Helen of Troy Part 8

XLII.

Among the spices and fair robes he lay, His arm beneath his head, as though he slept.

For so the G.o.ddess 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 G.o.d art sire and slayer, That like a G.o.d, 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 h.e.l.le 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 pa.s.s'd and still the citadel Frown'd on the Argive huts beside the sh.o.r.e.

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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 Ca.s.sandra'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!