. + +Now while they wander'd as they would, they found + A wondrous thing: a marvel of man's skill, +That stood within a vale of hollow ground, + And bulk'd scarce smaller than the bitter-hill,-- + The common barrow that the dead men fill +Who died in the long leaguer,--not of earth, + Was this new portent, but of tree, and still +The Trojans stood, and marvell'd 'mid their mirth. + +XI. + +Ay, much they wonder'd what this thing might be, + Shaped like a Horse it was; and many a stain +There show'd upon the mighty beams of tree, + For some with fire were blacken'd, some with rain + Were dank and dark amid white planks of plane, +New cut among the trees that now were few + On wasted Ida; but men gazed in vain, +Nor truth thereof for all their searching knew. + +XII. + +At length they deem'd it was a sacred thing, + Vow'd to Poseidon, monarch of the deep, +And that herewith the Argives pray'd the King + Of wind and wave to lull the seas to sleep; + So this, they cried, within the sacred keep +Of Troy must rest, memorial of the war; + And sturdily they haled it up the steep, +And dragg'd the monster to their walls afar. + +XIII. + +All day they wrought: and children crown'd with flowers + Laid light hands on the ropes; old men would ply +Their feeble force; so through the merry hours + They toil'd, midst laughter and sweet minstrelsy, + And late they drew the great Horse to the high +Crest of the hill, and wide the tall gates swang; + But thrice, for all their force, it stood thereby +Unmoved, and thrice like smitten armour rang. + +XIV. + +Natheless they wrought their will; then altar fires + The Trojans built, and did the Gods implore +To grant fulfilment of all glad desires. + But from the cups the wine they might not pour, + The flesh upon the spits did writhe and roar, +The smoke grew red as blood, and many a limb + Of victims leap'd upon the temple floor, +Trembling; and groans amid the chapels dim + +XV. + +Rang low, and from the fair Gods' images + And from their eyes, dropp'd sweat and many a tear; +The walls with blood were dripping, and on these + That sacrificed, came horror and great fear; + The holy laurels to Apollo dear +Beside his temple faded suddenly, + And wild wolves from the mountains drew anear, +And ravens through the temples seem'd to fly. + +XVI. + +Yet still the men of Troy were glad at heart, + And o'er strange meat they revell'd, like folk fey, +Though each would shudder if he glanced apart, + For round their knees the mists were gather'd grey, + Like shrouds on men that Hell-ward take their way; +But merrily withal they feasted thus, + And laugh'd with crooked lips, and oft would say +Some evil-sounding word and ominous. + +XVII. + +And Hecuba among her children spake, + "Let each man choose the meat he liketh best, +For bread no more together shall we break. + Nay, soon from all my labour must I rest, + But eat ye well, and drink the red wine, lest +Ye blame my house-wifery among men dead." + And all they took her saying for a jest, +And sweetly did they laugh at that she said. + +XVIII. + +Then, like a raven on the of night, + The wild Cassandra flitted far and near, +Still crying, "Gather, gather for the fight, + And brace the helmet on, and grasp the spear, + For lo, the legions of the Night are here!" +So shriek'd the dreadful prophetess divine. + But all men mock'd, and were of merry cheer; +Safe as the Gods they deem'd them, o'er their wine. + +XIX. + +For now with minstrelsy the air was sweet, + The soft spring air, and thick with incense smoke; +And bands of happy dancers down the street + Flew from the flower-crown'd doors, and wheel'd, and broke; + And loving words the youths and maidens spoke, +For Aphrodite did their hearts beguile, + As when beneath grey cavern or green oak +The shepherd men and maidens meet and smile. + +XX. + +No guard they set, for truly to them all + Did Love and slumber seem exceeding good; +There was no watch by open gate nor wall, + No sentinel by Pallas' image stood; + But silence grew, as in an autumn wood +When tempests die, and the vex'd boughs have ease, + And wind and sunlight fade, and soft the mood +Of sacred twilight falls upon the trees. + +XXI. + +Then the stars cross'd the zenith, and there came + On Troy that hour when slumber is most deep, +But any man that watch'd had seen a flame + Spring from the tall crest of the Trojan keep; + While from the belly of the Horse did leap +Men arm'd, and to the gates went stealthily, + While up the rocky way to Ilios creep +The Argives, new return'd across the sea. + +XXII. + +Now when the silence broke, and in that hour + When first the dawn of war was blazing red, +There came a light in Helen's fragrant bower, + As on that evil night before she fled + From Lacedaemon and her marriage bed; +And Helen in great fear lay still and cold, + For Aphrodite stood above her head, +And spake in that sweet voice she knew of old: + +XXIII. + +"Beloved one that dost not love me, wake! + Helen, the night is over, the dawn is near, +And safely shalt thou fare with me, and take + Thy way through fire and blood, and have no fear: + A little hour, and ended is the drear +Tale of thy sorrow and thy wandering. + Nay, long hast thou to live in happy cheer, +By fair Eurotas, with thy lord, the King." + +XXIV. + +Then Helen rose, and in a cloud of gold, + Unseen amid the vapour of the fire, +Did Aphrodite veil her, fold on fold; + And through the darkness, thronged with faces dire, + And o'er men's bodies fallen in a mire +Of new spilt blood and wine, the twain did go + Where Lust and Hate were mingled in desire, +And dreams and death were blended in one woe. + +XXV. + +Fire and the foe were masters now: the sky + Flared like the dawn of that last day of all, +When men for pity to the sea shall cry, + And vainly on the mountain tops shall call + To fall and end the horror in their fall; +And through the vapour dreadful things saw they, + The maidens leaping from the city wall, +The sleeping children murder'd where they lay. + +XXVI. + +Yea, cries like those that make the hills of Hell + Ring and re-echo, sounded through the night, +The screams of burning horses, and the yell + Of young men leaping naked into fight, + And shrill the women shriek'd, as in their flight +Shriek the wild cranes, when overhead they spy + Between the dusky cloud-land and the bright +Blue air, an eagle stooping from the sky. + +XXVII. + +And now the red glare of the burning shone + On deeds so dire the pure Gods might not bear, +Save Ares only, long to look thereon, + But with a cloud they darken'd all the air. + And, even then, within the temple fair +Of chaste Athene, did Cassandra cower, + And cried aloud an unavailing prayer; +For Aias was the master in that hour. + +XXVIII. + +Man's lust won what a God's love might not win, + And heroes trembled, and the temple floor +Shook, when one cry went up into the din, + And shamed the night to silence; then the roar + Of war and fire wax'd great as heretofore, +Till each roof fell, and every palace gate + Was shatter'd, and the King's blood shed; nor more +Remain'd to do, for Troy was desolate. + +XXIX. + +Then dawn drew near, and changed to clouds of rose + The dreadful smoke that clung to Ida's head; +But Ilios was ashes, and the foes + Had left the embers and the plunder'd dead; + And down the steep they drove the prey, and sped +Back to the swift ships, with a captive train,-- + While Menelaus, slow, with drooping head, +Follow'd, like one lamenting, through the plain. + +XXX. + +Where death might seem the surest, by the gate + Of Priam, where the spears raged, and the tall +Towers on the foe were falling, sought he fate + To look on Helen once, and then to fall, + Nor see with living eyes the end of all, +What time the host their vengeance should fulfil, + And cast her from the cliff below the wall, +Or burn her body on the windy hill. + +XXXI. + +But Helen found he never, where the flame + Sprang to the roofs, and Helen ne'er he found +Where flock'd the wretched women in their shame + The helpless altars of the Gods around, + Nor lurk'd she in deep chambers underground, +Where the priests trembled o'er their hidden gold, + Nor where the armed feet of foes resound +In shrines to silence consecrate of old. + +XXXII. + +So wounded to his hut and wearily + Came Menelaus; and he bow'd his head +Beneath the lintel neither fair nor high; + And, lo! Queen Helen lay upon his bed, + Flush'd like a child in sleep, and rosy-red, +And at his footstep did she wake and smile, + And spake: "My lord, how hath thy hunting sped, +Methinks that I have slept a weary while!" + +XXXIII. + +For Aphrodite made the past unknown + To Helen, as of old, when in the dew +Of that fair dawn the net was round her thrown: + Nay, now no memory of Troy brake through + The mist that veil'd from her sweet eyes and blue +The dreadful days and deeds all over-past, + And gladly did she greet her lord anew, +And gladly would her arms have round him cast. + +XXXIV. + +Then leap'd she up in terror, for he stood + Before her, like a lion of the wild, +His rusted armour all bestain'd with blood, + His mighty hands with blood of men defiled, + And strange was all she saw: the spears, the piled +Raw skins of slaughter'd beasts with many a stain; + And low he spake, and bitterly he smiled, +"The hunt is ended, and the spoil is ta'en." + +XXXV. + +No more he spake; for certainly he deem'd + That Aphrodite brought her to that place, +And that of her loved archer Helen dream'd, + Of Paris; at that thought the mood of grace + Died in him, and he hated her fair face, +And bound her hard, not slacking for her tears; + Then silently departed for a space, +To seek the ruthless counsel of his peers. + +XXXVI. + +Now all the Kings were feasting in much joy, + Seated or couch'd upon the carpets fair +That late had strown the palace floors of Troy, + And lovely Trojan ladies served them there, + And meat from off the spits young princes bare; +But Menelaus burst among them all, + Strange, 'mid their revelry, and did not spare, +But bade the Kings a sudden council call. + +XXXVII. + +To mar their feast the Kings had little will, + Yet did they as he bade, in grudging wise, +And heralds call'd the host unto the hill + Heap'd of sharp stones, where ancient Ilus lies. + And forth the people flock'd, as throng'd as flies +That buzz about the milking-pails in spring, + When life awakens under April skies, +And birds from dawning into twilight sing. + +XXXVIII. + +Then Helen through the camp was driven and thrust, + Till even the Trojan women cried in glee, +"Ah, where is she in whom thou put'st thy trust, + The Queen of love and laughter, where is she? + Behold the last gift that she giveth thee, +Thou of the many loves! to die alone, + And round thy flesh for robes of price to be +The cold close-clinging raiment of sharp stone." + +XXXIX. + +Ah, slowly through that trodden field and bare + They pass'd, where scarce the daffodil might spring, +For war had wasted all, but in the air + High overhead the mounting lark did sing; + Then all the army gather'd in a ring +Round Helen, round their torment, trapp'd at last, + And many took up mighty stones to fling +From shards and flints on Ilus' barrow cast. + +XL. + +Then Menelaus to the people spoke, + And swift his wing'd words came as whirling snow, +"Oh ye that overlong have borne the yoke, + Behold the very fountain of your woe! + For her ye left your dear homes long ago, +On Argive valley or Boeotian plain; + But now the black ships rot from stern to prow, +Who knows if ye shall see your own again? + +XLI. + +"Ay, and if home ye win, ye yet may find, + Ye that the winds waft, and the waters bear +To Argos! ye are quite gone out of mind; + Your fathers, dear and old, dishonour'd there; + Your children deem you dead, and will not share +Their lands with you; on mainland or on isle, + Strange men are wooing now the women fair, +And love doth lightly woman's heart beguile. + +XLII. + +"These sorrows hath this woman wrought alone: + So fall upon her straightway that she die, +And clothe her beauty in a cloak of stone!" + He spake, and truly deem'd to hear her cry + And see the sharp flints straight and deadly fly; +But each man stood and mused on Helen's face, + And her undream'd-of beauty, brought so nigh +On that bleak plain, within that ruin'd place. + +LXIII. + +And as in far off days that were to be, + The sense of their own sin did men constrain, +That they must leave the sinful woman free + Who, by their law, had verily been slain, + So Helen's beauty made their anger vain, +And one by one his gather'd flints let fall; + And like men shamed they stole across the plain, +Back to the swift ships and their festival. + +XLIV. + +But Menelaus look'd on her and said, + "Hath no man then condemn'd thee,--is there none +To shed thy blood for all that thou hast shed, + To wreak on thee the wrongs that thou hast done. + Nay, as mine own soul liveth, there is one +That will not set thy barren beauty free, + But slay thee to Poseidon and the Sun +Before a ship Achaian takes the sea!" + +XLV. + +Therewith he drew his sharp sword from his thigh + As one intent to slay her: but behold, +A sudden marvel shone across the sky! + A cloud of rosy fire, a flood of gold, + And Aphrodite came from forth the fold +Of wondrous mist, and sudden at her feet + Lotus and crocus on the trampled wold +Brake, and the slender hyacinth was sweet. + +XLVI. + +Then fell the point that never bloodless fell + When spear bit harness in the battle din, +For Aphrodite spake, and like a spell + Wrought her sweet voice persuasive, till within + His heart there lived no memory of sin, +No thirst for vengeance more, but all grew plain, + And wrath was molten in desire to win +The golden heart of Helen once again. + +XLVII. + +Then Aphrodite vanish'd as the day + Passes, and leaves the darkling earth behind; +And overhead the April sky was grey, + But Helen's arms about her lord were twined, + And his round her as clingingly and kind, +As when sweet vines and ivy in the spring + Join their glad leaves, nor tempests may unbind +The woven boughs, so lovingly they cling. + +* * * * * + +XLVIII. + +Noon long was over-past, but sacred night + Beheld them not upon the Ilian shore; +Nay, for about the waning of the light + Their swift ships wander'd on the waters hoar, + Nor stay'd they the Olympians to adore, +So eagerly they left that cursed land, + But many a toil, and tempests great and sore, +Befell them ere they won the Argive strand. + +XLIX. + +To Cyprus and Phoenicia wandering + They came, and many a ship, and many a man +They lost, and perish'd many a precious thing + While bare before the stormy North they ran, + And further far than when their quest began +From Argos did they seem,--a weary while,-- + Becalm'd in sultry seas Egyptian, +A long day's voyage from the mouths of Nile. + +L. + +But there the Gods had pity on them, and there + The ancient Proteus taught them how to flee +From that so distant deep,--the fowls of air + Scarce in one year can measure out that sea; + Yet first within Aegyptus must they be, +And hecatombs must offer,--quickly then + The Gods abated of their jealousy, +Wherewith they scourge the negligence of men. + +LI. + +And strong and fair the south wind blew, and fleet + Their voyaging, so merrily they fled +To win that haven where the waters sweet + Of clear Eurotas with the brine are wed, + And swift their chariots and their horses sped +To pleasant Lacedaemon, lying low + Grey in the shade of sunset, but the head +Of tall Taygetus like fire did glow. + +LII. + +And what but this is sweet: at last to win + The fields of home, that change not while we change; +To hear the birds their ancient song begin; + To wander by the well-loved streams that range + Where not one pool, one moss-clad stone is strange, +Nor seem we older than long years ago, + Though now beneath the grey roof of the grange +The children dwell of them we used to know? + +LIII. + +Came there no trouble in the later days + To mar the life of Helen, when the old +Crowns and dominions perish'd, and the blaze + Lit by returning Heraclidae roll'd + Through every vale and every happy fold +Of all the Argive land? Nay, peacefully + Did Menelaus and the Queen behold +The counted years of mortal life go by. + +LIV. + +"Death ends all tales," but this he endeth not; + They grew not grey within the valley fair +Of hollow Lacedaemon, but were brought + To Rhadamanthus of the golden hair, + Beyond the wide world's end; ah never there +Comes storm nor snow; all grief is left behind, + And men immortal, in enchanted air, +Breathe the cool current of the Western wind. + +LV. + +But Helen was a Saint in Heathendom, + A kinder Aphrodite; without fear +Maidens and lovers to her shrine would come + In fair Therapnae, by the waters clear + Of swift Eurotas; gently did she hear +All prayers of love, and not unheeded came + The broken supplication, and the tear +Of man or maiden overweigh'd with shame. + + +O'er Helen's shrine the grass is growing green, + In desolate Therapnae; none the less +Her sweet face now unworshipp'd and unseen + Abides the symbol of all loveliness, + Of Beauty ever stainless in the stress +Of warring lusts and fears;--and still divine, + Still ready with immortal peace to bless +Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine. + + + + +NOTE + + +[In this story in rhyme of the fortunes of Helen, the theory that she was +an unwilling victim of the Gods has been preferred. Many of the +descriptions of manners are versified from the Iliad and the Odyssey. The +description of the events after the death of Hector, and the account of +the sack of Troy, is chiefly borrowed from Quintus Smyrnaeus.] + +The character and history of Helen of Troy have been conceived of in very +different ways by poets and mythologists. In attempting to trace the +chief current of ancient traditions about Helen, we cannot really get +further back than the Homeric poems, the Iliad and Odyssey. Philological +conjecture may assure us that Helen, like most of the characters of old +romance, is "merely the Dawn," or Light, or some other bright being +carried away by Paris, who represents Night, or Winter, or the Cloud, or +some other power of darkness. Without discussing these ideas, it may be +said that the Greek poets (at all events before allegorical explanations +of mythology came in, about five hundred years before Christ) regarded +Helen simply as a woman of wonderful beauty. Homer was not thinking of +the Dawn, or the Cloud when he described Helen among the Elders on the +Ilian walls, or repeated her lament over the dead body of Hector. The +Homeric poems are our oldest literary documents about Helen, but it is +probable enough that the poet has modified and purified more ancient +traditions which still survive in various fragments of Greek legend. In +Homer Helen is always the daughter of Zeus. Isocrates tells us +("Helena," 211 b) that "while many of the demigods were children of Zeus, +he thought the paternity of none of his daughters worth claiming, save +that of Helen only." In Homer, then, Helen is the daughter of Zeus, but +Homer says nothing of the famous legend which makes Zeus assume the form +of a swan to woo the mother of Helen. Unhomeric as this myth is, we may +regard it as extremely ancient. Very similar tales of pursuit and +metamorphosis, for amatory or other purposes, among the old legends of +Wales, and in the "Arabian Nights," as well as in the myths of +Australians and Red Indians. Again, the belief that different families +of mankind descend from animals, as from the Swan, or from gods in the +shape of animals, is found in every quarter of the world, and among the +rudest races. Many Australian natives of to-day claim descent, like the +royal house of Sparta, from the Swan. The Greek myths hesitated as to +whether Nemesis or Leda was the bride of the Swan. Homer only mentions +Leda among "the wives and daughters of mighty men," whose ghosts Odysseus +beheld in Hades: "And I saw Leda, the famous bedfellow of Tyndareus, who +bare to Tyndareus two sons, hardy of heart, Castor, tamer of steeds, and +the boxer Polydeuces." These heroes Helen, in the Iliad (iii. 238), +describes as her mother's sons. Thus, if Homer has any distinct view on +the subject, he holds that Leda is the mother of Helen by Zeus, of the +Dioscuri by Tyndareus. + +Greek ideas as to the character of Helen varied with the various moods of +Greek literature. Homer's own ideas about his heroine are probably best +expressed in the words with which Priam greets her as she appears among +the assembled elders, who are watching the Argive heroes from the wall of +Troy:--"In nowise, dear child, do I blame thee; nay, the Gods are to +blame, who have roused against me the woful war of the Achaeans." Homer, +like Priam, throws the guilt of Helen on the Gods, but it is not very +easy to understand exactly what he means by saying "the Gods are to +blame." In the first place, Homer avoids the psychological problems in +which modern poetry revels, by attributing almost all changes of the +moods of men to divine inspiration. Thus when Achilles, in a famous +passage of the first book of the Iliad, puts up his half-drawn sword in +the sheath, and does not slay Agamemnon, Homer assigns his repentance to +the direct influence of Athene. Again, he says in the Odyssey, about +Clytemnestra, that "she would none of the foul deed;" that is of the love +of Aegisthus, till "the doom of the Gods bound her to her ruin." So far +the same excuse is made for the murderous Clytemnestra as for the amiable +Helen. Again, Homer is, in the strictest sense, and in strong contrast +to the Greek tragedians and to Virgil, a chivalrous poet. It would +probably be impossible to find a passage in which he speaks harshly or +censoriously of the conduct of any fair and noble lady. The sordid +treachery of Eriphyle, who sold her lord for gold, wins for her the +epithet "hateful;" and Achilles, in a moment of strong grief, applies a +term of abhorrence to Helen. But Homer is too chivalrous to judge the +life of any lady, and only shows the other side of the chivalrous +character--its cruelty to persons not of noble birth--in describing the +"foul death" of the waiting women of Penelope. "God forbid that I should +take these women's lives by a clean death," says Telemachus (Odyssey, +xxii. 462). So "about all their necks nooses were cast that they might +die by the death most pitiful. And they writhed with their feet for a +little space, but for no long while." In trying to understand Homer's +estimate of Helen, therefore, we must make allowance for his theory of +divine intervention, and for his chivalrous judgment of ladies. But +there are two passages in the Iliad which may be taken as indicating +Homer's opinion that Helen was literally a victim, an unwilling victim, +of Aphrodite, and that she was carried away by force a captive from +Lacedaemon. These passages are in the Iliad, ii. 356, 590. In the +former text Nestor says, "let none be eager to return home ere he has +couched with a Trojan's wife, and _avenged the longings and sorrows of +Helen_"--[Greek text]. It is thus that Mr. Gladstone, a notable champion +of Helen's, would render this passage, and the same interpretation was +favoured by the ancient "Separatists" (Chorizontes), who wished to prove +that the Iliad and Odyssey were by different authors; but many +authorities prefer to translate "to avenge our labours and sorrows for +Helen's sake"--"to avenge all that we have endured in the attempt to win +back Helen." Thus the evidence of this passage is ambiguous. The fairer +way to seek for Homer's real view of Helen is to examine all the passages +in which she occurs. The result will be something like this:--Homer sees +in Helen a being of the rarest personal charm and grace of character; a +woman who imputes to herself guilt much greater than the real measure of +her offence. She is ever gentle except with the Goddess who betrayed +her, and the unworthy lover whose lot she is compelled to share. Against +them her helpless anger breaks out in flashes of eloquent scorn. Homer +was apparently acquainted with the myth of Helen's capture by Theseus, a +myth illustrated in the decorations of the coffer of Cypselus. But we +first see Helen, the cause of the war, when Menelaus and Paris are about +to fight their duel for her sake, in the tenth year of the Leaguer +(Iliad, iii. 121). Iris is sent to summon Helen to the walls. She finds +Helen in her chamber, weaving at a mighty loom, and embroidering on +tapestry the adventures of the siege--the battles of horse-taming Trojans +and bronze-clad Achaeans. The message of Iris renews in Helen's heart "a +sweet desire for her lord and her own city, and them that begat her;" so, +draped in silvery white, Helen goes with her three maidens to the walls. +There, above the gate, like some king in the Old Testament, Paris sits +among his counsellors, and they are all amazed at Helen's beauty; "no +marvel is it that Trojans and Achaeans suffer long and weary toils for +such a woman, so wondrous like to the immortal goddesses." Then Priam, +assuring Helen that he holds her blameless, bids her name to him her +kinsfolk and the other Achaean warriors. In her reply, Helen displays +that grace of penitence which is certainly not often found in ancient +literature:--"Would that evil death had been my choice, when I followed +thy son, and left my bridal bower and my kin, and my daughter dear, and +the maidens of like age with me." Agamemnon she calls, "the husband's +brother of me shameless; alas, that such an one should be." She names +many of the warriors, but misses her brothers Castor and Polydeuces, "own +brothers of mine, one mother bare us. Either they followed not from +pleasant Lacedaemon, or hither they followed in swift ships, but now they +have no heart to go down into the battle for dread of the shame and many +reproaches that are mine." + +"So spake she, but already the life-giving earth did cover them, there in +Lacedaemon, in their own dear country." + +Menelaus and Paris fought out their duel, the Trojan was discomfited, but +was rescued from death and carried to Helen's bower by Aphrodite. Then +the Goddess came in disguise to seek Helen on the wall, and force her +back into the arms of her defeated lover. Helen turned on the Goddess +with an abruptness and a force of sarcasm and invective which seem quite +foreign to her gentle nature. "Wilt thou take me further yet to some +city of Phrygia or pleasant Maeonia, if there any man is dear to thee . . +. Nay, go thyself and sit down by Paris, and forswear the paths of the +Gods, but ever lament for him and cherish him, till he make thee his +wife, yea, or perchance his slave, but to him will I never go." But this +anger of Helen is soon overcome by fear, when the Goddess, in turn, waxes +wrathful, and Helen is literally driven by threats--"for the daughter of +Zeus was afraid,"--into the arms of Paris. Yet even so she taunts her +lover with his cowardice, a cowardice which she never really condones. In +the sixth book of the Iliad she has been urging him to return to the war. +She then expresses her penitence to Hector, "would that the fury of the +wind had borne me afar to the mountains, or the wave of the roaring +sea--ere ever these ill deeds were done!" In this passage too, she +prophesies that her fortunes will be [Greek text] famous in the songs, +good or evil, of men unborn. In the last book of the Iliad we meet Helen +once more, as she laments over the dead body of Hector. "'Never, in all +the twenty years since I came hither, have I heard from thee one taunt or +one evil word: nay, but if any other rebuked me in the halls, any one of +my husband's brothers, or of their sisters, or their wives, or the mother +of my husband (but the king was ever gentle to me as a father), then +wouldst thou restrain them with thy loving kindness and thy gentle +speech.' So spake she; weeping." + +In the Odyssey, Helen is once more in Lacedaemon, the honoured but still +penitent wife of Menelaus. How they became reconciled (an extremely +difficult point in the story), there is nothing in Homer to tell us. + +Sir John Lubbock has conjectured that in the morals of the heroic age +Helen was not really regarded as guilty. She was lawfully married, by +"capture," to Paris. Unfortunately for this theory there is abundant +proof that, in the heroic age, wives were nominally _bought_ for so many +cattle, or given as a reward for great services. There is no sign of +marriage by capture, and, again, marriage by capture is a savage +institution which applies to unmarried women, not to women already +wedded, as Helen was to Menelaus. Perhaps the oldest evidence we have +for opinion about the later relations of Helen and Menelaus, is derived +from Pausanias's (174. A.D.) description of the Chest of Cypselus. This +ancient coffer, a work of the seventh century, B.C., was still preserved +at Olympia, in the time of Pausanias. On one of the bands of cedar or of +ivory, was represented (Pausanias, v. 18), "Menelaus with a sword in his +hand, rushing on to kill Helen--clearly at the sacking of Ilios." How +Menelaus passed from a desire to kill Helen to his absolute complacency +in the Odyssey, Homer does not tell us. According to a statement +attributed to Stesichorus (635, 554, B.C.?), the army of the Achaeans +purposed to stone Helen, but was overawed and compelled to relent by her +extraordinary beauty: "when they beheld her, they cast down their stones +on the ground." It may be conjectured that the reconciliation followed +this futile attempt at punishing a daughter of Zeus. Homer, then, leaves +us without information about the adventures of Helen, between the sack of +Tiny and the reconciliation with Menelaus. He hints that she was married +to Deiphobus, after the death of Paris, and alludes to the tradition that +she mimicked the voices of the wives of the heroes, and so nearly tempted +them to leave their ambush in the wooden horse. But in the fourth book +of the Odyssey, when Telemachus visits Lacedaemon, he finds Helen the +honoured wife of Menelaus, rich in the marvellous gifts bestowed on her, +in her wanderings from Troy, by the princes of Egypt. + +"While yet he pondered these things in his mind and in his heart, Helen +came forth from her fragrant vaulted chamber, like Artemis of the golden +arrows; and with her came Adraste and set for her the well-wrought chair, +and Alcippe bare a rug of soft wool, and Phylo bare a silver basket which +Alcandre gave her, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt in Thebes of Egypt, +where is the chiefest store of wealth in the houses. He gave two silver +baths to Menelaus, and tripods twain, and ten talents of gold. And +besides all this, his wife bestowed on Helen lovely gifts; a golden +distaff did she give, and a silver basket with wheels beneath, and the +rims thereof were finished with gold. This it was that the handmaid +Phylo bare and set beside her, filled with dressed yarn, and across it +was laid a distaff charged with wool of violet blue. So Helen sat her +down in the chair, and beneath was a footstool for the feet." + +When the host and guests begin to weep the ready tears of the heroic age +over the sorrows of the past, and dread of the dim future, Helen comforts +them with a magical potion. + +"Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Presently she +cast a drug into the wine whereof they drank, a drug to lull all pain and +anger, and bring forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should drink a +draught thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day he would let +no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and his father died, +not though men slew his brother or dear son with the sword before his +face, and his own eyes beheld it. Medicines of such virtue and so +helpful had the daughter of Zeus, which Polydamna, the wife of Thon, had +given her, a woman of Egypt, where Earth the grain-giver yields herbs in +greatest plenty, many that are healing in the cup, and many baneful." + +So Telemachus was kindly entertained by Helen and Menelaus, and when he +left them it was not without a gift. + +"And Helen stood by the coffers wherein were her robes of curious +needlework which she herself had wrought. Then Helen, the fair lady, +lifted one and brought it out, the widest and most beautifully +embroidered of all, and it shone like a star, and lay far beneath the +rest." + +Presently, we read, "Helen of the fair face came up with the robe in her +hands, and spake: 'Lo! I too give thee this gift, dear child, a memorial +of the hands of Helen, for thy bride to wear upon the day of thy desire, +even of thy marriage. But meanwhile let it lie with thy mother in her +chamber. And may joy go with thee to thy well-builded house, and thine +own country.'" + +Helen's last words, in Homer, are words of good omen, her prophecy to +Telemachus that Odysseus shall return home after long wanderings, and +take vengeance on the rovers. We see Helen no more, but Homer does not +leave us in doubt as to her later fortunes. He quotes the prophecy which +Proteus, the ancient one of the sea, delivered to Menelaus:-- + +"But thou, Menelaus, son of Zeus, art not ordained to die and meet thy +fate in Argos, the pasture-land of horses, but the deathless gods will +convey thee to the Elysian plain and the world's end, where is +Rhadamanthus of the fair hair, where life is easiest for men. No snow is +there, nor yet great storm, nor any rain; but alway ocean sendeth forth +the breeze of the shrill West to blow cool on men: yea, for thou hast +Helen to wife, and thereby they deem thee to be son of Zeus." + +We must believe, with Isocrates, that Helen was translated, with her +lord, to that field of Elysium, "where falls not hail, or rain, or any +snow." This version of the end of Helen's history we have adopted, but +many other legends were known in Greece. Pausanias tells us that, in a +battle between the Crotoniats and the Locrians, one Leonymus charged the +empty space in the Locrian line, which was entrusted to the care of the +ghost of Aias. Leonymus was wounded by the invisible spear of the hero, +and could not be healed of the hurt. The Delphian oracle bade him seek +the Isle of Leuke in the Euxine Sea, where Aias would appear to him, and +heal him. When Leonymus returned from Leuke he told how Achilles dwelt +there with his ancient comrades, and how he was now wedded to Helen of +Troy. Yet the local tradition of Lacedaemon showed the sepulchre of +Helen in Therapnae. According to a Rhodian legend (adopted by the author +of the "Epic of Hades"), Helen was banished from Sparta by the sons of +Menelaus, came wandering to Rhodes, and was there strangled by the +servants of the queen Polyxo, who thus avenged the death of her husband +at Troy. It is certain, as we learn both from Herodotus (vi. 61) and +from Isocrates, that Helen was worshipped in Therapnae. In the days of +Ariston the king, a deformed child was daily brought by her nurse to the +shrine of Helen. And it is said that, as the nurse was leaving the +shrine, a woman appeared unto her, and asked what she bore in her arms, +who said, "she bore a child." Then the woman said, "show it to me," +which the nurse refused, for the parents of the child had forbidden that +she should be seen of any. But the woman straitly commanding that the +child should be shown, and the other beholding her eagerness, at length +the nurse showed the child, and the woman caressed its face and said, +"she shall be the fairest woman in Sparta." And from that day the +fashion of its countenance was changed, "and the child became the fairest +of all the Spartan women." + +It is a characteristic of Greek literature that, with the rise of +democracy, the old epic conception of the ancient heroes altered. We can +scarcely recognize the Odysseus of Homer in the Odysseus of Sophocles. +The kings are regarded by the tragedians with some of the distrust and +hatred which the unconstitutional tyrants of Athens had aroused. Just as +the later _chansons de geste_ of France, the poems written in an age of +feudal opposition to central authority, degraded heroes like Charles, so +rhetorical, republican, and sophistical Greece put its quibbles into the +lips of Agamemnon and Helen, and slandered the stainless and fearless +Patroclus and Achilles. + +The Helen of Euripides, in the "Troades," is a pettifogging sophist, who +pleads her cause to Menelaus with rhetorical artifice. In the "Helena," +again, Euripides quite deserts the Homeric traditions, and adopts the +late myths which denied that Helen ever went to Troy. She remained in +Egypt, and Achaeans and Trojans fought for a mere shadow, formed by the +Gods out of clouds and wind. In the "Cyclops" of Euripides, a satirical +drama, the cynical giant is allowed to speak of Helen in a strain of +coarse banter. Perhaps the essay of Isocrates on Helen may be regarded +as a kind of answer to the attacks of several speakers in the works of +the tragedians. Isocrates defends Helen simply on the plea of her +beauty: "To Heracles Zeus gave strength, to Helen beauty, which naturally +rules over even strength itself." Beauty, he declares, the Gods +themselves consider the noblest thing in the world, as the Goddesses +showed when they contended for the prize of loveliness. And so +marvellous, says Isocrates, was the beauty of Helen, that for her glory +Zeus did not spare his beloved son, Sarpedon; and Thetis saw Achilles +die, and the Dawn bewailed her Memnon. "Beauty has raised more mortals +to immortality than all the other virtues together." And that Helen is +now a Goddess, Isocrates proves by the fact that the sacrifices offered +to her in Therapnae, are such as are given, not to heroes, but to +immortal Gods. + +When Rome took up the legends of Greece, she did so in no chivalrous +spirit. Few poets are less chivalrous than Virgil; no hero has less of +chivalry than his pious and tearful Aeneas. In the second book of the +Aeneid, the pious one finds Helen hiding in the shrine of Vesta, and +determines to slay "the common curse of Troy and of her own country." +There is no glory, he admits, in murdering a woman:-- + + Extinxisse nefas tamen et sumpsisse merentis + Laudabor poenas, animumqne explesse juvabit + Ultricis flammae, et cineres satiasse meorum. + +But Venus appears and rescues the unworthy lover of Dido from the +crowning infamy which he contemplates. Hundreds of years later, Helen +found a worthier poet in Quintus Smyrnaeus, who in a late age sang the +swan-song of Greek epic minstrelsy. It is thus that (in the fourth +century A.D.) Quintus describes Helen, as she is led with the captive +women of Ilios, to the ships of the Achaeans:--"Now Helen lamented not, +but shame dwelt in her dark eyes, and reddened her lovely cheeks, . . . +while around her the people marvelled as they beheld the flawless grace +and winsome beauty of the woman, and none dared upbraid her with secret +taunt or open rebuke. Nay, as she had been a Goddess they beheld her +gladly, for dear and desired was she in their sight. And as when their +own country appeareth to men long wandering on the sea, and they, being +escaped from death and the deep, gladly put forth their hands to greet +their own native place; even so all the Danaans were glad at the sight of +her, and had no more memory of all their woful toil, and the din of war: +such a spirit did Cytherea put into their hearts, out of favour to fair +Helen and father Zeus." Thus Quintus makes amends for the trivial verses +in which Coluthus describes the flight of a frivolous Helen with an +effeminate Paris. + +To follow the fortunes of Helen through the middle ages would demand much +space and considerable research. The poets who read Dares Phrygius +believed, with the scholar of Dr. Faustus, that "Helen of Greece was the +admirablest lady that ever lived." When English poetry first found the +secret of perfect music, her sweetest numbers were offered by Marlowe at +the shrine of Helen. The speech of Faustus is almost too hackneyed to be +quoted, and altogether too beautiful to be omitted:-- + + Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, + And burnt the topless towers of Ilium! + Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. + Her lips suck forth my soul! see where it flies; + Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again; + Here will I dwell, for heaven is in those lips, + And all is dross that is not Helena. + + * * * * * + + Oh thou art fairer than the evening air + Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars. + +The loves of Faustus and Helen are readily allegorized into the passion +of the Renaissance for classical beauty, the passion to which all that is +not beauty seemed very dross. This is the idea of the second part of +"Faust," in which Helen once more became, as she prophesied in the Iliad, +a song in the mouths of later men. Almost her latest apparition in +English poetry, is in the "Hellenics" of Landor. The sweetness of the +character of Helen; the tragedy of the death of Corythus by the hand of +his father Paris; and the omnipotence of beauty and charm which triumph +over the wrath of Menelaus, are the subjects of Landor's verse. But +Helen, as a woman, has hardly found a nobler praise, in three thousand +years, than Helen, as a child, has received from Mr. Swinburne in +"Atalanta in Calydon." Meleager is the speaker:-- + + Even such (for sailing hither I saw far hence, + And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock + Nigh Sparta, with a strenuous-hearted stream) + Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white, + The little Helen, and less fair than she + Fair Clytemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns + Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles, + As one smitten with love or wrung with joy, + She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then + Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too, + And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks naught, + But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her + Laughing, so fare they, as in their bloomless bud + And full of unblown life, the blood of gods. + +There is all the irony of Fate in Althaeas' reply + + Sweet days befall them and good loves and lords, + Tender and temperate honours of the hearths, + Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN OF TROY*** + + +******* This file should be named 3229.txt or 3229.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/2/3229 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced from the 1882 George Bell and Sons edition by +David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +HELEN OF TROY + +by Andrew Lang + + + + +"Le joyeulx temps passe souloit estre occasion que je faisoie de +plaisants diz et gracieuses chanconnetes et ballades. Mais je me +suis mis a faire cette traittie d'affliction contre ma droite nature +. . . et suis content de l'avoir prinse, car mes douleurs me semblent +en estre allegees."--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. + + + +BOOK I--THE COMING OF PARIS + + + +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. + + + +BOOK II--THE SPELL OF APHRODITE + + + +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-winged 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 throned 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 Helle 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. + + + +BOOK III--THE FLIGHT OF HELEN + + + +The flight of Helen and Paris from Lacedaemon, and of what things +befell them in their voyaging, and how they came to Troy. + +I. + +The grey Dawn's daughter, rosy Morn awoke + In old Tithonus' arms, and suddenly +Let harness her swift steeds beneath the yoke, + And drave her shining chariot through the sky. + Then men might see the flocks of Thunder fly, +All gold and rose, the azure pastures through, + What time the lark was carolling on high +Above the gardens drench'd with rainy dew. + +II. + +But Aphrodite sent a slumber deep + On all in the King's palace, young and old, +And one by one the women fell asleep, - + Their lamentable tales left half untold, - + Before the dawn, when folk wax weak and cold, +But Helen waken'd with the shining morn, + Forgetting quite her sorrows manifold, +And light of heart as was the day new-born. + +III. + +She had no memory of unhappy things, + She knew not of the evil days to come, +Forgotten were her ancient wanderings, + And as Lethaean waters wholly numb + The sense of spirits in Elysium, +That no remembrance may their bliss alloy, + Even so the rumour of her days was dumb, +And all her heart was ready for new joy. + +IV. + +The young day knows not of an elder dawn, + Joys of old noons, old sorrows of the night, +And so from Helen was the past withdrawn, + Her lord, her child, her home forgotten quite, + Lost in the marvel of a new delight: +She was as one who knows he shall not die, + When earthly colours melt into the bright +Pure splendour of his immortality. + +V. + +Then Helen rose, and all her body fair + She bath'd in the spring water, pure and cold, +And with her hand bound up her shining hair + And clothed her in the raiment that of old + Athene wrought with marvels manifold, +A bridal gift from an immortal hand, + And all the front was clasp'd with clasps of gold, +And for the girdle was a golden band. + +VI. + +Next from her upper chamber silently + Went Helen, moving like a morning dream. +She did not know the golden roof, the high + Walls, and the shields that on the pillars gleam, + Only she heard the murmur of the stream +That waters all the garden's wide expanse, + This song, and cry of singing birds, did seem +To guide her feet as music guides the dance. + +VII. + +The music drew her on to the glad air + From forth the chamber of enchanted death, +And lo! the world was waking everywhere; + The wind went by, a cool delicious breath, + Like that which in the gardens wandereth, +The golden gardens of the Hesperides, + And in its song unheard of things it saith, +The myriad marvels of the fairy seas. + +VIII. + +So through the courtyard to the garden close + Went Helen, where she heard the murmuring +Of water 'twixt the lily and the rose; + For thereby doth a double fountain spring. + To one stream do the women pitchers bring +By Menelaus' gates, at close of day; + The other through the close doth shine and sing, +Then to the swift Eurotas fleets away. + +IX. + +And Helen sat her down upon the grass, + And pluck'd the little daisies white and red, +And toss'd them where the running waters pass, + To watch them racing from the fountain-head, + And whirl'd about where little streams dispread; +And still with merry birds the garden rang, + And, MARRY, MARRY, in their song they said, +Or so do maids interpret that they sang. + +X. + +Then stoop'd she down, and watch'd the crystal stream, + And fishes poising where the waters ran, +And lo! upon the glass a golden gleam, + And purple as of robes Sidonian, + Then, sudden turning, she beheld a man, +That knelt beside her; as her own face fair + Was his, and o'er his shoulders for a span +Fell the bright tresses of his yellow hair. + +XI. + +Then either look'd on other with amaze + As each had seen a God; for no long while +They marvell'd, but as in the first of days, + The first of men and maids did meet and smile, + And Aphrodite did their hearts beguile, +So hands met hands, lips lips, with no word said + Were they enchanted 'neath that leafy aisle, +And silently were woo'd, betroth'd, and wed. + +XII. + +Ah, slowly did their silence wake to words + That scarce had more of meaning than the song +Pour'd forth of the innumerable birds + That fill the palace gardens all day long; + So innocent, so ignorant of wrong, +Was she, so happy each in other's eyes, + Thus wrought the mighty Goddess that is strong, +Even to make naught the wisdom of the wise. + +XIII. + +Now in the midst of that enchanted place + Right gladly had they linger'd all day through, +And fed their love upon each other's face, + But Aphrodite had a counsel new, + And silently to Paris' side she drew, +In guise of Aethra, whispering that the day + Pass'd on, while his ship waited, and his crew +Impatient, in the narrow Gythian bay. + +XIV. + +For thither had she brought them by her skill; + But Helen saw her not,--nay, who can see +A Goddess come or go against her will? + Then Paris whisper'd, "Come, ah, Love, with me! + Come to a shore beyond the barren sea; +There doth the bridal crown await thy head, + And there shall all the land be glad of thee!" +Then, like a child, she follow'd where he led. + +XV. + +For, like a child's her gentle heart was glad. + So through the courtyard pass'd they to the gate; +And even there, as Aphrodite bade, + The steeds of Paris and the chariots wait; + Then to the well-wrought car he led her straight, +And grasped the shining whip and golden rein, + And swift they drave until the day was late +By clear Eurotas through the fruitful plain. + +XVI. + +But now within the halls the magic sleep + Was broken, and men sought them everywhere; +Yet Aphrodite cast a cloud so deep + About their chariot none might see them there. + And strangely did they hear the trumpets blare, +And noise of racing wheels; yet saw they nought: + Then died the sounds upon the distant air, +And safe they won the haven that they sought. + +XVII. + +Beneath a grassy cliff, beneath the down, + Where swift Eurotas mingles with the sea, +There climb'd the grey walls of a little town, + The sleepy waters wash'd it languidly, + For tempests in that haven might not be. +The isle across the inlet guarded all, + And the shrill winds that roam the ocean free +Broke and were broken on the rocky wall. + +XVIII. + +Then Paris did a point of hunting blow, + Nor yet the sound had died upon the hill +When round the isle they spied a scarlet prow, + And oars that flash'd into that haven still, + The oarsmen bending forward with a will, +And swift their black ship to the haven-side + They brought, and steer'd her in with goodly skill, +And bare on board the strange Achaean bride. + +XIX. + +Now while the swift ship through the waters clave, + All happy things that in the waters dwell, +Arose and gamboll'd on the glassy wave, + And Nereus led them with his sounding shell: + Yea, the sea-nymphs, their dances weaving well, +In the green water gave them greeting free. + Ah, long light linger'd, late the darkness fell, +That night, upon the isle of Cranae! + +XX. + +And Hymen shook his fragrant torch on high, + Till all its waves of smoke and tongues of flame, +Like clouds of rosy gold fulfill'd the sky; + And all the Nereids from the waters came, + Each maiden with a musical sweet name; +Doris, and Doto, and Amphithoe; + And their shrill bridal song of love and shame +Made music in the silence of the sea. + +XXI. + +For this was like that night of summer weather, + When mortal men and maidens without fear, +And forest-nymphs, and forest-gods together, + Do worship Pan in the long twilight clear. + And Artemis this one night spares the deer, +And every cave and dell, and every grove + Is glad with singing soft and happy cheer, +With laughter, and with dalliance, and with love. + +* * * * * + +XXII. + +Now when the golden-throned Dawn arose + To waken gods and mortals out of sleep, +Queen Aphrodite sent the wind that blows + From fairy gardens of the Western deep. + The sails are spread, the oars of Paris leap +Past many a headland, many a haunted fane: + And, merrily all from isle to isle they sweep +O'er the wet ways across the barren plain. + +XXIII. + +By many an island fort, and many a haven + They sped, and many a crowded arsenal: +They saw the loves of Gods and men engraven + On friezes of Astarte's temple wall. + They heard that ancient shepherd Proteus call +His flock from forth the green and tumbling lea, + And saw white Thetis with her maidens all +Sweep up to high Olympus from the sea. + +XXIV. + +They saw the vain and weary toil of men, + The ships that win the rich man all he craves; +They pass'd the red-prow'd barks Egyptian, + And heard afar the moaning of the slaves + Pent in the dark hot hold beneath the waves; +And scatheless the Sardanian fleets among + They sail'd; by men that sow the sea with graves, +Bearing black fate to folk of alien tongue. + +XXV. + +Then all day long a rolling cloud of smoke + Would hang on the sea-limits, faint and far, +But through the night the beacon-flame upbroke + From some rich island-town begirt with war; + And all these things could neither make nor mar +The joy of lovers wandering, but they + Sped happily, and heedless of the star +That hung o'er their glad haven, far away. + +XXVI. + +The fisher-sentinel upon the height + Watch'd them with vacant eyes, and little knew +They bore the fate of Troy; to him the bright + Plashed waters, with the silver shining through + When tunny shoals came cruising in the blue, +Was more than Love that doth the world unmake; + And listless gazed he as the gulls that flew +And shriek'd and chatter'd in the vessel's wake. + +XXVII. + +So the wind drave them, and the waters bare + Across the great green plain unharvested, +Till through an after-glow they knew the fair + Faint rose of snow on distant Ida's head. + And swifter then the joyous oarsmen sped; +But night was ended, and the waves were fire + Beneath the fleet feet of a dawning red +Or ere they won the land of their desire. + +XXVIII. + +Now when the folk about the haven knew + The scarlet prow of Paris, swift they ran +And the good ship within the haven drew, + And merrily their welcoming began. + But none the face of Helen dared to scan; +Their bold eyes fell before they had their fill, + For all men deem'd her that Idalian +Who loved Anchises on the lonely hill. + +XXIX. + +But when her sweet smile and her gentleness + And her kind speech had won them from dismay, +They changed their minds, and 'gan the Gods to bless + Who brought to Ilios that happy day. + And all the folk fair Helen must convey, +Crown'd like a bride, and clad with flame-hued pall, + Through the rich plain, along the water-way +Right to the great gates of the Ilian wall. + +XXX. + +And through the vines they pass'd, where old and young + Had no more heed of the glad vintaging, +But all unpluck'd the purple clusters hung, + Nor more of Linus did the minstrel sing, + For he and all the folk were following, +Wine-stain'd and garlanded, in merry bands, + Like men when Dionysus came as king, +And led his revel from the sun-burnt lands, + +XXXI. + +So from afar the music and the shout + Roll'd up to Ilios and the Scaean gate, +And at the sound the city folk came out + And bore sweet Helen--such a fairy weight + As none might deem the burden of Troy's fate - +Across the threshold of the town, and all + Flock'd with her, where King Priam sat in state, +Girt by his elders, on the Ilian wall. + +XXXII. + +No man but knew him by his crown of gold, + And golden-studded sceptre, and his throne; +Ay, strong he seem'd as those great kings of old, + Whose image is eternal on the stone + Won from the dust that once was Babylon; +But kind of mood was he withal, and mild, + And when his eyes on Argive Helen shone, +He loved her as a father doth a child. + +XXXIII. + +Round him were set his peers, as Panthous, + Antenor, and Agenor, hardly grey, +Scarce touch'd as yet with age, nor garrulous + As are cicalas on a sunny day: + Such might they be when years had slipp'd away, +And made them over-weak for war or joy, + Content to watch the Leaguer as it lay +Beside the ships, beneath the walls of Troy. + +XXXIV. + +Then Paris had an easy tale to tell, + Which then might win upon men's wond'ring ears, +Who deem'd that Gods with mortals deign to dwell, + And that the water of the West enspheres + The happy Isles that know not Death nor tears; +Yea, and though monsters do these islands guard, + Yet men within their coasts had dwelt for years +Uncounted, with a strange love for reward. + +XXXV. + +And there had Paris ventured: so said he, - + Had known the Sirens' song, and Circe's wile; +And in a cove of that Hesperian sea + Had found a maiden on a lonely isle; + A sacrifice, if so men might beguile +The wrath of some beast-god they worshipp'd there, + But Paris, 'twixt the sea and strait defile, +Had slain the beast, and won the woman fair. + +XXXVI. + +Then while the happy people cried "Well done," + And Priam's heart was melted by the tale - +For Paris was his best-beloved son - + Came a wild woman, with wet eyes, and pale + Sad face, men look'd on when she cast her veil, +Not gladly; and none mark'd the thing she said, + Yet must they hear her long and boding wail +That follow'd still, however fleet they fled. + +XXXVII. + +She was the priestess of Apollo's fane, + Cassandra, and the God of prophecy +Spurr'd her to speak and rent her! but in vain + She toss'd her wasted arms against the sky, + And brake her golden circlet angrily, +And shriek'd that they had brought within the gate + Helen, a serpent at their hearts to lie! +Helen, a hell of people, king, and state! + +XXXVIII. + +But ere the God had left her; ere she fell + And foam'd among her maidens on the ground, +The air was ringing with a merry swell + Of flute, and pipe, and every sweetest sound, + In Aphrodite's fane, and all around +Were roses toss'd beneath the glimmering green + Of that high roof, and Helen there was crown'd +The Goddess of the Trojans, and their Queen. + + + +BOOK IV--THE DEATH OF CORYTHUS + + + +How Helen was made an outcast by the Trojan women, and how OEnone, +the old love of Paris, sent her son Corythus to him as her messenger, +and how Paris slew him unwittingly; and of the curses of OEnone, and +the coming of the Argive host against Troy. + +I. + +For long in Troia was there peace and mirth, + The pleasant hours still passing one by one; +And Helen joy'd at each fresh morning's birth, + And almost wept at setting of the sun, + For sorrow that the happy day was done; +Nor dream'd of years when she should hate the light, + And mourn afresh for every day begun, +Nor fare abroad save shamefully by night. + +II. + +And Paris was not one to backward cast + A fearful glance; nor pluck sour fruits of sin, +Half ripe; but seized all pleasures while they last, + Nor boded evil ere ill days begin. + Nay, nor lamented much when caught therein, +In each adventure always finding joy, + And hopeful still through waves of war to win +By strength of Hector, and the star of Troy. + +III. + +Now as the storms drive white sea-birds afar + Within green upland glens to seek for rest, +So rumours pale of an approaching war + Were blown across the islands from the west: + For Agamemnon summon'd all the best +From towns and tribes he ruled, and gave command + That free men all should gather at his hest +Through coasts and islets of the Argive land. + +IV. + +Sidonian merchant-men had seen the fleet + Black war-galleys that sped from town to town; +Had heard the hammers of the bronze-smiths beat + The long day through, and when the sun went down; + And thin, said they, would show the leafy crown +On many a sacred mountain-peak in spring, + For men had fell'd the pine-trees tall and brown +To fashion them curved ships for seafaring. + +V. + +And still the rumour grew; for heralds came, + Old men from Argos, bearing holy boughs, +Demanding great atonement for the shame + And sore despite done Menelaus' house; + But homeward soon they turn'd their scarlet prows, +And all their weary voyaging was vain; + For Troy had bound herself with awful vows +To cleave to Helen till the walls were ta'en. + +VI. + +And now, like swallows ere the winter weather, + The women in shrill groups were gathering, +With eager tongues still communing together, + And many a taunt at Helen would they fling, + Ay, through her innocence she felt the sting, +And shamed was now her gentle face and sweet, + For e'en the children evil songs would sing +To mock her as she hasted down the street. + +VII. + +Also the men who worshipp'd her of old + As she had been a goddess from above, +Gazed at her now with lustful eyes and bold, + As she were naught but Paris' light-o'-love; + And though in truth they still were proud enough, +Of that fair gem in their old city set, + Yet well she knew that wanton word and scoff +Went round the camp-fire when the warriors met. + +VIII. + +There came a certain holiday when Troy + Was wont to send her noble matrons all, +Young wives and old, with clamour and with joy, + To clothe Athene in her temple hall, + And robe her in a stately broider'd pall. +But now they drove fair Helen from their train, + "Better," they scream'd, "to cast her from the wall, +Than mock the Gods with offerings in vain." + +IX. + +One joy she had, that Paris yet was true, + Ay, fickle Paris, true unto the end; +And in the court of Ilios were two + Kind hearts, still eager Helen to defend, + And help and comfort in all need to lend:- +The gentle Hector with soft speech and mild, + And the old king that ever was her friend, +And loved her as a father doth his child. + +X. + +These, though they knew not all, these blamed her not, + But cast the heavy burden on the God, +Whose wrath, they deem'd, had verily waxed hot + Against the painful race on earth that trod, + And in God's hand was Helen but the rod +To scourge a people that, in unknown wise, + Had vex'd the far Olympian abode +With secret sin or stinted sacrifice. + +* * * * * * + +XI. + +The days grew into months, and months to years, + And still the Argive army did delay, +Till folk in Troia half forgot their fears, + And almost as of old were glad and gay; + And men and maids on Ida dared to stray, +But Helen dwelt within her inmost room, + And there from dawning to declining day, +Wrought at the patient marvels of her loom. + +XII. + +Yet even there in peace she might not be: + There was a nymph, OEnone, in the hills, +The daughter of a River-God was she, + Of Cebren,--that the mountain silence fills + With murmur'd music, for the countless rills +Of Ida meet him, dancing to the plain, - + Her Paris wooed, yet ignorant of ills, +Among the shepherd's huts, nor wooed in vain. + +XIII. + +Nay, Summer often found them by the fold + In these glad days, ere Paris was a king, +And oft the Autumn, in his car of gold, + Had pass'd them, merry at the vintaging: + And scarce they felt the breath of the white wing +Of Winter, in the cave where they would lie + On beds of heather by the fire, till Spring +Should crown them with her buds in passing by. + +XIV. + +For elbow-deep their flowery bed was strown + With fragrant leaves and with crush'd asphodel, +And sweetly still the shepherd-pipe made moan, + And many a tale of Love they had to tell, - + How Daphnis loved the strange, shy maiden well, +And how she loved him not, and how he died, + And oak-trees moan'd his dirge, and blossoms fell +Like tears from lindens by the water-side! + +XV. + +But colder, fleeter than the Winter's wing, + Time pass'd; and Paris changed, and now no more +OEnone heard him on the mountain sing, + Not now she met him in the forest hoar. + Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore +An alien love he sought; yet was she strong + To live, who deem'd that even as of yore +In days to come might Paris love her long. + +XVI. + +For dark OEnone from her Father drew + A power beyond all price; the gift to deal +With wounded men, though now the dreadful dew + Of Death anoint them, and the secret seal + Of Fate be set on them; these might she heal; +And thus OEnone trusted still to save + Her lover at the point of death, and steal +His life from Helen, and the amorous grave. + +XVII. + +And she had borne, though Paris knew it not, + A child, fair Corythus, to be her shame, +And still she mused, whenas her heart was hot, + "He hath no child by that Achaean dame:" + But when her boy unto his manhood came, +Then sorer yet OEnone did repine, + And bade him "fare to Ilios, and claim +Thy father's love, and all that should be thine!" + +XVIII. + +Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair + She drew, and from a green-tress'd birchen tree +She pluck'd a strip of smooth white bark and fair, + And many signs and woful graved she, + A message of the evil things to be. +Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold, + And bound the tokens well and cunningly, +Three times and four times, with a thread of gold. + +XIX. + +"Give these to Argive Helen's hand," she cried: + And so embraced her child, and with no fear +Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side, + Like a king's son that goes to hunt the deer, + Clad softly, and in either hand a spear, +With two swift-footed hounds that follow'd him, + So leap'd he down the grassy slopes and sheer, +And won the precinct of the forest dim. + +XX. + +He trod that ancient path his sire had trod, + Far, far below he saw the sea, the town; +He moved as light as an immortal god, + For mansions in Olympus gliding down. + He left the shadow of the forest brown, +And through the shallow waters did he cross, + And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown +Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios. + +XXI. + +Now folk that mark'd him hasting deem'd that he + Had come to tell the host was on its way, +As one that from the hills had seen the sea + Beclouded with the Danaan array, + So straight to Paris' house with no delay +They led him, and did eagerly await + Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey, +To hear some certain message of their fate. + +XXII. + +Now Paris was asleep upon his bed + Tired with a listless day; but all along +The palace chambers Corythus was led, + And still he heard a music, shrill and strong, + That seem'd to clamour of an old-world wrong, +And hearts a long time broken; last they came + To Helen's bower, the fountain of the song +That cried so loud against an ancient shame. + +XXIII. + +And Helen fared before a mighty loom, + And sang, and cast her shuttle wrought of gold, +And forth unto the utmost secret room + The wave of her wild melody was roll'd; + And still she fashion'd marvels manifold, +Strange shapes of fish and serpent, bear and swan, + The loves of the immortal Gods of old, +Wherefrom the peoples of the world began. + +XXIV. + +Now Helen met the stranger graciously + With gentle speech, and bade set forth a chair +Well wrought of cedar wood and ivory + That wise Icmalius had fashion'd fair. + But when young Corythus had drunk the rare +Wine of the princes, and had broken bread, + Then Helen took the word, and bade declare +His instant tidings; and he spake and said, + +XXV. + +"Lady and Queen, I have a secret word, + And bear a token sent to none but thee, +Also I bring message to my Lord + That spoken to another may not be." + Then Helen gave a sign unto her three +Bower-maidens, and they went forth from that place, + Silent they went; and all forebodingly, +They left the man and woman face to face. + +XXVI. + +Then from his breast the birchen scroll he took + And gave to Helen; and she read therein: +"Oh thou that on those hidden runes dost look, + Hast thou forgotten quite thine ancient sin, + Thy Lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin, +Even as thy Love forgets the words he spoke + The strong oath broken one weak heart to win, +The lips that kiss'd him, and the heart that broke? + +XXVII. + +"Nay, but methinks thou shalt not quite forget + The curse wherewith I curse thee till I die; +The tears that on the wood-nymph's cheeks are wet, + Shall burn thy hateful beauty deathlessly, + Nor shall God raise up seed to thee; but I +Have borne thy love this messenger: my son, + Who yet shall make him glad, for Time goes by +And soon shall thine enchantments all be done: + +XXVIII. + +"Ay, soon 'twixt me and Death must be his choice, + And little in that hour will Paris care +For thy sweet lips, and for thy singing voice, + Thine arms of ivory, thy golden hair. + Nay, me will he embrace, and will not spare, +But bid the folk that hate thee have their joy, + And give thee to the mountain beasts to tear, +Or burn thy body on a tower of Troy." + +XXIX. + +Even as she read, by Aphrodite's will + The cloud roll'd back from Helen's memory: +She saw the city of the rifted hill, + Fair Lacedaemon, 'neath her mountain high; + She knew the swift Eurotas running by +To mix his sacred waters with the sea, + And from the garden close she heard the cry +Of her beloved child, Hermione. + +XXX. + +Then instantly the horror of her shame + Fell on her, and she saw the coming years; +Famine, and fire, and plague, and all men's blame, + The wounds of warriors and the women's fears; + And through her heart her sorrow smote like spears, +And in her soul she knew the utmost smart + Of wives left lonely, sires bereaved, the tears +Of maidens desolate, of loves that part. + +XXXI. + +She drain'd the dregs out of the cup of hate; + The bitterness of sorrow, shame, and scorn; +Where'er the tongues of mortals curse their fate, + She saw herself an outcast and forlorn; + And hating sore the day that she was born, +Down in the dust she cast her golden head, + There with rent raiment and fair tresses torn, +At feet of Corythus she lay for dead. + +XXXII. + +But Corythus, beholding her sweet face, + And her most lovely body lying low, +Had pity on her grief and on her grace, + Nor heeded now she was his mother's foe, + But did what might be done to ease her woe, +While, as he thought, with death for life she strove, + And loosed the necklet round her neck of snow, +As who that saw had deem'd, with hands of love. + +XXXIII. + +And there was one that saw: for Paris woke + Half-deeming and half-dreaming that the van +Of the great Argive host had scared the folk, + And down the echoing corridor he ran + To Helen's bower, and there beheld the man +That kneel'd beside his lady lying there: + No word he spake, but drove his sword a span +Through Corythus' fair neck and cluster'd hair. + +XXXIV. + +Then fell fair Corythus, as falls the tower + An earthquake shaketh from a city's crown, +Or as a tall white fragrant lily-flower + A child hath in the garden trampled down, + Or as a pine-tree in the forest brown, +Fell'd by the sea-rovers on mountain lands, + When they to harry foreign folk are boune, +Taking their own lives in their reckless hands. + +XXXV. + +But still in Paris did his anger burn, + And still his sword was lifted up to slay, +When, like a lot leap'd forth of Fate's own urn, + He mark'd the graven tokens where they lay, + 'Mid Helen's hair in golden disarray, +And looking on them, knew what he had done, + Knew what dire thing had fallen on that day, +Knew how a father's hand had slain a son. + +XXXVI. + +Then Paris on his face fell grovelling, + And the night gather'd, and the silence grew +Within the darkened chamber of the king. + But Helen rose, and a sad breath she drew, + And her new woes came back to her anew: +Ah, where is he but knows the bitter pain + To wake from dreams, and find his sorrow true, +And his ill life returned to him again! + +XXXVII. + +She needed none to tell her whence it fell, + The thick red rain upon the marble floor: +She knew that in her bower she might not dwell, + Alone with her own heart for ever more; + No sacrifice, no spell, no priestly lore +Could banish quite the melancholy ghost + Of Corythus; a herald sent before +Them that should die for her, a dreadful host. + +XXXVIII. + +But slowly Paris raised him from the earth, + And read her face, and knew that she knew all, +No more her eyes, in tenderness or mirth, + Should answer his, in bower or in hall. + Nay, Love had fallen when his child did fall, +The stream Love cannot cross ran 'twixt them red; + No more was Helen his, whate'er befall, +Not though the Goddess drove her to his bed. + +XXXIX. + +This word he spake, "the Fates are hard on us" - + Then bade the women do what must be done +To the fair body of dead Corythus. + And then he hurl'd into the night alone, + Wailing unto the spirit of his son, +That somewhere in dark mist and sighing wind + Must dwell, nor yet to Hades had it won, +Nor quite had left the world of men behind. + +XL. + +But wild OEnone by the mountain-path + Saw not her son returning to the wold, +And now was she in fear, and now in wrath + She cried, "He hath forgot the mountain fold, + And goes in Ilios with a crown of gold:" +But even then she heard men's axes smite + Against the beeches slim and ash-trees old, +These ancient trees wherein she did delight. + +XLI. + +Then she arose and silently as Sleep, + Unseen she follow'd the slow-rolling wain, +Beneath an ashen sky that 'gan to weep, + Too heavy laden with the latter rain; + And all the folk of Troy upon the plain +She found, all gather'd round a funeral pyre, + And thereon lay her son, her darling slain, +The goodly Corythus, her heart's desire! + +XLII. + +Among the spices and fair robes he lay, + His arm beneath his head, as though he slept. +For so the Goddess wrought that no decay, + No loathly thing about his body crept; + And all the people look'd on him and wept, +And, weeping, Paris lit the pine-wood dry, + And lo, a rainy wind arose and swept +The flame and fragrance far into the sky. + +XLIII. + +But when the force of flame was burning low, + Then did they drench the pyre with ruddy wine, +And the white bones of Corythus bestow + Within a gold cruse, wrought with many a sign, + And wrapp'd the cruse about with linen fine +And bare it to the tomb: when, lo, the wild + OEnone sprang, with burning eyes divine, +And shriek'd unto the slayer of her child: + +XLIV. + +"Oh Thou, that like a God art sire and slayer, + That like a God, dost give and take away! +Methinks that even now I hear the prayer + Thou shalt beseech me with, some later day; + When all the world to thy dim eyes grow grey, +And thou shalt crave thy healing at my hand, + Then gladly will I mock, and say thee nay, +And watch thine hours run down like running sand! + +XLV. + +"Yea, thou shalt die, and leave thy love behind, + And little shall she love thy memory! +But, oh ye foolish people, deaf and blind, + What Death is coming on you from the sea?" + Then all men turned, and lo, upon the lee +Of Tenedos, beneath the driving rain, + The countless Argive ships were racing free, +The wind and oarsmen speeding them amain. + +XLVI. + +Then from the barrow and the burial, + Back like a bursting torrent all men fled +Back to the city and the sacred wall. + But Paris stood, and lifted not his head. + Alone he stood, and brooded o'er the dead, +As broods a lion, when a shaft hath flown, + And through the strong heart of his mate hath sped, +Then will he face the hunters all alone. + +XLVII. + +But soon the voice of men on the sea-sand + Came round him; and he turned, and gazed, and lo! +The Argive ships were dashing on the strand: + Then stealthily did Paris bend his bow, + And on the string he laid a shaft of woe, +And drew it to the point, and aim'd it well. + Singing it sped, and through a shield did go, +And from his barque Protesilaus fell. + +XLVIII. + +Half gladdened by the omen, through the plain + Went Paris to the walls and mighty gate, +And little heeded he that arrowy rain + The Argive bowmen shower'd in helpless hate. + Nay; not yet feather'd was the shaft of Fate, +His bane, the gift of mighty Heracles + To Philoctetes, lying desolate, +Within a far off island of the seas. + + + +BOOK V--THE WAR + + + +The war round Troy, and how many brave men fell, and chiefly +Sarpedon, Patroclus, Hector, Memnon, and Achilles. The coming of the +Amazon, and the wounding of Paris, and his death, and concerning the +good end that OEnone made. + +I. + +For ten long years the Argive leaguer lay + Round Priam's folk, and wrought them many woes, +While, as a lion crouch'd above his prey, + The Trojans yet made head against their foes; + And as the swift sea-water ebbs and flows +Between the Straits of Helle and the main, + Even so the tide of battle sank and rose, +And fill'd with waifs of war the Ilian plain. + +II. + +And horse on horse was driven, as wave on wave; + Like rain upon the deep the arrows fell, +And like the wind, the war-cry of the brave + Rang out above the battle's ebb and swell, + And long the tale of slain, and sad to tell; +Yet seem'd the end scarce nearer than of yore + When nine years pass'd and still the citadel +Frown'd on the Argive huts beside the shore. + +III. + +And still the watchers on the city's crown + Afar from sacred Ilios might spy +The flame from many a fallen subject town + Flare on the starry verges of the sky, + And still from rich Maeonia came the cry +Of cities sack'd where'er Achilles led. + Yet none the more men deem'd the end was nigh +While knightly Hector fought unvanquished. + +IV. + +But ever as each dawn bore grief afar, + And further back, wax'd Paris glad and gay, +And on the fringes of the cloud of war + His arrows, like the lightning, still would play; + Yet fled he Menelaus on a day, +And there had died, but Aphrodite's power + Him in a golden cloud did safe convey +Within the walls of Helen's fragrant bower. + +V. + +But she, in longing for her lord and home, + And scorn of her wild lover, did withdraw +From all men's eyes: but in the night would roam + Till drowsy watchmen of the city saw + A shadowy shape that chill'd the night with awe, +Treading the battlements; and like a ghost, + She stretch'd her lovely arms without a flaw, +In shame and longing, to the Argive host. + +VI. + +But all day long within her bower she wept, + Still dreaming of the dames renown'd of old, +Whom hate or love of the Immortals swept + Within the toils of Ate manifold; + And most she loved the ancient tales that told +How the great Gods, at length to pity stirr'd, + Changed Niobe upon the mountains cold, +To a cold stone; and Procne to a bird, + +VII. + +And Myrrha to an incense-breathing tree; - + "And ah," she murmur'd, "that the Gods were kind, +And bade the Harpies lay their hands on me, + And bear me with the currents of the wind + To the dim end of all things, and the blind +Land where the Ocean turneth in his bed: + Then should I leave mine evil days behind, +And Sleep should fold his wings above my head." + +VIII. + +And once she heard a Trojan woman bless + The fair-haired Menelaus, her good lord, +As brave among brave men, not merciless, + Not swift to slay the captives of his sword, + Nor wont was he to win the gold abhorr'd +Of them that sell their captives over sea, + And Helen sighed, and bless'd her for that word, +"Yet will he ne'er be merciful to me!" + +IX. + +In no wise found she comfort; to abide + In Ilios was to dwell with shame and fear, +And if unto the Argive host she hied, + Then should she die by him that was most dear. + And still the days dragg'd on with bitter cheer, +Till even the great Gods had little joy, + So fast their children fell beneath the spear, +Below the windy battlements of Troy. + +X. + +Yet many a prince of south lands, or of east, + For dark Cassandra's love came trooping in, +And Priam made them merry at the feast, + And all night long they dream'd of wars to win, + And with the morning hurl'd into the din, +And cried their lady's name for battle-cry, + And won no more than this: for Paris' sin, +By Diomede's or Aias' hand to die. + +XI. + +But for one hour within the night of woes + The hope of Troy burn'd steadfast as a star; +When strife among the Argive lords arose, + And dread Achilles held him from the war; + Yea, and Apollo from his golden car +And silver bow his shafts of evil sped, + And all the plain was darken'd, near and far, +With smoke above the pyres of heroes dead. + +XII. + +And many a time through vapour of that smoke + The shafts of Troy fell fast; and on the plain +All night the Trojan watch fires burn'd and broke + Like evil stars athwart a mist of rain. + And through the arms and blood, and through the slain, +Like wolves among the fragments of the fight, + Crept spies to slay whoe'er forgat his pain +One hour, and fell on slumber in the night. + +XIII. + +And once, when wounded chiefs their tents did keep, + And only Aias might his weapons wield, +Came Hector with his host, and smiting deep, + Brake bow and spear, brake axe and glaive and shield, + Bulwark and battlement must rend and yield, +And by the ships he smote the foe and cast + Fire on the ships; and o'er the stricken field, +The Trojans saw that flame arise at last! + +XIV. + +But when Achilles saw the soaring flame, + And knew the ships in peril, suddenly +A change upon his wrathful spirit came, + Nor will'd he that the Danaans should die: + But call'd his Myrmidons, and with a cry +They follow'd where, like foam on a sea-wave + Patroclus' crest was dancing, white and high, +Above the tide that back the Trojans drave. + +XV. + +But like a rock amid the shifting sands, + And changing springs, and tumult of the deep, +Sarpedon stood, till 'neath Patroclus' hands, + Smitten he fell; then Death and gentle Sleep + Bare him from forth the battle to the steep +Where shines his castle o'er the Lycian dell; + There hath he burial due, while all folk weep +Around the kindly Prince that loved them well. + +XVI. + +Not unavenged he fell, nor all alone + To Hades did his soul indignant fly, +For soon was keen Patroclus overthrown + By Hector, and the God of archery; + And Hector stripp'd his shining panoply, +Bright arms Achilles lent: ah! naked then, + Forgetful wholly of his chivalry, +Patroclus lay, nor heard the strife of men. + +XVII. + +Then Hector from the war a little space + Withdrew, and clad him in Achilles' gear, +And braced the gleaming helmet on his face, + And donn'd the corslet, and that mighty spear + He grasped--the lance that makes the boldest fear; +And home his comrades bare his arms of gold, + Those Priam once had worn, his father dear, +But in his father's arms he waxed not old! + +XVIII. + +Then round Patroclus' body, like a tide + That storms the swollen outlet of a stream +When the winds blow, and the rains fall, and wide + The river runs, and white the breakers gleam, - + Trojans and Argives battled till the beam +Of Helios was sinking to the wave, + And now they near'd the ships: yet few could deem +That arms of Argos might the body save. + +XIX. + +But even then the tidings sore were borne + To great Achilles, of Patroclus dead, +And all his goodly raiment hath he torn, + And cast the dust upon his golden head, + And many a tear and bitter did he shed. +Ay; there by his own sword had he been slain, + But swift his Goddess-mother, Thetis, sped +Forth with her lovely sea-nymphs from the main. + +XX. + +For, as a mother when her young child calls + Hearkens to that, and hath no other care: +So Thetis, from her green and windless halls + Rose, at the first word of Achilles' prayer, + To comfort him, and promise gifts of fair +New armour wrought by an immortal hand; + Then like a silver cloud she scaled the air, +Where bright the dwellings of Olympus stand. + +XXI. + +But, as a beacon from a 'leaguer'd town + Within a sea-girt isle, leaps suddenly, +A cloud by day; but when the sun goes down, + The tongues of fire flash out, and soar on high, + To summon warlike men that dwell thereby +And bid them bring a rescue over-seas, - + So now Athene sent a flame to fly +From brow and temples of Aeacides. + +XXII. + +Then all unarm'd he sped, and through the throng, + He pass'd to the dyke's edge, beyond the wall, +Nor leap'd the ranks of fighting men among, + But shouted clearer than the clarion's call + When foes on a beleaguer'd city fall. +Three times he cried, and terror fell on these + That heard him; and the Trojans, one and all, +Fled from that shouting of Aeacides. + +XXIII. + +Backward the Trojans reel'd in headlong flight, + Chariots and men, and left their bravest slain; +And the sun fell; hut Troy through all the night + Watch'd by her fires upon the Ilian plain, + For Hector did the sacred walls disdain +Of Ilios; nor knew that he should stand + Ere night return'd, and burial crave in vain, +Unarm'd, forsaken, at Achilles' hand. + +XXIV. + +But all that night within his chamber high + Hephaestus made his iron anvils ring; +And, ere the dawn, had wrought a panoply, + The goodliest ever worn by mortal king. + This to the Argive camp did Thetis bring, +And when her child had proved it, like the star + That heralds day, he went forth summoning +The host Achaean to delight of war. + +XXV. + +And as a mountain torrent leaves its bed, + And seaward sweeps the toils of men in spate, +Or as a forest-fire, that overhead + Burns in the boughs, a thing insatiate, + So raged the fierce Achilles in his hate; +And Xanthus, angry for his Trojans slain, + Brake forth, while fire and wind made desolate +What war and wave had spared upon the plain. + +XXVI. + +Now through the fume and vapour of the smoke + Between the wind's voice and the water's cry, +The battle shouting of the Trojans broke, + And reached the Ilian walls confusedly, + But over soon the folk that watch'd might spy +Thin broken bands that fled, avoiding death, + Yet many a man beneath the spear must die, +Ere by the sacred gateway they drew breath. + +XXVII. + +And as when fire doth on a forest fall + And hot winds bear it raging in its flight, +And beechen boughs, and pines are ruin'd all, + So raged Achilles' anger in that fight; + And many an empty car, with none to smite +The madden'd horses, o'er the bridge of war + Was wildly whirled, and many a maid's delight +That day to the red wolves was dearer far. + +* * * * * + +XXVIII. + +Some Muse that loved not Troy hath done thee wrong, + Homer! who whisper'd thee that Hector fled +Thrice round the sacred walls he kept so long; + Nay, when he saw his people vanquished + Alone he stood for Troy; alone he sped +One moment, to the struggle of the spear, + And, by the Gods deserted, fell and bled, +A warrior stainless of reproach and fear. + +XXIX. + +Then all the people from the battlement + Beheld what dreadful things Achilles wrought, +For on the body his revenge he spent, + The anger of the high Gods heeding nought, + To whom was Hector dearest, while he fought, +Of all the Trojan men that were their joy, + But now no more their favour might be bought +By savour of his hecatombs in Troy. + +XXX. + +So for twelve days rejoiced the Argive host, + And now Patroclus hath to Hades won, +But Hector naked lay, and still his ghost + Must wail where waters of Cocytus run; + Till Priam did what no man born hath done, +Who dared to pass among the Argive bands, + And clasp'd the knees of him that slew his son, +And kiss'd his awful homicidal hands. + +XXXI. + +At such a price was Hector's body sent + To Ilios, where the women wail'd him shrill; +And Helen's sorrow brake into lament + As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill, + For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who still +Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart, + The sword of war, pure faith, and steadfast will, +That strove to keep all evil things apart. + +* * * * * + +XXXII. + +And so men buried Hector. But they came, + The Amazons, from frozen fields afar. +A match for heroes in the dreadful game + Of spears, the darlings of the God of War, + Whose coming was to Priam dearer far +Than light to him that is a long while blind, + When leech's hand hath taen away the bar +That vex'd him, or the healing God is kind; + +XXXIII. + +And Troy was glad, and with the morning light + The Amazons went forth to slay and slay; +And wondrously they drave the foe in flight, + Until the Sun had wander'd half his way; + But when he stoop'd to twilight and the grey +Hour when men loose the steer beneath the yoke, + No more Achilles held him from the fray, +But dreadful through the women's ranks he broke. + +XXXIV. + +Then comes eclipse upon the crescent shield, + And death on them that bear it, and they fall +One here, one there, about the stricken field, + As in that art, of Love memorial, + Which moulders on the holy Carian wall. +Ay, still we see, still love, still pity there + The warrior-maids, so brave, so god-like tall, +In Time's despite imperishably fair. + +XXXV. + +But, as a dove that braves a falcon, stood + Penthesilea, wrath outcasting fear, +Or as a hind, that in the darkling wood + Withstands a lion for her younglings dear; + So stood the girl before Achilles' spear; +In vain, for singing from his hand it sped, + And crash'd through shield and breastplate till the sheer +Cold bronze drank blood, and down the queen fell dead. + +XXXVI. + +Then from her locks the helm Achilles tore + And boasted o'er the slain; but lo, the face +Of her thus lying in the dust and gore + Seem'd lovelier than is the maiden grace + Of Artemis, when weary from the chase, +She sleepeth in a haunted dell unknown. + And all the Argives marvell'd for a space, +But most Achilles made a heavy moan: + +XXXVII. + +And in his heart there came the weary thought + Of all that was, and all that might have been, +Of all the sorrow that his sword had wrought, + Of Death that now drew near him: of the green + Vales of Larissa, where, with such a queen, +With such a love as now his spear had slain, + He had been happy, who must wind the skein +Of grievous wars, and ne'er be glad again. + +XXXVIII. + +Yea, now wax'd Fate half weary of her game, + And had no care but aye to kill and kill, +And many young kings to the battle came, + And of that joy they quickly had their fill, + And last came Memnon: and the Trojans still +Took heart, like wearied mariners that see + (Long toss'd on unknown waves at the winds' will) +Through clouds the gleaming crest of Helike. + +XXXIX. + +For Memnon was the child of the bright Dawn, + A Goddess wedded to a mortal king, +Who dwells for ever on the shores withdrawn + That border on the land of sun-rising; + And he was nurtured nigh the sacred spring +That is the hidden fountain of all seas, + By them that in the Gods' own garden sing, +The lily-maidens call'd Hesperides. + +XL. + +But him the child of Thetis in the fight + Met on a windy winter day, when high +The dust was whirled, and wrapp'd them like the night + That falleth on the mountains stealthily + When the floods come, and down their courses dry +The torrents roar, and lightning flasheth far: + So rang, so shone their harness terribly +Beneath the blinding thunder-cloud of war. + +XLI. + +Then the Dawn shudder'd on her golden throne, + And called unto the West Wind, and he blew +And brake the cloud asunder; and alone + Achilles stood, but Memnon, smitten through, + Lay beautiful amid the dreadful dew +Of battle, and a deathless heart was fain + Of tears, to Gods impossible, that drew +From mortal hearts a little of their pain. + +XLII.. + +But now, their leader slain, the Trojans fled, + And fierce Achilles drove them in his hate, +Avenging still his dear Patroclus dead, + Nor knew the hour with his own doom was great, + Nor trembled, standing in the Scaean gate, +Where ancient prophecy foretold his fall; + Then suddenly there sped the bolt of Fate, +And smote Achilles by the Ilian wall: + +XLIII. + +From Paris' bow it sped, and even there, + Even as he grasp'd the skirts of victory, +Achilles fell, nor any man might dare + From forth the Trojan gateway to draw nigh; + But, as the woodmen watch a lion die, +Pierced with the hunter's arrow, nor come near + Till Death hath veil'd his eyelids utterly, +Even so the Trojans held aloof in fear. + +XLIV. + +But there his fellows on his wondrous shield + Laid the fair body of Achilles slain, +And sadly bare him through the trampled field, + And lo! the deathless maidens of the main + Rose up, with Thetis, from the windy plain, +And round the dead man beautiful they cried, + Lamenting, and with melancholy strain +The sweet-voiced Muses mournfully replied. + +XLV. + +Yea, Muses and Sea-maidens sang his dirge, + And mightily the chant arose and shrill, +And wondrous echoes answer'd from the surge + Of the grey sea, and from the holy hill + Of Ida; and the heavy clouds and chill +Were gathering like mourners, sad and slow, + And Zeus did thunder mightily, and fill +The dells and glades of Ida deep with snow. + +XLVI. + +Now Paris was not sated with the fame + And rich reward Troy gave his archery; +But o'er the wine he boasted that the game + That very night he deem'd to win, or die; + "For scarce their watch the tempest will defy," +He said, "and all undream'd of might we go, + And fall upon the Argives where they lie, +Unseen, unheard, amid the silent snow." + +XLVII. + +So, flush'd with wine, and clad in raiment white + Above their mail, the young men follow'd him, +Their guide a fading camp-fire in the night, + And the sea's moaning in the distance dim. + And still with eddying snow the air did swim, +And darkly did they wend they knew not where, + White in that cursed night: an army grim, +'Wilder'd with wine, and blind with whirling air. + +XLVIII. + +There was an outcast in the Argive host, + One Philoctetes; whom Odysseus' wile, +(For, save he help'd, the Leaguer all was lost,) + Drew from his lair within the Lemnian isle. + But him the people, as a leper vile, +Hated, and drave to a lone hut afar, + For wounded sore was he, and many a while +His cries would wake the host foredone with war. + +XLIX. + +Now Philoctetes was an archer wight; + But in his quiver had he little store +Of arrows tipp'd with bronze, and feather'd bright; + Nay, his were blue with mould, and fretted o'er + With many a spell Melampus wrought of yore, +Singing above his task a song of bane; + And they were venom'd with the Centaur's gore, +And tipp'd with bones of men a long while slain. + +L. + +This wretch for very pain might seldom sleep, + And that night slept not: in the moaning blast +He deem'd the dead about his hut did creep, + And silently he rose, and round him cast + His raiment foul, and from the door he pass'd, +And peer'd into the night, and soothly heard + A whisper'd voice; then gripp'd his arrows fast +And strung his bow, and cried a bitter word: + +LI. + +"Art thou a gibbering ghost with war outworn, + And thy faint life in Hades not begun? +Art thou a man that holdst my grief in scorn, + And yet dost live, and look upon the sun? + If man,--methinks thy pleasant days are done, +And thou shalt writhe in torment worse than mine; + If ghost,--new pain in Hades hast thou won, +And there with double woe shalt surely pine." + +LII. + +He spake, and drew the string, and sent a shaft + At venture through the midnight and the snow, +A little while he listen'd, then he laugh'd + Within himself, a dreadful laugh and low; + For over well the answer did he know +That midnight gave his message, the sharp cry + And armour rattling on a fallen foe +That now was learning what it is to die. + +LIII. + +Then Philoctetes crawl'd into his den + And hugg'd himself against the bitter cold, +While round their leader came the Trojan men + And bound his wound, and bare him o'er the wold, + Back to the lights of Ilios; but the gold +Of Dawn was breaking on the mountains white, + Or ere they won within the guarded fold, +Long 'wilder'd in the tempest and the night. + +LIV. + +And through the gate, and through the silent street, + And houses where men dream'd of war no more, +The bearers wander'd with their weary feet, + And Paris to his high-roof'd house they bore. + But vainly leeches on his wound did pore, +And vain was Argive Helen's magic song, + Ah, vain her healing hands, and all her lore, +To help the life that wrought her endless wrong. + +LV. + +Slow pass'd the fever'd hours, until the grey + Cold light was paling, and a sullen glow +Of livid yellow crown'd the dying day, + And brooded on the wastes of mournful snow. + Then Paris whisper'd faintly, "I must go +And face that wild wood-maiden of the hill; + For none but she can win from overthrow +Troy's life, and mine that guards it, if she will." + +LVI. + +So through the dumb white meadows, deep with snow, + They bore him on a pallet shrouded white, +And sore they dreaded lest an ambush'd foe + Should hear him moan, or mark the moving light + That waved before their footsteps in the night; +And much they joy'd when Ida's knees were won, + And 'neath the pines upon an upland height, +They watch'd the star that heraldeth the sun. + +LVII. + +For under woven branches of the pine, + The soft dry needles like a carpet spread, +And high above the arching boughs did shine + In frosty fret of silver, that the red + New dawn fired into gold-work overhead: +Within that vale where Paris oft had been + With fair OEnone, ere the hills he fled +To be the sinful lover of a Queen. + +LVIII. + +Not here they found OEnone: "Nay, not here," + Said Paris, faint and low, "shall she be found; +Nay, bear me up the mountain, where the drear + Winds walk for ever on a haunted ground. + Methinks I hear her sighing in their sound; +Or some God calls me there, a dying man. + Perchance my latest journeying is bound +Back where the sorrow of my life began." + +LIX. + +They reach'd the gateway of that highest glen + And halted, wond'ring what the end should be; +But Paris whisper'd Helen, while his men + Fell back: "Here judged I Gods, here shalt thou see + What judgment mine old love will pass on me. +But hide thee here; thou soon the end shalt know, + Whether the Gods at length will set thee free +From that old net they wove so long ago." + +LX. + +Ah, there with wide snows round her like a pall, + OEnone crouch'd in sable robes; as still +As Winter brooding o'er the Summer's fall, + Or Niobe upon her haunted hill, + A woman changed to stone by grief, where chill +The rain-drops fall like tears, and the wind sighs: + And Paris deem'd he saw a deadly will +Unmoved in wild OEnone's frozen eyes. + +LXI. + +"Nay, prayer to her were vain as prayer to Fate," + He murmur'd, almost glad that it was so, +Like some sick man that need no longer wait, + But his pain lulls as Death draws near his woe. + And Paris beckon'd to his men, and slow +They bore him dying from that fatal place, + And did not turn again, and did not know +The soft repentance on OEnone's face. + +LXII. + +But Paris spake to Helen: "Long ago, + Dear, we were glad, who never more shall be +Together, where the west winds fainter blow + Round that Elysian island of the sea, + Where Zeus from evil days shall set thee free. +Nay, kiss me once, it is a weary while, + Ten weary years since thou hast smiled on me, +But, Helen, say good-bye, with thine old smile!" + +LXIII. + +And as the dying sunset through the rain + Will flush with rosy glow a mountain height, +Even so, at his last smile, a blush again + Pass'd over Helen's face, so changed and white; + And through her tears she smiled, his last delight, +The last of pleasant life he knew, for grey + The veil of darkness gather'd, and the night +Closed o'er his head, and Paris pass'd away. + +LXIV. + +Then for one hour in Helen's heart re-born, + Awoke the fatal love that was of old, +Ere she knew all, and the cold cheeks outworn, + She kiss'd, she kiss'd the hair of wasted gold, + The hands that ne'er her body should enfold; +Then slow she follow'd where the bearers led, + Follow'd dead Paris through the frozen wold +Back to the town where all men wish'd her dead. + +LXV. + +Perchance it was a sin, I know not, this! + Howe'er it be, she had a woman's heart, +And not without a tear, without a kiss, + Without some strange new birth of the old smart, + From her old love of the brief days could part +For ever; though the dead meet, ne'er shall they + Meet, and be glad by Aphrodite's art, +Whose souls have wander'd each its several way. + +* * * * * * + +LXVI. + +And now was come the day when on a pyre + Men laid fair Paris, in a broider'd pall, +And fragrant spices cast into the fire, + And round the flame slew many an Argive thrall. + When, like a ghost, there came among them all, +A woman, once beheld by them of yore, + When first through storm and driving rain the tall +Black ships of Argos dash'd upon the shore. + +LXVII. + +Not now in wrath OEnone came; but fair + Like a young bride when nigh her bliss she knows, +And in the soft night of her fallen hair + Shone flowers like stars, more white than Ida's snows, + And scarce men dared to look on her, of those +The pyre that guarded; suddenly she came, + And sprang upon the pyre, and shrill arose +Her song of death, like incense through the flame. + +LXVIII. + +And still the song, and still the flame went up, + But when the flame wax'd fierce, the singing died; +And soon with red wine from a golden cup + Priests drench'd the pyre; but no man might divide + The ashes of the Bridegroom from the Bride. +Nay, they were wedded, and at rest again, + As in those old days on the mountain-side, +Before the promise of their youth was vain. + + + +BOOK VI--THE SACK OF TROY. THE RETURN OF HELEN + + + +The sack of Troy, and of how Menelaus would have let stone Helen, but +Aphrodite saved her, and made them at one again, and how they came +home to Lacedaemon, and of their translation to Elysium. + +I. + +There came a day, when Trojan spies beheld + How, o'er the Argive leaguer, all the air +Was pure of smoke, no battle-din there swell'd, + Nor any clarion-call was sounding there! + Yea, of the serried ships the strand was bare, +And sea and shore were still, as long ago + When Ilios knew not Helen, and the fair +Sweet face that makes immortal all her woe. + +II. + +So for a space the watchers on the wall + Were silent, wond'ring what these things might mean. +But, at the last, sent messengers to call + Priam, and all the elders, and the lean + Remnant of goodly chiefs, that once had been +The shield and stay of Ilios, and her joy, + Nor yet despair'd, but trusted Gods unseen, +And cast their spears, and shed their blood for Troy. + +III. + +They came, the more part grey, grown early old, + In war and plague; but with them was the young +Coroebus, that but late had left the fold + And flocks of sheep Maeonian hills among, + And valiantly his lot with Priam flung, +For love of a lost cause and a fair face, - + The eyes that once the God of Pytho sung, +That now look'd darkly to the slaughter-place. + +IV. + +Now while the elders kept their long debate, + Coroebus stole unheeded to his band, +And led a handful by a postern gate + Across the plain, across the barren land + Where once the happy vines were wont to stand, +And 'mid the clusters once did maidens sing, - + But now the plain was waste on every hand, +Though here and there a flower would breathe of Spring. + +V. + +So swift across the trampled battle-field + Unchallenged still, but wary, did they pass, +By many a broken spear or shatter'd shield + That in Fate's hour appointed faithless was: + Only the heron cried from the morass +By Xanthus' side, and ravens, and the grey + Wolves left their feasting in the tangled grass, +Grudging; and loiter'd, nor fled far away. + +VI. + +There lurk'd no spears in the high river-banks, + No ambush by the cairns of men outworn, +But empty stood the huts, in dismal ranks, + Where men through all these many years had borne + Fierce summer, and the biting winter's scorn; +And here a sword was left, and there a bow, + But ruinous seem'd all things and forlorn, +As in some camp forsaken long ago. + +VII. + +Gorged wolves crept round the altars, and did eat + The flesh of victims that the priests had slain, +And wild dogs fought above the sacred meat + Late offer'd to the deathless Gods in vain, + By men that, for reward of all their pain, +Must haul the ropes, and weary at the oar, + Or, drowning, clutch at foam amid the main, +Nor win their haven on the Argive shore. + +VIII. + +Not long the young men marvell'd at the sight, + But grasping one a sword, and one the spear +Aias, or Tydeus' son, had borne in fight, + They sped, and fill'd the town with merry cheer, + For folk were quick the happy news to hear, +And pour'd through all the gates into the plain, + Rejoicing as they wander'd far and near, +O'er the long Argive toils endured in vain. + +IX. + +Ah, sweet it was, without the city walls, + To hear the doves coo, and the finches sing; +Ah, sweet, to twine their true-loves coronals + Of woven wind-flowers, and each fragrant thing + That blossoms in the footsteps of the spring; +And sweet, to lie, forgetful of their grief, + Where violets trail by waters wandering, +And the wild fig-tree putteth forth his leaf! + +X. + +Now while they wander'd as they would, they found + A wondrous thing: a marvel of man's skill, +That stood within a vale of hollow ground, + And bulk'd scarce smaller than the bitter-hill, - + The common barrow that the dead men fill +Who died in the long leaguer,--not of earth, + Was this new portent, but of tree, and still +The Trojans stood, and marvell'd 'mid their mirth. + +XI. + +Ay, much they wonder'd what this thing might be, + Shaped like a Horse it was; and many a stain +There show'd upon the mighty beams of tree, + For some with fire were blacken'd, some with rain + Were dank and dark amid white planks of plane, +New cut among the trees that now were few + On wasted Ida; but men gazed in vain, +Nor truth thereof for all their searching knew. + +XII. + +At length they deem'd it was a sacred thing, + Vow'd to Poseidon, monarch of the deep, +And that herewith the Argives pray'd the King + Of wind and wave to lull the seas to sleep; + So this, they cried, within the sacred keep +Of Troy must rest, memorial of the war; + And sturdily they haled it up the steep, +And dragg'd the monster to their walls afar. + +XIII. + +All day they wrought: and children crown'd with flowers + Laid light hands on the ropes; old men would ply +Their feeble force; so through the merry hours + They toil'd, midst laughter and sweet minstrelsy, + And late they drew the great Horse to the high +Crest of the hill, and wide the tall gates swang; + But thrice, for all their force, it stood thereby +Unmoved, and thrice like smitten armour rang. + +XIV. + +Natheless they wrought their will; then altar fires + The Trojans built, and did the Gods implore +To grant fulfilment of all glad desires. + But from the cups the wine they might not pour, + The flesh upon the spits did writhe and roar, +The smoke grew red as blood, and many a limb + Of victims leap'd upon the temple floor, +Trembling; and groans amid the chapels dim + +XV. + +Rang low, and from the fair Gods' images + And from their eyes, dropp'd sweat and many a tear; +The walls with blood were dripping, and on these + That sacrificed, came horror and great fear; + The holy laurels to Apollo dear +Beside his temple faded suddenly, + And wild wolves from the mountains drew anear, +And ravens through the temples seem'd to fly. + +XVI. + +Yet still the men of Troy were glad at heart, + And o'er strange meat they revell'd, like folk fey, +Though each would shudder if he glanced apart, + For round their knees the mists were gather'd grey, + Like shrouds on men that Hell-ward take their way; +But merrily withal they feasted thus, + And laugh'd with crooked lips, and oft would say +Some evil-sounding word and ominous. + +XVII. + +And Hecuba among her children spake, + "Let each man choose the meat he liketh best, +For bread no more together shall we break. + Nay, soon from all my labour must I rest, + But eat ye well, and drink the red wine, lest +Ye blame my house-wifery among men dead." + And all they took her saying for a jest, +And sweetly did they laugh at that she said. + +XVIII. + +Then, like a raven on the of night, + The wild Cassandra flitted far and near, +Still crying, "Gather, gather for the fight, + And brace the helmet on, and grasp the spear, + For lo, the legions of the Night are here!" +So shriek'd the dreadful prophetess divine. + But all men mock'd, and were of merry cheer; +Safe as the Gods they deem'd them, o'er their wine. + +XIX. + +For now with minstrelsy the air was sweet, + The soft spring air, and thick with incense smoke; +And bands of happy dancers down the street + Flew from the flower-crown'd doors, and wheel'd, and broke; + And loving words the youths and maidens spoke, +For Aphrodite did their hearts beguile, + As when beneath grey cavern or green oak +The shepherd men and maidens meet and smile. + +XX. + +No guard they set, for truly to them all + Did Love and slumber seem exceeding good; +There was no watch by open gate nor wall, + No sentinel by Pallas' image stood; + But silence grew, as in an autumn wood +When tempests die, and the vex'd boughs have ease, + And wind and sunlight fade, and soft the mood +Of sacred twilight falls upon the trees. + +XXI. + +Then the stars cross'd the zenith, and there came + On Troy that hour when slumber is most deep, +But any man that watch'd had seen a flame + Spring from the tall crest of the Trojan keep; + While from the belly of the Horse did leap +Men arm'd, and to the gates went stealthily, + While up the rocky way to Ilios creep +The Argives, new return'd across the sea. + +XXII. + +Now when the silence broke, and in that hour + When first the dawn of war was blazing red, +There came a light in Helen's fragrant bower, + As on that evil night before she fled + From Lacedaemon and her marriage bed; +And Helen in great fear lay still and cold, + For Aphrodite stood above her head, +And spake in that sweet voice she knew of old: + +XXIII. + +"Beloved one that dost not love me, wake! + Helen, the night is over, the dawn is near, +And safely shalt thou fare with me, and take + Thy way through fire and blood, and have no fear: + A little hour, and ended is the drear +Tale of thy sorrow and thy wandering. + Nay, long hast thou to live in happy cheer, +By fair Eurotas, with thy lord, the King." + +XXIV. + +Then Helen rose, and in a cloud of gold, + Unseen amid the vapour of the fire, +Did Aphrodite veil her, fold on fold; + And through the darkness, thronged with faces dire, + And o'er men's bodies fallen in a mire +Of new spilt blood and wine, the twain did go + Where Lust and Hate were mingled in desire, +And dreams and death were blended in one woe. + +XXV. + +Fire and the foe were masters now: the sky + Flared like the dawn of that last day of all, +When men for pity to the sea shall cry, + And vainly on the mountain tops shall call + To fall and end the horror in their fall; +And through the vapour dreadful things saw they, + The maidens leaping from the city wall, +The sleeping children murder'd where they lay. + +XXVI. + +Yea, cries like those that make the hills of Hell + Ring and re-echo, sounded through the night, +The screams of burning horses, and the yell + Of young men leaping naked into fight, + And shrill the women shriek'd, as in their flight +Shriek the wild cranes, when overhead they spy + Between the dusky cloud-land and the bright +Blue air, an eagle stooping from the sky. + +XXVII. + +And now the red glare of the burning shone + On deeds so dire the pure Gods might not bear, +Save Ares only, long to look thereon, + But with a cloud they darken'd all the air. + And, even then, within the temple fair +Of chaste Athene, did Cassandra cower, + And cried aloud an unavailing prayer; +For Aias was the master in that hour. + +XXVIII. + +Man's lust won what a God's love might not win, + And heroes trembled, and the temple floor +Shook, when one cry went up into the din, + And shamed the night to silence; then the roar + Of war and fire wax'd great as heretofore, +Till each roof fell, and every palace gate + Was shatter'd, and the King's blood shed; nor more +Remain'd to do, for Troy was desolate. + +XXIX. + +Then dawn drew near, and changed to clouds of rose + The dreadful smoke that clung to Ida's head; +But Ilios was ashes, and the foes + Had left the embers and the plunder'd dead; + And down the steep they drove the prey, and sped +Back to the swift ships, with a captive train, - + While Menelaus, slow, with drooping head, +Follow'd, like one lamenting, through the plain. + +XXX. + +Where death might seem the surest, by the gate + Of Priam, where the spears raged, and the tall +Towers on the foe were falling, sought he fate + To look on Helen once, and then to fall, + Nor see with living eyes the end of all, +What time the host their vengeance should fulfil, + And cast her from the cliff below the wall, +Or burn her body on the windy hill. + +XXXI. + +But Helen found he never, where the flame + Sprang to the roofs, and Helen ne'er he found +Where flock'd the wretched women in their shame + The helpless altars of the Gods around, + Nor lurk'd she in deep chambers underground, +Where the priests trembled o'er their hidden gold, + Nor where the armed feet of foes resound +In shrines to silence consecrate of old. + +XXXII. + +So wounded to his hut and wearily + Came Menelaus; and he bow'd his head +Beneath the lintel neither fair nor high; + And, lo! Queen Helen lay upon his bed, + Flush'd like a child in sleep, and rosy-red, +And at his footstep did she wake and smile, + And spake: "My lord, how hath thy hunting sped, +Methinks that I have slept a weary while!" + +XXXIII. + +For Aphrodite made the past unknown + To Helen, as of old, when in the dew +Of that fair dawn the net was round her thrown: + Nay, now no memory of Troy brake through + The mist that veil'd from her sweet eyes and blue +The dreadful days and deeds all over-past, + And gladly did she greet her lord anew, +And gladly would her arms have round him cast. + +XXXIV. + +Then leap'd she up in terror, for he stood + Before her, like a lion of the wild, +His rusted armour all bestain'd with blood, + His mighty hands with blood of men defiled, + And strange was all she saw: the spears, the piled +Raw skins of slaughter'd beasts with many a stain; + And low he spake, and bitterly he smiled, +"The hunt is ended, and the spoil is ta'en." + +XXXV. + +No more he spake; for certainly he deem'd + That Aphrodite brought her to that place, +And that of her loved archer Helen dream'd, + Of Paris; at that thought the mood of grace + Died in him, and he hated her fair face, +And bound her hard, not slacking for her tears; + Then silently departed for a space, +To seek the ruthless counsel of his peers. + +XXXVI. + +Now all the Kings were feasting in much joy, + Seated or couch'd upon the carpets fair +That late had strown the palace floors of Troy, + And lovely Trojan ladies served them there, + And meat from off the spits young princes bare; +But Menelaus burst among them all, + Strange, 'mid their revelry, and did not spare, +But bade the Kings a sudden council call. + +XXXVII. + +To mar their feast the Kings had little will, + Yet did they as he bade, in grudging wise, +And heralds call'd the host unto the hill + Heap'd of sharp stones, where ancient Ilus lies. + And forth the people flock'd, as throng'd as flies +That buzz about the milking-pails in spring, + When life awakens under April skies, +And birds from dawning into twilight sing. + +XXXVIII. + +Then Helen through the camp was driven and thrust, + Till even the Trojan women cried in glee, +"Ah, where is she in whom thou put'st thy trust, + The Queen of love and laughter, where is she? + Behold the last gift that she giveth thee, +Thou of the many loves! to die alone, + And round thy flesh for robes of price to be +The cold close-clinging raiment of sharp stone." + +XXXIX. + +Ah, slowly through that trodden field and bare + They pass'd, where scarce the daffodil might spring, +For war had wasted all, but in the air + High overhead the mounting lark did sing; + Then all the army gather'd in a ring +Round Helen, round their torment, trapp'd at last, + And many took up mighty stones to fling +From shards and flints on Ilus' barrow cast. + +XL. + +Then Menelaus to the people spoke, + And swift his wing'd words came as whirling snow, +"Oh ye that overlong have borne the yoke, + Behold the very fountain of your woe! + For her ye left your dear homes long ago, +On Argive valley or Boeotian plain; + But now the black ships rot from stern to prow, +Who knows if ye shall see your own again? + +XLI. + +"Ay, and if home ye win, ye yet may find, + Ye that the winds waft, and the waters bear +To Argos! ye are quite gone out of mind; + Your fathers, dear and old, dishonour'd there; + Your children deem you dead, and will not share +Their lands with you; on mainland or on isle, + Strange men are wooing now the women fair, +And love doth lightly woman's heart beguile. + +XLII. + +"These sorrows hath this woman wrought alone: + So fall upon her straightway that she die, +And clothe her beauty in a cloak of stone!" + He spake, and truly deem'd to hear her cry + And see the sharp flints straight and deadly fly; +But each man stood and mused on Helen's face, + And her undream'd-of beauty, brought so nigh +On that bleak plain, within that ruin'd place. + +LXIII. + +And as in far off days that were to be, + The sense of their own sin did men constrain, +That they must leave the sinful woman free + Who, by their law, had verily been slain, + So Helen's beauty made their anger vain, +And one by one his gather'd flints let fall; + And like men shamed they stole across the plain, +Back to the swift ships and their festival. + +XLIV. + +But Menelaus look'd on her and said, + "Hath no man then condemn'd thee,--is there none +To shed thy blood for all that thou hast shed, + To wreak on thee the wrongs that thou hast done. + Nay, as mine own soul liveth, there is one +That will not set thy barren beauty free, + But slay thee to Poseidon and the Sun +Before a ship Achaian takes the sea!" + +XLV. + +Therewith he drew his sharp sword from his thigh + As one intent to slay her: but behold, +A sudden marvel shone across the sky! + A cloud of rosy fire, a flood of gold, + And Aphrodite came from forth the fold +Of wondrous mist, and sudden at her feet + Lotus and crocus on the trampled wold +Brake, and the slender hyacinth was sweet. + +XLVI. + +Then fell the point that never bloodless fell + When spear bit harness in the battle din, +For Aphrodite spake, and like a spell + Wrought her sweet voice persuasive, till within + His heart there lived no memory of sin, +No thirst for vengeance more, but all grew plain, + And wrath was molten in desire to win +The golden heart of Helen once again. + +XLVII. + +Then Aphrodite vanish'd as the day + Passes, and leaves the darkling earth behind; +And overhead the April sky was grey, + But Helen's arms about her lord were twined, + And his round her as clingingly and kind, +As when sweet vines and ivy in the spring + Join their glad leaves, nor tempests may unbind +The woven boughs, so lovingly they cling. + +* * * * + +XLVIII. + +Noon long was over-past, but sacred night + Beheld them not upon the Ilian shore; +Nay, for about the waning of the light + Their swift ships wander'd on the waters hoar, + Nor stay'd they the Olympians to adore, +So eagerly they left that cursed land, + But many a toil, and tempests great and sore, +Befell them ere they won the Argive strand. + +XLIX. + +To Cyprus and Phoenicia wandering + They came, and many a ship, and many a man +They lost, and perish'd many a precious thing + While bare before the stormy North they ran, + And further far than when their quest began +From Argos did they seem,--a weary while, - + Becalm'd in sultry seas Egyptian, +A long day's voyage from the mouths of Nile. + +L. + +But there the Gods had pity on them, and there + The ancient Proteus taught them how to flee +From that so distant deep,--the fowls of air + Scarce in one year can measure out that sea; + Yet first within Aegyptus must they be, +And hecatombs must offer,--quickly then + The Gods abated of their jealousy, +Wherewith they scourge the negligence of men. + +LI. + +And strong and fair the south wind blew, and fleet + Their voyaging, so merrily they fled +To win that haven where the waters sweet + Of clear Eurotas with the brine are wed, + And swift their chariots and their horses sped +To pleasant Lacedaemon, lying low + Grey in the shade of sunset, but the head +Of tall Taygetus like fire did glow. + +LII. + +And what but this is sweet: at last to win + The fields of home, that change not while we change; +To hear the birds their ancient song begin; + To wander by the well-loved streams that range + Where not one pool, one moss-clad stone is strange, +Nor seem we older than long years ago, + Though now beneath the grey roof of the grange +The children dwell of them we used to know? + +LIII. + +Came there no trouble in the later days + To mar the life of Helen, when the old +Crowns and dominions perish'd, and the blaze + Lit by returning Heraclidae roll'd + Through every vale and every happy fold +Of all the Argive land? Nay, peacefully + Did Menelaus and the Queen behold +The counted years of mortal life go by. + +LIV. + +"Death ends all tales," but this he endeth not; + They grew not grey within the valley fair +Of hollow Lacedaemon, but were brought + To Rhadamanthus of the golden hair, + Beyond the wide world's end; ah never there +Comes storm nor snow; all grief is left behind, + And men immortal, in enchanted air, +Breathe the cool current of the Western wind. + +LV. + +But Helen was a Saint in Heathendom, + A kinder Aphrodite; without fear +Maidens and lovers to her shrine would come + In fair Therapnae, by the waters clear + Of swift Eurotas; gently did she hear +All prayers of love, and not unheeded came + The broken supplication, and the tear +Of man or maiden overweigh'd with shame. + + +O'er Helen's shrine the grass is growing green, + In desolate Therapnae; none the less +Her sweet face now unworshipp'd and unseen + Abides the symbol of all loveliness, + Of Beauty ever stainless in the stress +Of warring lusts and fears;--and still divine, + Still ready with immortal peace to bless +Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine. + + + +NOTE + + + +[In this story in rhyme of the fortunes of Helen, the theory that she +was an unwilling victim of the Gods has been preferred. Many of the +descriptions of manners are versified from the Iliad and the Odyssey. +The description of the events after the death of Hector, and the +account of the sack of Troy, is chiefly borrowed from Quintus +Smyrnaeus.] + + +The character and history of Helen of Troy have been conceived of in +very different ways by poets and mythologists. In attempting to +trace the chief current of ancient traditions about Helen, we cannot +really get further back than the Homeric poems, the Iliad and +Odyssey. Philological conjecture may assure us that Helen, like most +of the characters of old romance, is "merely the Dawn," or Light, or +some other bright being carried away by Paris, who represents Night, +or Winter, or the Cloud, or some other power of darkness. Without +discussing these ideas, it may be said that the Greek poets (at all +events before allegorical explanations of mythology came in, about +five hundred years before Christ) regarded Helen simply as a woman of +wonderful beauty. Homer was not thinking of the Dawn, or the Cloud +when he described Helen among the Elders on the Ilian walls, or +repeated her lament over the dead body of Hector. The Homeric poems +are our oldest literary documents about Helen, but it is probable +enough that the poet has modified and purified more ancient +traditions which still survive in various fragments of Greek legend. +In Homer Helen is always the daughter of Zeus. Isocrates tells us +("Helena," 211 b) that "while many of the demigods were children of +Zeus, he thought the paternity of none of his daughters worth +claiming, save that of Helen only." In Homer, then, Helen is the +daughter of Zeus, but Homer says nothing of the famous legend which +makes Zeus assume the form of a swan to woo the mother of Helen. +Unhomeric as this myth is, we may regard it as extremely ancient. +Very similar tales of pursuit and metamorphosis, for amatory or other +purposes, among the old legends of Wales, and in the "Arabian +Nights," as well as in the myths of Australians and Red Indians. +Again, the belief that different families of mankind descend from +animals, as from the Swan, or from gods in the shape of animals, is +found in every quarter of the world, and among the rudest races. +Many Australian natives of to-day claim descent, like the royal house +of Sparta, from the Swan. The Greek myths hesitated as to whether +Nemesis or Leda was the bride of the Swan. Homer only mentions Leda +among "the wives and daughters of mighty men," whose ghosts Odysseus +beheld in Hades: "And I saw Leda, the famous bedfellow of Tyndareus, +who bare to Tyndareus two sons, hardy of heart, Castor, tamer of +steeds, and the boxer Polydeuces." These heroes Helen, in the Iliad +(iii. 238), describes as her mother's sons. Thus, if Homer has any +distinct view on the subject, he holds that Leda is the mother of +Helen by Zeus, of the Dioscuri by Tyndareus. + +Greek ideas as to the character of Helen varied with the various +moods of Greek literature. Homer's own ideas about his heroine are +probably best expressed in the words with which Priam greets her as +she appears among the assembled elders, who are watching the Argive +heroes from the wall of Troy: --"In nowise, dear child, do I blame +thee; nay, the Gods are to blame, who have roused against me the +woful war of the Achaeans." Homer, like Priam, throws the guilt of +Helen on the Gods, but it is not very easy to understand exactly what +he means by saying "the Gods are to blame." In the first place, +Homer avoids the psychological problems in which modern poetry +revels, by attributing almost all changes of the moods of men to +divine inspiration. Thus when Achilles, in a famous passage of the +first book of the Iliad, puts up his half-drawn sword in the sheath, +and does not slay Agamemnon, Homer assigns his repentance to the +direct influence of Athene. Again, he says in the Odyssey, about +Clytemnestra, that "she would none of the foul deed;" that is of the +love of Aegisthus, till "the doom of the Gods bound her to her ruin." +So far the same excuse is made for the murderous Clytemnestra as for +the amiable Helen. Again, Homer is, in the strictest sense, and in +strong contrast to the Greek tragedians and to Virgil, a chivalrous +poet. It would probably be impossible to find a passage in which he +speaks harshly or censoriously of the conduct of any fair and noble +lady. The sordid treachery of Eriphyle, who sold her lord for gold, +wins for her the epithet "hateful;" and Achilles, in a moment of +strong grief, applies a term of abhorrence to Helen. But Homer is +too chivalrous to judge the life of any lady, and only shows the +other side of the chivalrous character--its cruelty to persons not of +noble birth--in describing the "foul death" of the waiting women of +Penelope. "God forbid that I should take these women's lives by a +clean death," says Telemachus (Odyssey, xxii. 462). So "about all +their necks nooses were cast that they might die by the death most +pitiful. And they writhed with their feet for a little space, but +for no long while." In trying to understand Homer's estimate of +Helen, therefore, we must make allowance for his theory of divine +intervention, and for his chivalrous judgment of ladies. But there +are two passages in the Iliad which may be taken as indicating +Homer's opinion that Helen was literally a victim, an unwilling +victim, of Aphrodite, and that she was carried away by force a +captive from Lacedaemon. These passages are in the Iliad, ii. 356, +590. In the former text Nestor says, "let none be eager to return +home ere he has couched with a Trojan's wife, and AVENGED THE +LONGINGS AND SORROWS OF HELEN"--[Greek text which cannot be +reproduced.] It is thus that Mr. Gladstone, a notable champion of +Helen's, would render this passage, and the same interpretation was +favoured by the ancient "Separatists" (Chorizontes), who wished to +prove that the Iliad and Odyssey were by different authors; but many +authorities prefer to translate "to avenge our labours and sorrows +for Helen's sake"--"to avenge all that we have endured in the attempt +to win back Helen." Thus the evidence of this passage is ambiguous. +The fairer way to seek for Homer's real view of Helen is to examine +all the passages in which she occurs. The result will be something +like this:- Homer sees in Helen a being of the rarest personal charm +and grace of character; a woman who imputes to herself guilt much +greater than the real measure of her offence. She is ever gentle +except with the Goddess who betrayed her, and the unworthy lover +whose lot she is compelled to share. Against them her helpless anger +breaks out in flashes of eloquent scorn. Homer was apparently +acquainted with the myth of Helen's capture by Theseus, a myth +illustrated in the decorations of the coffer of Cypselus. But we +first see Helen, the cause of the war, when Menelaus and Paris are +about to fight their duel for her sake, in the tenth year of the +Leaguer (Iliad, iii. 121). Iris is sent to summon Helen to the +walls. She finds Helen in her chamber, weaving at a mighty loom, and +embroidering on tapestry the adventures of the siege--the battles of +horse-taming Trojans and bronze-clad Achaeans. The message of Iris +renews in Helen's heart "a sweet desire for her lord and her own +city, and them that begat her;" so, draped in silvery white, Helen +goes with her three maidens to the walls. There, above the gate, +like some king in the Old Testament, Paris sits among his +counsellors, and they are all amazed at Helen's beauty; "no marvel is +it that Trojans and Achaeans suffer long and weary toils for such a +woman, so wondrous like to the immortal goddesses." Then Priam, +assuring Helen that he holds her blameless, bids her name to him her +kinsfolk and the other Achaean warriors. In her reply, Helen +displays that grace of penitence which is certainly not often found +in ancient literature:- "Would that evil death had been my choice, +when I followed thy son, and left my bridal bower and my kin, and my +daughter dear, and the maidens of like age with me." Agamemnon she +calls, "the husband's brother of me shameless; alas, that such an one +should be." She names many of the warriors, but misses her brothers +Castor and Polydeuces, "own brothers of mine, one mother bare us. +Either they followed not from pleasant Lacedaemon, or hither they +followed in swift ships, but now they have no heart to go down into +the battle for dread of the shame and many reproaches that are mine." + +"So spake she, but already the life-giving earth did cover them, +there in Lacedaemon, in their own dear country." + +Menelaus and Paris fought out their duel, the Trojan was discomfited, +but was rescued from death and carried to Helen's bower by Aphrodite. +Then the Goddess came in disguise to seek Helen on the wall, and +force her back into the arms of her defeated lover. Helen turned on +the Goddess with an abruptness and a force of sarcasm and invective +which seem quite foreign to her gentle nature. "Wilt thou take me +further yet to some city of Phrygia or pleasant Maeonia, if there any +man is dear to thee . . . Nay, go thyself and sit down by Paris, and +forswear the paths of the Gods, but ever lament for him and cherish +him, till he make thee his wife, yea, or perchance his slave, but to +him will I never go." But this anger of Helen is soon overcome by +fear, when the Goddess, in turn, waxes wrathful, and Helen is +literally driven by threats--"for the daughter of Zeus was afraid,"-- +into the arms of Paris. Yet even so she taunts her lover with his +cowardice, a cowardice which she never really condones. In the sixth +book of the Iliad she has been urging him to return to the war. She +then expresses her penitence to Hector, "would that the fury of the +wind had borne me afar to the mountains, or the wave of the roaring +sea--ere ever these ill deeds were done!" In this passage too, she +prophesies that her fortunes will be [Greek text] famous in the +songs, good or evil, of men unborn. In the last book of the Iliad we +meet Helen once more, as she laments over the dead body of Hector. +"'Never, in all the twenty years since I came hither, have I heard +from thee one taunt or one evil word: nay, but if any other rebuked +me in the halls, any one of my husband's brothers, or of their +sisters, or their wives, or the mother of my husband (but the king +was ever gentle to me as a father), then wouldst thou restrain them +with thy loving kindness and thy gentle speech.' So spake she; +weeping." + +In the Odyssey, Helen is once more in Lacedaemon, the honoured but +still penitent wife of Menelaus. How they became reconciled (an +extremely difficult point in the story), there is nothing in Homer to +tell us. + +Sir John Lubbock has conjectured that in the morals of the heroic age +Helen was not really regarded as guilty. She was lawfully married, +by "capture," to Paris. Unfortunately for this theory there is +abundant proof that, in the heroic age, wives were nominally BOUGHT +for so many cattle, or given as a reward for great services. There +is no sign of marriage by capture, and, again, marriage by capture is +a savage institution which applies to unmarried women, not to women +already wedded, as Helen was to Menelaus. Perhaps the oldest +evidence we have for opinion about the later relations of Helen and +Menelaus, is derived from Pausanias's (174. AD.) description of the +Chest of Cypselus. This ancient coffer, a work of the seventh +century, B.C, was still preserved at Olympia, in the time of +Pausanias. On one of the bands of cedar or of ivory, was represented +(Pausanias, v. 18), "Menelaus with a sword in his hand, rushing on to +kill Helen--clearly at the sacking of Ilios." How Menelaus passed +from a desire to kill Helen to his absolute complacency in the +Odyssey, Homer does not tell us. According to a statement attributed +to Stesichorus (635, 554, B.C.?), the army of the Achaeans purposed +to stone Helen, but was overawed and compelled to relent by her +extraordinary beauty: "when they beheld her, they cast down their +stones on the ground." It may be conjectured that the reconciliation +followed this futile attempt at punishing a daughter of Zeus. Homer, +then, leaves us without information about the adventures of Helen, +between the sack of Tiny and the reconciliation with Menelaus. He +hints that she was married to Deiphobus, after the death of Paris, +and alludes to the tradition that she mimicked the voices of the +wives of the heroes, and so nearly tempted them to leave their ambush +in the wooden horse. But in the fourth book of the Odyssey, when +Telemachus visits Lacedaemon, he finds Helen the honoured wife of +Menelaus, rich in the marvellous gifts bestowed on her, in her +wanderings from Troy, by the princes of Egypt. + +"While yet he pondered these things in his mind and in his heart, +Helen came forth from her fragrant vaulted chamber, like Artemis of +the golden arrows; and with her came Adraste and set for her the +well-wrought chair, and Alcippe bare a rug of soft wool, and Phylo +bare a silver basket which Alcandre gave her, the wife of Polybus, +who dwelt in Thebes of Egypt, where is the chiefest store of wealth +in the houses. He gave two silver baths to Menelaus, and tripods +twain, and ten talents of gold. And besides all this, his wife +bestowed on Helen lovely gifts; a golden distaff did she give, and a +silver basket with wheels beneath, and the rims thereof were finished +with gold. This it was that the handmaid Phylo bare and set beside +her, filled with dressed yarn, and across it was laid a distaff +charged with wool of violet blue. So Helen sat her down in the +chair, and beneath was a footstool for the feet." + +When the host and guests begin to weep the ready tears of the heroic +age over the sorrows of the past, and dread of the dim future, Helen +comforts them with a magical potion. + +"Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Presently she +cast a drug into the wine whereof they drank, a drug to lull all pain +and anger, and bring forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should +drink a draught thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day +he would let no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and +his father died, not though men slew his brother or dear son with the +sword before his face, and his own eyes beheld it. Medicines of such +virtue and so helpful had the daughter of Zeus, which Polydamna, the +wife of Thon, had given her, a woman of Egypt, where Earth the grain- +giver yields herbs in greatest plenty, many that are healing in the +cup, and many baneful." + +So Telemachus was kindly entertained by Helen and Menelaus, and when +he left them it was not without a gift. + +"And Helen stood by the coffers wherein were her robes of curious +needlework which she herself had wrought. Then Helen, the fair lady, +lifted one and brought it out, the widest and most beautifully +embroidered of all, and it shone like a star, and lay far beneath the +rest." + +Presently, we read, "Helen of the fair face came up with the robe in +her hands, and spake: 'Lo! I too give thee this gift, dear child, a +memorial of the hands of Helen, for thy bride to wear upon the day of +thy desire, even of thy marriage. But meanwhile let it lie with thy +mother in her chamber. And may joy go with thee to thy well-builded +house, and thine own country.'" + +Helen's last words, in Homer, are words of good omen, her prophecy to +Telemachus that Odysseus shall return home after long wanderings, and +take vengeance on the rovers. We see Helen no more, but Homer does +not leave us in doubt as to her later fortunes. He quotes the +prophecy which Proteus, the ancient one of the sea, delivered to +Menelaus:- + +"But thou, Menelaus, son of Zeus, art not ordained to die and meet +thy fate in Argos, the pasture-land of horses, but the deathless gods +will convey thee to the Elysian plain and the world's end, where is +Rhadamanthus of the fair hair, where life is easiest for men. No +snow is there, nor yet great storm, nor any rain; but alway ocean +sendeth forth the breeze of the shrill West to blow cool on men: +yea, for thou hast Helen to wife, and thereby they deem thee to be +son of Zeus." + +We must believe, with Isocrates, that Helen was translated, with her +lord, to that field of Elysium, "where falls not hail, or rain, or +any snow." This version of the end of Helen's history we have +adopted, but many other legends were known in Greece. Pausanias +tells us that, in a battle between the Crotoniats and the Locrians, +one Leonymus charged the empty space in the Locrian line, which was +entrusted to the care of the ghost of Aias. Leonymus was wounded by +the invisible spear of the hero, and could not be healed of the hurt. +The Delphian oracle bade him seek the Isle of Leuke in the Euxine +Sea, where Aias would appear to him, and heal him. When Leonymus +returned from Leuke he told how Achilles dwelt there with his ancient +comrades, and how he was now wedded to Helen of Troy. Yet the local +tradition of Lacedaemon showed the sepulchre of Helen in Therapnae. +According to a Rhodian legend (adopted by the author of the "Epic of +Hades"), Helen was banished from Sparta by the sons of Menelaus, came +wandering to Rhodes, and was there strangled by the servants of the +queen Polyxo, who thus avenged the death of her husband at Troy. It +is certain, as we learn both from Herodotus (vi. 61) and from +Isocrates, that Helen was worshipped in Therapnae. In the days of +Ariston the king, a deformed child was daily brought by her nurse to +the shrine of Helen. And it is said that, as the nurse was leaving +the shrine, a woman appeared unto her, and asked what she bore in her +arms, who said, "she bore a child." Then the woman said, "show it to +me," which the nurse refused, for the parents of the child had +forbidden that she should be seen of any. But the woman straitly +commanding that the child should be shown, and the other beholding +her eagerness, at length the nurse showed the child, and the woman +caressed its face and said, "she shall be the fairest woman in +Sparta." And from that day the fashion of its countenance was +changed, "and the child became the fairest of all the Spartan women." + +It is a characteristic of Greek literature that, with the rise of +democracy, the old epic conception of the ancient heroes altered. We +can scarcely recognize the Odysseus of Homer in the Odysseus of +Sophocles. The kings are regarded by the tragedians with some of the +distrust and hatred which the unconstitutional tyrants of Athens had +aroused. Just as the later chansons de geste of France, the poems +written in an age of feudal opposition to central authority, degraded +heroes like Charles, so rhetorical, republican, and sophistical +Greece put its quibbles into the lips of Agamemnon and Helen, and +slandered the stainless and fearless Patroclus and Achilles. + +The Helen of Euripides, in the "Troades," is a pettifogging sophist, +who pleads her cause to Menelaus with rhetorical artifice. In the +"Helena," again, Euripides quite deserts the Homeric traditions, and +adopts the late myths which denied that Helen ever went to Troy. She +remained in Egypt, and Achaeans and Trojans fought for a mere shadow, +formed by the Gods out of clouds and wind. In the "Cyclops" of +Euripides, a satirical drama, the cynical giant is allowed to speak +of Helen in a strain of coarse banter. Perhaps the essay of +Isocrates on Helen may be regarded as a kind of answer to the attacks +of several speakers in the works of the tragedians. Isocrates +defends Helen simply on the plea of her beauty: "To Heracles Zeus +gave strength, to Helen beauty, which naturally rules over even +strength itself." Beauty, he declares, the Gods themselves consider +the noblest thing in the world, as the Goddesses showed when they +contended for the prize of loveliness. And so marvellous, says +Isocrates, was the beauty of Helen, that for her glory Zeus did not +spare his beloved son, Sarpedon; and Thetis saw Achilles die, and the +Dawn bewailed her Memnon. "Beauty has raised more mortals to +immortality than all the other virtues together." And that Helen is +now a Goddess, Isocrates proves by the fact that the sacrifices +offered to her in Therapnae, are such as are given, not to heroes, +but to immortal Gods. + +When Rome took up the legends of Greece, she did so in no chivalrous +spirit. Few poets are less chivalrous than Virgil; no hero has less +of chivalry than his pious and tearful Aeneas. In the second book of +the Aeneid, the pious one finds Helen hiding in the shrine of Vesta, +and determines to slay "the common curse of Troy and of her own +country." There is no glory, he admits, in murdering a woman:- + + +Extinxisse nefas tamen et sumpsisse merentis +Laudabor poenas, animumqne explesse juvabit +Ultricis flammae, et cineres satiasse meorum. + + +But Venus appears and rescues the unworthy lover of Dido from the +crowning infamy which he contemplates. Hundreds of years later, +Helen found a worthier poet in Quintus Smyrnaeus, who in a late age +sang the swan-song of Greek epic minstrelsy. It is thus that (in the +fourth century A.D.) Quintus describes Helen, as she is led with the +captive women of Ilios, to the ships of the Achaeans:- "Now Helen +lamented not, but shame dwelt in her dark eyes, and reddened her +lovely cheeks, . . . while around her the people marvelled as they +beheld the flawless grace and winsome beauty of the woman, and none +dared upbraid her with secret taunt or open rebuke. Nay, as she had +been a Goddess they beheld her gladly, for dear and desired was she +in their sight. And as when their own country appeareth to men long +wandering on the sea, and they, being escaped from death and the +deep, gladly put forth their hands to greet their own native place; +even so all the Danaans were glad at the sight of her, and had no +more memory of all their woful toil, and the din of war: such a +spirit did Cytherea put into their hearts, out of favour to fair +Helen and father Zeus." Thus Quintus makes amends for the trivial +verses in which Coluthus describes the flight of a frivolous Helen +with an effeminate Paris. + +To follow the fortunes of Helen through the middle ages would demand +much space and considerable research. The poets who read Dares +Phrygius believed, with the scholar of Dr. Faustus, that "Helen of +Greece was the admirablest lady that ever lived." When English +poetry first found the secret of perfect music, her sweetest numbers +were offered by Marlowe at the shrine of Helen. The speech of +Faustus is almost too hackneyed to be quoted, and altogether too +beautiful to be omitted:- + + +Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, +And burnt the topless towers of Ilium! +Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. +Her lips suck forth my soul! see where it flies; +Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again; +Here will I dwell, for heaven is in those lips, +And all is dross that is not Helena. +* * * +Oh thou art fairer than the evening air +Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars. + + +The loves of Faustus and Helen are readily allegorized into the +passion of the Renaissance for classical beauty, the passion to which +all that is not beauty seemed very dross. This is the idea of the +second part of "Faust," in which Helen once more became, as she +prophesied in the Iliad, a song in the mouths of later men. Almost +her latest apparition in English poetry, is in the "Hellenics" of +Landor. The sweetness of the character of Helen; the tragedy of the +death of Corythus by the hand of his father Paris; and the +omnipotence of beauty and charm which triumph over the wrath of +Menelaus, are the subjects of Landor's verse. But Helen, as a woman, +has hardly found a nobler praise, in three thousand years, than +Helen, as a child, has received from Mr. Swinburne in "Atalanta in +Calydon." Meleager is the speaker:- + + +Even such (for sailing hither I saw far hence, +And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock +Nigh Sparta, with a strenuous-hearted stream) +Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white, +The little Helen, and less fair than she +Fair Clytemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns +Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles, +As one smitten with love or wrung with joy, +She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then +Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too, +And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks naught, +But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her +Laughing, so fare they, as in their bloomless bud +And full of unblown life, the blood of gods. + + +There is all the irony of Fate in Althaeas' reply + + +Sweet days befall them and good loves and lords, +Tender and temperate honours of the hearths, +Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Helen of Troy, by Andrew Lang + diff --git a/old/hlnty10.zip b/old/hlnty10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef9b0d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hlnty10.zip |