Appendix Poems in Greek and in French Greek Epigram Lorsque rien n'existait Sur les grands sommets blancs Note on the Texts Index of Titles Index of First Lines

Ilion

Bk-III

No, when the wrestlers meet and embrace in the mighty arena,

Not at their sins and their virtues the high gods look in that trial;

Which is the strongest, which is the subtlest, this they consider.

Nay, there is none in the world to befriend save ourselves and our courage;

Prowess alone in the battle is virtue, skill in the fighting

Only helps, the gods aid only the strong and the valiant.

Put forth your lives in the blow, you shall beat back the banded aggressors.

Neither believe that for justice denied your subjects have left you

Nor that for justice trampled Pallas and Hera abandon.

Two are the angels of God whom men worship, strength and enjoyment.

Into this life which the sunlight bounds and the greenness has cradled,

Armed with strength we have come; as our strength is, so is our joyance.

What but for joyance is birth and what but for joyance is living?

But on this earth that is narrow, this stage that is crowded, increasing

One on another we press. There is hunger for lands and for oxen,

Horses and armour and gold desired; possession allures us

Adding always as field to field some fortunate farmer.

Hearts too and minds are our prey; we seize on men's souls and their bodies,

Slaves to our works and desires that our hearts may bask golden in leisure.

One on another we prey and one by another are mighty.

This is the world and we have not made it; if it is evil,

Blame first the gods; but for us, we must live by its laws or we perish.

Power is divine; divinest of all is power over mortals.

Power then the conqueror seeks and power the imperial nation,

Even as luminous, passionless, wonderful, high over all things

Sit in their calmness the gods and oppressing our grief-tortured nations

Stamp their wills on the world. Nor less in our death-besieged natures

Gods are and altitudes. Earth resists, but my soul in me widens

Helped by the toil behind and the agelong effort of Nature.

Even in the worm is a god and it writhes for a form and an outlet.

Workings immortal obscurely struggling, hints of a godhead

Labour to form in this clay a divinity. Hera widens,

Pallas aspires in me, Phoebus in flames goes battling and singing,

Ares and Artemis chase through the fields of my soul in their hunting.

Last in some hour of the Fates a Birth stands released and triumphant;

Poured by its deeds over earth it rejoices fulfilled in its splendour.

Conscious dimly of births unfinished hid in our being

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Rest we cannot; a world cries in us for space and for fullness.

Fighting we strive by the spur of the gods who are in us and o'er us,

Stamping our image on men and events to be Zeus or be Ares.

Love and the need of mastery, joy and the longing for greatness

Rage like a fire unquenchable burning the world and creating,

Nor till humanity dies will they sink in the ashes of Nature.

All is injustice of love or all is injustice of battle.

Man over woman, woman o'er man, over lover and foeman

Wrestling we strive to expand in our souls, to be wide, to be happy.

If thou wouldst only be just, then wherefore at all shouldst thou conquer?

Not to be just, but to rule, though with kindness and high-seated mercy,

Taking the world for our own and our will from our slaves and our subjects,

Smiting the proud and sparing the suppliant, Trojans, is conquest.

Justice was base of thy government? Vainly, O statesman, thou liest.

If thou wert just, thou wouldst free thy slaves and be equal with all men.

Such were a dream of some sage at night when he muses in fancy,

Imaging freely a flawless world where none were afflicted,

No man inferior, all could sublimely equal and brothers

Live in a peace divine like the gods in their luminous regions.

This, O Antenor, were justice known but in words to us mortals.

But for the justice thou vauntest enslaving men to thy purpose,

Setting an iron yoke, nor regarding their need and their nature,

Then to say I am just; I slay not, save by procedure,

Rob not save by law,' is an outrage to Zeus and his creatures.

Terms are these feigned by the intellect making a pact with our yearnings,

Lures of the sophist within us draping our passions with virtue.

When thou art weak, thou art just, when thy subjects are strong and remember.

Therefore, O Trojans, be firm in your will and, though all men abandon,

Bow not your heads to reproach nor your hearts to the sin of repentance;

For you have done what the gods desired in your breasts and are blameless.

Proudly enjoy the earth that they gave you, enthroning their natures,

Fight with the Greeks and the world and trample down the rebellious,

What you have lost, recover, nor yield to the hurricane passing.

You cannot utterly die while the Power lives untired in your bosoms;

When 'tis withdrawn, not a moment of life can be added by virtue.

Faint not for helpers fled! Though your yoke had been mild as a father's

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They would have gone as swiftly. Strength men desire in their masters;

All men worship success and in failure and weakness abandon.

Not for his justice they clung to Teucer, but for their safety,

Seeing in Troy a head and by barbarous foemen afflicted.

Faint not, O Trojans, cease not from battle, persist in your labour!

Conquer the Greeks, your allies shall be yours and fresh nations your subjects.

One care only lodge in your hearts, how to fight, how to conquer.

Peace has smiled out of Phthia; a hand comes outstretched from the Hellene.

Who would not join with the godlike? who would not grasp at Achilles?

There is a price for his gifts; it is such as Achilles should ask for,

Never this nation concede. O Antenor's golden phrases

Glorifying rest to the tired and confuting patience and courage,

Garbed with a subtlety lax and the hopes that palliate surrender!

Charmed men applaud the skilful purpose, the dexterous speaker;

This they forget that a Force decides, not the wiles of the statesman.

Now let us yield,' do you say, we will rise when our masters are weakened'?

Nay, then, our master's master shall find us an easy possession!

Easily nations bow to a yoke when their virtue relaxes;

Hard is the breaking fetters once worn, for the virtue has perished.

Hope you when custom has shaped men into the mould of a vileness,

Hugging their chains when the weak feel easier trampled than rising

Or though they groan, yet have heart nor strength for the anguish of effort,

Then to cast down whom, armed and strong, you were mastered opposing?

Easy is lapse into uttermost hell, not easy salvation.

Or have you dreamed that Achilles, this son of the gods and the ocean,

Aught else can be with the strong and the bold save pursuer or master?

Know you so little the mood of the mighty? Think you the lion

Only will lick his prey, that his jaws will refrain from the banquet?

Rest from thy bodings, Antenor! Not all the valour of Troya

Perished with Hector, nor with Polydamas vision has left her;

Troy is not eager to slay her soul on a pyre of dishonour.

Still she has children left who remember the mood of their mother.

Helen none shall take from me living, gold not a drachma

Travels from coffers of Priam to Greece. Let another and older

Pay down his wealth if he will and his daughters serve Menelaus.

Rather from Ilion I will go forth with my brothers and kinsmen;

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Troy I will leave and her shame and live with my heart and my honour

Refuged with lions on Ida or build in the highlands a city

Or in an isle of the seas or by dark-driven Pontic waters.

Dear are the halls of our childhood, dear are the fields of our fathers,

Yet to the soul that is free no spot on the earth is an exile.

Rather wherever sunlight is bright, flowers bloom and the rivers

Flow in their lucid streams to the Ocean, there is our country.

So will I live in my soul's wide freedom, never in Troya

Shorn of my will and disgraced in my strength and the mock of my rivals.

First had you yielded, shame at least had not stained your surrender.

Strength indulges the weak! But what Hector has fallen refusing,

Men! what through ten loud years we denied with the spear for our answer,

That what Trojan will ever renounce, though his city should perish?

Once having fought we will fight to the end nor that end shall be evil.

Clamour the Argive spears on our walls? Are the ladders erected?

Far on the plain is their flight, on the farther side of the Xanthus.

Where are the deities hostile? Vainly the eyes of the tremblers

See them stalking vast in the ranks of the Greeks and the shoutings

Dire of Poseidon they hear and are blind with the aegis of Pallas.

Who then sustained so long this Troy, if the gods are against her?

Even the hills could not stand save upheld by their concert immortal.

Now not with Tydeus' son, not now with Odysseus and Ajax

Trample the gods in the sound of their chariot-wheels, victory leading:

Argos falls red in her heaps to their scythes; they shelter the Trojans;

Victory unleashed follows and fawns upon Penthesilea.

Ponder no more, O Ilion, city of ancient Priam!

Rise, O beloved of the gods, and go forth in thy strength to the battle.

Not by the dreams of Laocoon strung to the faith that is febrile,

Nor with the tremblings vain and the haunted thoughts of Antenor,

But with a noble and serious strength and an obstinate valour

Suffer the shock of your foes, O nation chosen by Heaven;

Proudly determine on victory, live by disaster unshaken.

Either Fate receive like men, nay, like gods, nay, like Trojans."

So like an army that streams and that marches, speeding and pausing,

Drawing in horn and wing or widened for scouting and forage,

Bridging the floods, avoiding the mountains, threading the valleys,

Fast with their flashing panoply clad in gold and in iron

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Moved the array of his thoughts; and throughout delight and approval

Followed their march, in triumph led but like prisoners willing,

Glad and unbound to a land they desire. Triumphant he ended,

Lord of opinion, though by the aged frowned on and censured,

But to this voice of their thoughts the young men vibrated wholly.

Loud like a storm on the ocean mounted the roar of the people.

"Cease from debate," men cried, "arise, O thou warlike Aeneas!

Speak for this nation, launch like a spear at the tents of the Hellene

Ilion's voice of war!" Then up mid a limitless shouting

Stern and armed from his seat like a war-god helmed Aeneas

Rose by King Priam approved in this last of Ilion's sessions,

Holding the staff of the senate's authority. "Silence, O commons,

Hear and assent or refuse as your right is, masters of Troya,

Ancient and sovereign people, act that your kings have determined

Sitting in council high, their reply to the strength of Achilles.

Son of the Aeacids, vain is thy offer; the pride of thy challenge

Rather we choose; it is nearer to Dardanus, King of the Hellenes.

Neither shall Helen be led back, the Tyndarid, weeping to Argos,

Nor down the paths of peace revisit her fathers' Eurotas.

Death and the fire may prevail o'er us, never our wills shall surrender

Lowering Priam's heights and darkening Ilion's splendours.

Not of such sires were we born, but of kings and of gods, O Larissan.

Not with her gold Troy traffics for safety, but with her spear-points.

Stand with thy oath in the war-front, Achilles; call on thy helpers

Armed to descend from the calm of Olympian heights to thy succour

Hedging thy fame from defeat; for we all desire thee in battle,

Mighty to end thee or tame at last by the floods of the Xanthus.'"

So Aeneas resonant spoke, stern, fronted like Ares,

And with a voice that conquered the earth and invaded the heavens

Loud they approved their doom and fulfilled their impulse immortal.

Last Deiphobus rose in their meeting, head of their mellay:

"Proudly and well have you answered, O nation beloved of Apollo;

Fearless of death they must walk who would live and be mighty for ever.

Now, for the sun is hastening up the empyrean azure,

Hasten we also. Tasting of food round the call of your captains

Meet in your armed companies, chariots and hoplites and archers.

Strong be your hearts, let your courage be stern like the sun when it blazes;

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Fierce will the shock be today ere he sink blood-red in the waters."

They with a voice as of Oceans meeting rose from their session, —

Filling the streets with her tread Troy strode from her Ilian forum.

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BOOK IV

The Book of Partings

Eagerly, spurred by Ares swift in their souls to the war-cry,

All now pressed to their homes for the food of their strength in the battle.

Ilion turned her thoughts in a proud expectancy seaward

Waiting to hear the sounds that she loved and the cry of the mellay.

Now to their citadel Priam's sons returned with their father,

Now from the gates Talthybius issued grey in his chariot;

But in the halls of Anchises Aeneas not doffing his breastpiece

Hastily ate of the corn of his country, cakes of the millet

Doubled with wild-deer's flesh, from the quiet hands of Creüsa.

She, as he ate, with her calm eyes watching him smiled on her husband:

"Ever thou hastest to battle, O warrior, ever thou fightest

Far in the front of the ranks and thou seekest out Locrian Ajax,

Turnest thy ear to the roar for the dangerous shout of Tydides;

There, once heard, leaving all thou drivest, O stark in thy courage.

Yet am I blest among women who tremble not, left in thy mansion,

Quiet at old Anchises' feet when I see thee in vision

Sole with the shafts hissing round thee and say to my quivering spirit,

Now he is striking at Ajax, now he has met Diomedes.'

Such are the mighty twain who are ever near to protect thee,

Phoebus, the Thunderer's son, and thy mother, gold Aphrodite;

Such are the Fates that demand thee, O destined head of the future.

But though my thoughts for their own are not troubled, always, Aeneas,

Sore is my heart with pity for other Ilian women

Who in this battle are losing their children and well-loved husbands,

Brothers too dear, for the eyes that are wet, for the hearts that are silent.

Will not this war then end that thunders for ever round Troya?"

But to Creüsa the hero answered, the son of Anchises:

"Surely the gods protect, yet is Death too always mighty.

Most in his shadowy envy he strikes at the brave and the lovely,

Grudging works to abridge their days and to widow the sunlight.

Most, disappointed, he rages against the beloved of Heaven;

Striking their lives through their hearts he mows down their loves and their pleasures.

Truly thou sayst, thou needst not to fear for my life in the battle;

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Ever for thine I fear lest he find thee out in his anger,

Missing my head in the fight, when he comes here crossed in his godhead.

Yet shall Phoebus protect and my mother, gold Aphrodite."

But to Aeneas answered the tranquil lips of Creüsa:

"So may it be that I go before thee, seeing, Aeneas,

Over my dying eyes thy lips bend down for the parting.

Blissfullest end is this for a woman here mid earth's sorrows;

Afterwards there we hope that the hands shall join which were parted."

So she spoke, not knowing the gods: but Aeneas departing

Clasped his father's knees, the ancient mighty Anchises.

"Bless me, my father; I go to the battle. Strong with thy blessing

Even today may I hurl down Ajax, slay Diomedes,

And on the morrow gaze on the empty beaches of Troas."

Troubled and joyless, nought replying to warlike Aeneas

Long Anchises sat unmoving, silent, sombre,

Gazing into his soul with eyes that were closed to the sunlight.

"Prosper, Aeneas," slowly he answered him, "son of a goddess,

Prosper, Aeneas; and if for Troy some doom is preparing,

Suffer always the will of the gods with a piety constant.

Only they will what Necessity fashions compelled by the Silence.

Labour and war she has given to man as the law of his transience.

Work; she shall give thee the crown of thy deeds or their ending appointed,

Whether glorious thou pass or in silent shadows forgotten.

But what thy mother commands perform ever, loading thy vessels.

Who can know what the gods have hid with the mist of our hopings?"

Then from the house of his fathers Aeneas rapidly striding

Came to the city echoing now with the wheels of the chariots,

Clanging with arms and astream with the warlike tramp of her thousands.

Fast through the press he strode and men turning knew Aeneas,

Greatened in heart and went on with loftier thoughts towards battle.

He through the noise and the crowd to Antenor's high-built mansion

Striding came, and he turned to its courts and the bronze of its threshold

Trod which had suffered the feet of so many princes departed.

But as he crossed its brazen square from the hall there came running,

Leaping up light to his feet and laughing with sudden pleasure,

Eurus the youngest son of Polydamas. Clasping the fatal

War-hardened hand with a palm that was smooth as a maiden's or infant's,

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"Well art thou come, Aeneas," he said, "and good fortune has sent thee!

Now I shall go to the field; thou wilt speak with my grandsire Antenor

And he shall hear thee though chid by his heart reluctant. Rejoicing

I shall go forth in thy car or warring by Penthesilea,

Famous, give to her grasp the spear that shall smite down Achilles."

Smiling answered Aeneas, "Surely will, Eurus, thy prowess

Carry thee far to the front; thou shalt fight with Epeus and slay him.

Who shall say that this hand was not chosen to pierce Menelaus?

But for a while with the ball should it rather strive, O hero,

Till in the play and the wrestle its softness is trained for the smiting."

Eagerly Eurus answered, "But they have told me, Aeneas,

This is the last of our fights; for today will Penthesilea

Meet Achilles in battle and slay him ending the Argives.

Then shall I never have mixed in this war that is famous for ever.

What shall I say when my hairs are white like the aged Antenor's?

Men will ask, And what were thy deeds in the warfare Titanic?

Whom didst thou slay of the Argives, son of Polydamas, venging

Bravely thy father?' Then must I say, I lurked in the city.

I was too young and only ascending the Ilian ramparts

Saw the return or the flight, but never the deed and the triumph.'

Friend, if you take me not forth, I shall die of grief ere the sunset."

Plucking the hand of Aeneas he drew him into the mansion

Vast; and over the floor of the spacious hall they hastened

Laughing, the gracious child and the mighty hero and statesman,

Flower of a present stock and the burdened star of the future.

Meanwhile girt by his sons and the sons of his sons in his chamber

Cried to the remnants left of his blood the aged Antenor.

"Hearken you who are sprung from my loins and children, their offspring!

None shall again go forth to the fight who is kin to Antenor.

Weighed with my curse he shall go and the spear-points athirst of the Argives

Meet him wroth; he shall die in his sin and his name be forgotten.

Oft have I sent forth my blood to be spilled in vain in the battle

Fighting for Troy and her greatness earned by my toil and my fathers'.

Now all the debt has been paid; she rejects us driven by the immortals.

Much do we owe to the mother who bore us, much to our country;

But at the last our life is ours and the gods' and the future's.

Gather the gold of my house and our kin, O ye sons of Antenor.

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Warned by a voice in my soul I will go forth tonight from this city

Fleeing the doom and bearing my treasures; the ships shall receive them

Gathered, new-keeled by my care and the gods', in the narrow Propontis.

Over God's waters guided, treading the rage of Poseidon,

Bellying out with their sails let them cleave to the untravelled distance

Ocean's crests and resign to their Fates the doomed and the evil."

So Antenor spoke and his children heard him in silence;

Awed by his voice and the dread of his curse they obeyed, though in sorrow.

Halamus only replied to his father: "Dire are the white hairs

Reverend, loved, of a father, dreadful his curse to his children.

Yet in my heart there is one who cries, 'tis the voice of my country,

She for whose sake I would be in Tartarus tortured for ever.

Pardon me then, if thou wilt; if the gods can, then let them pardon.

For I will sleep in the dust of Troy embracing her ashes,

There where Polydamas sleeps and the many comrades I cherished.

So let me go to the darkness remembered or wholly forgotten,

Yet having fought for my country, true in my fall to my nation."

Then in his aged wrath to Halamus answered Antenor:

"Go then and perish doomed with the doomed and the hated of heaven;

Nor shall the gods forgive thee dying nor shall thy father."

Out from the chamber Halamus strode with grief in his bosom

Wrestling with wrath and he went to his doom nor looked back at his dear ones.

Crossing the hall the son of Antenor and son of Anchises

Met in the paths of their fates where they knotted and crossed for the parting,

One with the curse of the gods and his sire fast wending to Hades,

Fortunate, blessed the other; yet equal their minds were and virtues.

Cypris' son to the Antenorid: "Thee I have sought and thy brothers,

Bough of Antenor; sore is our need today of thy counsels,

Endless our want of their arms that are strong and their hearts that recoil not

Meeting myriads stark with the spear in unequal battle."

Halamus answered him: "I will go forth to the palace of Priam,

There where Troy yet lives and far from the halls of my fathers;

There will I speak, not here. For my kin they repose in the mansion

Sitting unarmed in their halls while their brothers fall in the battle."

Eurus eagerly answered the hero: "Me rather, therefore,

Take to the fight with you; I will make war on the Greeks for my uncles;

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One for all I will fill their place in the shock with the foemen."

But from his chamber-door Antenor heard and rebuked him:

"Scamp of my heart, thou torment! in to thy chamber and rest there,

Bound with cords lest thou cease, thou flutter-brain, scourged into quiet;

So shall thy lust of the fight be healed and our mansion grow tranquil."

Chid by the old man Eurus slunk from the hall discontented,

Yet with a dubious smile like a moonbeam lighting his beauty.

But to Antenor the Dardanid born from the white Aphrodite:

"Late the Antenorids learn to flinch from the spears of the Argives,

Even this boy of their blood has Polydamas' heart and his valour.

Nor should a life that was honoured and noble be stained in its ending.

Nay, then, the mood of a child would shame a grey-headed wisdom,

If for the fault of the people virtue and Troy were forgotten.

For, though the people hear us not, yet are we bound to our nation:

Over the people the gods are; over a man is his country;

This is the deity first adored by the hearths of the noble.

For by our nation's will we are ruled in the home and the battle

And for our nation's weal we offer our lives and our children's.

Not by their own wills led nor their passions men rise to their manhood,

Selfishly seeking their good, but the gods' and the State's and the fathers'."

Wroth Antenor replied to the warlike son of Anchises:

"Great is the soul in thee housed and stern is thy will, O Aeneas;

Onward it moves undismayed to its goal though a city be ruined.

They too guide thee who deepest see of the ageless immortals,

One with her heart and one in his spirit, Cypris and Phoebus.

Yet might a man not knowing this think as he watched thee, Aeneas,

Spurring Priam's race to its fall he endangers this city,

Hoping to build a throne out of ruins sole in the Troad.'

I too have gods who warn me and lead, Athene and Hera.

Not as the ways of other mortals are theirs who are guided,

They whose eyes are the gods and they walk by a light that is secret."

Coldly Aeneas made answer, stirred into wrath by the taunting:

"High wert thou always, nurtured in wisdom, ancient Antenor.

Walk then favoured and led, yet watch lest passion and evil

Feign auguster names and mimic the gait of the deathless."

And with a smile on his lips but wrath in his bosom answered,

Wisest of men but with wisdom of mortals, aged Antenor:

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"Led or misled we are mortals and walk by a light that is given;

Most they err who deem themselves most from error excluded.

Nor shalt thou hear in this battle the shout of the men of my lineage

Holding the Greeks as once and driving back Fate from their country.

His alone will be heard for a space while the stern gods are patient

Even now who went forth a victim self-offered to Hades,

Last whom their wills have plucked from the fated house of Antenor."

They now with wrath in their bosoms sundered for ever and parted.

Forth from the halls of Antenor Aeneas rapidly striding

Passed once more through the city hurrying now with its car-wheels,

Filled with a mightier rumour of war and the march of its thousands,

Till at Troy's upward curve he found the Antenorid crestward

Mounting the steep incline that climbed to the palace of Priam

White in her proud and armed citadel. Silent, ascending

Hardly their feet had attempted the hill when behind them they hearkened

Sweet-tongued a call and the patter and hurry of light-running sandals,

Turning they beheld with a flush on his cheeks and a light on his lashes

Challenging mutely and pleading the boyish beauty of Eurus.

"Racer to mischief," said Halamus, "couldst thou not sit in thy chamber?

Surely cords and the rod await thee, Eurus, returning."

Answered with laughter the child, "I have broken through ranks of the fighters,

Dived under chariot-wheels to arrive here and I return not.

I too for counsel of battle have come to the palace of Priam."

Burdened with thought they mounted slowly the road of their fathers

Breasting the Ilian hill where Laomedon's mansion was seated,

They from the crest down-gazing saw their country's housetops

Under their feet and heard the murmur of Troya below them.

But in the palace of Priam coming and going of house-thralls

Filled all the corridors; smoke from the kitchens curled in its plenty

Rich with savour and breathed from the labouring lungs of Hephaestus.

Far in the halls and the chambers voices travelled and clustered,

Anklets jangling ran and sang back from doorway to doorway

Mocking with music of speed and its laughters the haste of the happy,

Sound came of arms, there was tread of the great, there were murmurs of women, —

Voices glad of the doomed in Laomedon's marvellous mansion.

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Six were the halls of its splendour, a hundred and one were its chambers

Lifted on high upon columns that soared like the thoughts of its dwellers,

Thoughts that transcended the earth though they sank down at last into ashes;

So had Apollo dreamed to his lyre; and its tops were a grandeur

Domed, as if seeking to roof men's lives with a hint of the heavens;

Marble his columns rose and with marble his roofs were appointed,

Conquered wealth of the world in its largeness suffered, supporting

Purities of marble, glories of gold. Nor only of matter

Blazed there the brutal pomps, but images mystic or mighty

Crowded ceiling and wall, a work that the gods even admire

Hardly believing that forms like these were imagined by mortals

Here upon earth where sight is a blur and the soul lives encumbered.

Scrolls that remembered in gems the thoughts austere of the ancients

Bordered the lines of the stone and the forms of serpent and Naiad

Ran in relief on those walls of pride in the palace of Priam

Mingled with Dryads who tempted and fled and Satyrs who followed,

Sports of the nymphs in the sea and the woods and their meetings with mortals,

Sessions and battles of Trojan demigods, deaths that were famous,

Wars and loves of men and the deeds of the golden immortals.

Pillars sculptured with gods and with giants soared up from bases

Lion-carved or were seated on bulls and bore into grandeur

Amply those halls where they soared, or in lordliness slenderly fashioned,

Dressed in flowers and reeds like virgins standing on Ida,

Guarded the screens of stone and divided alcove and chamber.

Ivory carved and broidered robes and the riches of Indus

Cherished in sandalwood triumphed and teemed in the palace of Priam;

Doors that were carven and fragrant sheltered the joys of its princes.

Here in a chamber of luminous privacy Paris was arming.

Near him moved Helen, a whiteness divine, and intent on her labour

Fastened his cuirass, bound the greaves and settled the hauberk

Thrilling his limbs with her touch that was heaven to the yearning of mortals.

She with her hands of delight caressing the senseless metal

Pressed her lips to his brilliant armour; she bowed down, she whispered:

"Cuirass, allowed by the gods, protect the beauty of Paris;

Keep for me that for which country was lost and my child and my brothers."

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Yearning she bent to his feet, to the sandal-strings of her lover;

Then as she gazed up, changed grew her mood; for the Daemon within her

Rose that had banded Greece and was burning Troy into ashes.

Slowly a smile that was perfect and perilous over her beauty

Dawned like the sunlight on Paradise; strangely she looked on her lover.

So might a goddess have gazed as she played with the love of a mortal

Passing an hour on the earth ere she rose up white to Olympus.

"So art thou winner, Paris, yet and thy spirit ascendant

Leads this Troy where thou wilt, O thou mighty one veiled in thy beauty.

First in the dance and the revel, first in the joy of the mellay,

Who would not leave for thy sake and repent it not country and homestead?

Winning thou reignest still over Troy, over Fate, over Helen.

Always so canst thou win? Has Death no claim on thy beauty,

Fate no scourge for thy sins? How the years have passed by in a glory,

Years of this heaven of the gods, O ravisher, since from my hearthstone

Seizing thou borest me compelled to thy ships and my joy on the waters.

Troy is enringed with the spears, her children fall and her glories,

Mighty souls of heroes have gone down prone to the darkness;

Thou and I abide! the mothers wail for our pleasure.

Wilt thou then keep me for ever, O son of Priam, in Troya?

Fate was my mother, they say, and Zeus for this hour begot me.

Art thou a god too, O hero, disguised in this robe of the mortal,

Brilliant, careless of death and of sin as if sure of thy rapture?

What then if Fate today were to lay her hands on thee, Paris?"

Calmly he looked on the face of which Greece was enamoured, the body

For whose desire great Troy was a sacrifice, tranquil regarded

Lovely and dire on the lips he loved that smile of a goddess,

Saw the daughter of Zeus in the woman, yet was not shaken.

"Temptress of Argos," he answered, "thou snare for the world to be seized in,

Thou then hop'st to escape! But the gods could not take thee, O Helen,

How then thy will that to mine is a captive, or how, though with battle,

He who has lost thee, unhappy, the Spartan, bright Menelaus?

All things yield to a man and Zeus is himself his accomplice

When like a god he wills without remorse or longing.

Thou on this earth art mine since I claimed thee beheld, not speaking,

But with thy lids that fell thou veiledst thy heart of compliance.

Then in whatever beyond I shall know how to take thee, O Helen,

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