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Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs
With bunch and berry and flower through and


“ () mother Ida, harken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, And o'er him flowed a golden cloud, and leaned Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. 'Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom Coming through Heaven, like a light that grows Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made Proffer of royal power, ample rule Unquestioned, overflowing revenue Wherewith to embellish state, “ from many a vale And river-sundered champaign clothed with corn, Or labored mines, undrainable of ore. Honor,' she said, and homage, tax and toll, From many an inland town and haven large, Mast-thronged beneath her shadowing citadel In glassy bays among her tallest towers.'

“ O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still she spake on, and still she spake of power, · Which in all action is the end of all ; Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred And throned of wisdom—from all neighbor crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born, A shepherd all thy life, but yet king-born, Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power Only, are likest Gods, who have attained Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss, In knowledge of their own supremacy.'

“ Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit

Out at arm’s-length, so much the thought of power
Flattered his spirit; but Pallas where she stood
Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs
O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear
Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,
The while, above, her full and earnest eye
Over her snow-cold breasť and angry cheek
Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

“* Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 'These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uncalled for,) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'

“ Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Again she said : ‘I woo thee not with gifts.
Sequel of guerdon could not alter me
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,
So shalt thou find me fairest.

Yet, indeed,
If gazing on divinity disrobed,
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbiased by self-profit, oh ! rest thee sure
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,
So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,
To push thee forward through a life of shocks,
Dangers and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinewed with action, and the full-grown will,
Circled through all experiences, pure law,
Commeasure perfect freedom.'

“ Here she ceased,
And Paris pondered, and I cried, “O Paris,
Give it to Pallas !' but he heard me not,
Or Learing would not hear me, woe is me!

“O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder: from the violets her light foot Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form Between the shadows of the vine bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh, Half-whispered in his ear, • I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' She spoke and laughed : I shut my sight for fear: But when I looked, Paris had raised his arm, And I beheld great Here's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.

6. Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest—why fairest wife ? am I not fair ? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail

, Crouched fawning in the weed. Most loving is she ? Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.

“O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest pines.

My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge
High over the blue gorge, and all between
The snowy peak and snow-white cataract
Fostered the callow eaglet—from beneath
Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn
The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat
Low in the valley. Never, never more
Shall lone Enone see the morning mist
Sweep through them ; never see them overlaid
With narrow moonlit slips of silver cloud,
Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.

“O mother, hear me yet before I die.
I wish that somewhere in the ruined folds,
Among the fragments tumbled from the glens,
Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her,
The Abominable, that uninvited came
Into the fair Pelesan banquet-hall,
And cast the golden fruit upon the board,
And bred this change; that I might speak my

mind, And tell her to her face how much I hate Her presence, hated both of Gods and men.

“O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Even on this hand, and sitting on this stone ? Scaled it with kisses ? watered it with tears ? O happy tears, and how unlike to these ! O happy Heaven ! how canst thou see my face ? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight ? O th, dea thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth; L'ass by the happy souls, that love to live : I pray thee pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die.


“O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me more and more, Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child Ere it is born : her child !a shudder comes Across me: never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes !

“O mother, hear me yet before I die.
Hear me, 0 earth. I will not die alone,
Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me
Walking the cold and starless road of Death
Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love
With the Greek woman. I will rise and go
Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth
Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says
A fire dances before her, and a sound
Rings ever in her ears of armed men.
What this may be I know not, but I know
That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day,
All earth and air seem only burning fire.”



We were two daughters of one race:
She was the fairest in the face :

The wind is blowing in turret and tree.
They were together, and she fell';
Therefore revenge became me well.

() the Earl was fair to see!

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