Helen of Troy Part 1

Helen of Troy.

by Andrew Lang.

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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d 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 s.p.a.ces 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 l.u.s.trous limbs was shed; With oil anointed was each goodly head By Asteris and Phylo fair of face; Next, like two G.o.ds 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 G.o.d is he, for still The great G.o.ds 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d am I; be not afraid, For even now the nodding daisies grow Whose seed above my gra.s.sy 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ddess' 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 gra.s.s 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.