Helen of Troy Part 13

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."

x.x.xV.

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 s.p.a.ce, To seek the ruthless counsel of his peers.

x.x.xVI.

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.

x.x.xVII.

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.

x.x.xVIII.

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."

x.x.xIX.

Ah, slowly through that trodden field and bare They pa.s.s'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 Pa.s.ses, 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 sh.o.r.e; Nay, for about the waning of the light Their swift ships wander'd on the waters h.o.a.r, 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 gra.s.s 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 l.u.s.ts and fears;--and still divine, Still ready with immortal peace to bless Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine.