"While in his palace porch, great Nestor's son, And the Prince staid the steeds, their journey done, Them, Eteoneus, issuing forth, survey'd,

And backward speeding, to Atrides said:

"Lo! Jove-born Menelaus, at thy gate Two strangers, likest gods, thy word await:

Shall we here loose their steeds, and claim their stay, Or to some roof more willing send away?"

"Thou wert not once,' the indignant king replied, 'Devoid of sense, untaught thy words to guide. Thou babblest like a child-from dome to dome We, hospitably feasted, reach'd our home :

So Jove may henceforth guard us: loose the steed,
And to our banquet, haste, the strangers lead.'
"He spake: nor Eteoneus disobey'd,

But, summoning the menials, urged their aid,
Loosed the hot yoke, and where the steeds reposed,
Within the monarch's spacious stalls enclosed,

Oats and fine barley, in their manger threw,
And to the radiant wall the chariot drew:

Then usher'd in the guests, who, wondering, gazed,
As the proud palace of Atrides blazed,
Which like the lunar orb, or solar light

With strange magnificence amazed their sight.
But, when their wonder paused, they went to lave
Their bodies in the bath's refreshing wave;
Then, when the females with anointing oil

And the warm flood had freed their limbs from toil,
And the bright vest and mantle round them cast,
They, nigh the king, partook the rich repast.
In a bright vase of burnish'd silver wrought
On a gold stand, a maid pure water brought.
Spread for the feast, with dainties largely stored,
A matron placed the tables' polish'd board :
The sewer with varied flesh their food supplied,
And served with golden cups of royal pride.
Then, with kind warmth their hands Atrides press'd,
And welcoming the strangers, thus address'd:

"Feast, and rejoice-when satiate keen desire,
I, who my guests, and whence you came, enquire.
Not yet, I deem, has pass'd away from earth
The memory of the men who boast your birth.
In yours, the form of Jove-born kings I trace,
For ne'er vile fathers bred such godlike race.'

"Then deign'd himself their portion'd feast assign, The monarch's share, the bullock's roasted chine. "They richly feasted, and, the banquet o'er, When thirst and satiate hunger sought no more, Then, bow'd o'er Nestor's son, that none might hear, The Prince thus whisper'd in his listening ear:

"Round this refulgent dome, my friend! behold What blaze of amber, ivory, silver, gold: Such Jove's Olympian hall 'mid realms of light, The infinity of splendour awes my sight.'

"His whisper'd wonder Menelaus heard,

And to the admiring guests thus spake the word :
"No-let not mortal man contend with Jove,
'Tis immortality stamps all above.

Man may with me hold contest, or decline,
Whate'er my wealth, toil, suffering made it mine,
Brought from far wandering, by my restless sail,
Ere the eight year, I bade my country hail.
To Cyprus, Egypt, to Phoenicia's shore,

To Ethiopia me, my vessel bore,

The Erembi, Sidon, Lybia, where the horn
Crowns the fair forehead of the lamb new-born,
Where sheep thrice yearly breed, nor lord nor swain
For dearth of cheese, or flesh, or milk complain,
Nor ere throughout the year the udder fails
To tempt the hand that fills the milking pails.
While thus I stray'd, and with incessant toil
Vast wealth amass'd from many a distant soil,
By a vile wife's dark guile, the sudden blow
Smote unawares, and laid a brother low.
Thus rich, I joyless reign-yet, ye have heard
Whate'er your race, your sires have spread the word,

How sore I suffer'd, and to ruin brought

A hospitable home with luxury fraught;

With half its wealth, I would contented dwell,

Were they but living who at Ilion fell.
How oft beneath my roof I lone deplore

The loss of those who here return no more:

Now feed my soul with grief, and now at peace
Rest, when, worn out with plaint, afflictions cease;
Yet less I weep them all, tho' sore I weep,

Than one whose loss embitters food and sleep,
Mindful of him whose ardour unrepress'd
Sustain'd the weight of woe that bow'd the rest,
Thee, loved Ulysses, bound by fate to grief,
And to my soul by woe without relief-
Where the long-absent hero? whither sped?
Strays he alive, or slumbers with the dead?
His loss bows down to earth his aged sire,
Penelope consumes with vain desire,
And whom he left, the babe just sprung to day,
Telemachus, deplores his long delay.'

We always liked, but now we love Menelaus. That Helen should have left such a man for Paris! Brave as his own sword-bright in honour as his own shield-hospitable as his own board-strong as the tree at his own palace-gate-tender withal, as well as true-with a heart in his manly bosom overflowing with all kind affections-love, friendship, grief, pity—and yearning not towards kith and kin alone-but, as now, towards the sons of his old companions in

939

arms, Nestor and Ulysses. For Nestor wore arms-but Menelaus knows not who the youths may be he loves them for their own noble sakes-and well one of them will ever after love the Great Spartan King, for having mourned so for Ulysses, and Laertes, and Penelope-and for him who now with both hands upholds before his face his purple robe, that it may hide his gushing tears. But where is Helen?

LITERALLY. LINE FOR LINE WITH THE ORIGINAL.

CHRISTOPHER NORTH.

Whilst he was revolving these things in his mind and heart,
Helen from her odoriferous, lofty-roofed chamber out-
Came, like to Diana with-the-golden-arrows:

For her then did Adrasta place a beautifully-fabricated couch,
And Alcippe bore a carpet of soft wool:

Phylo carried a silver basket, which to her (Helen) gave

Alcandra, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt in Thebes

Of Egypt, where most-numerous possessions lie in-the-houses.

Who to Menelaus gave two silver baths.

And two tripods, and ten talents of gold.

Apart (from these) did his wife besides bestow on Helen beautiful gifts,

A golden spindle, and added a basket rimmed-beneath

Of silver, but its lips were perfected of-gold.

This then did the attendant Phylo bear and place before her,

Completely filled with elaborately wrought thread; and over it

Was extended the spindle having wool of-a-deep-violet-hue.

(Helen on her reclining-couch sat down, and under her feet was a footstool, And forthwith she questioned her husband on all.

SOTHEBY.

While thus the Monarch paused with doubt o'ercast,

Forth from her fragrant chamber Helen past,

Like gold-bowed Dian; and Adraste came,

The bearer of her throne's majestic frame;

Her carpets' fine-wrought fleece Alcippe bore,

Phylo her basket bright with silver ore,
Gift of the wife of Polybus, who sway'd

Where Thebes, the Egyptian Thebes, vast wealth display'd ;
There too the monarch's hospitable hand

To Atreus' son, departing from his land,

Gave ten weigh'd talents, all of purest gold,
Two tripods and two baths of silver mould.
His wife, Alcandra, from her treasured store

A golden spindle to fair Helen bore,

And a bright silver basket, on whose round
A rim of burnish'd gold was closely bound;
Before her sovereigu placed, this Phylo brought
And charged with wool elaborately, wrought;
There the bright spindle lay, whence Helen drew
The fleece that richly flow'd with purple hue-
Thus on her foot-stooled throne the Queen reclined,
And to her lord unbosom'd all her mind.

M. T. CHAPMAN. (TR. COL. CAM.)

From her high-roof'd and fragrant chamber came,
Like to Diana of the golden shaft,

Helen her following, Adraste placed

A well-made couch for her; Alcippe brought
A carpet of soft wool; Phylo the gift
(A silver basket) which Alcandra made
To the bright Queen,-the wife of Polybus,
Who in Egyptian Thebes his dwelling had,
Where in his palace lie treasures immense;
He gave to Menelaus tripods twain,
Two silver baths, and talents ten of gold;
His wife, besides, made Helen gifts of price

And beautiful,-a distaff all of gold,

And silver basket, silvery circling round,

But tipp'd with gold; which stuff'd with threads made fit

To spin withal, Phylo her handmaid brought;

The distaff was upon it, wrapt with wool

Of violet colour. On her couch she sat,

And on a cushion placed her dainty feet.

GEORGE DRAKE. (KIRKTHORPE.)

While thus his thoughts in doubtful current flow,
Like the bright Goddess of the golden bow,
Forth from her lofty chamber the fair dame-
Her chamber rich in perfumes-Helen came.
For her a well-wrought couch Adraste bare:
A carpet of soft wool Alcippe's care:
Phylo a silver basket brought :-her load
Alcandra, wife of Polybus, bestow'd,
With divers treasures on their Spartan guest,
When they in Thebes of Egypt wealth possess'd;
Two golden lavers, two of tripod mould,
And ten pure talents were annex'd of gold :
Besides his spouse rich works of rare device
To Helen gave, and gems of costly price;
A golden distaff, and a sculptured vase,
She gave, of silver on a rounded base,

Whose upper rims with burnish'd gold were wrought:
The same now Phylo for her mistress brought,
Fill'd with spun thread: and on the pile she threw
A distaff charg'd with wool of purple hue.
A footstool underneath, a couch above
Received the queenly form of beauteous love.

'Tis impossible to hate the traitress.
Homer himself loved her-and so
did Hector. In Troy we could not
forgive her for the tears of the Fair
Penitent were shed on the bosom of
Paris. Alas! and a-lack-a-day! what
could she do? For wicked Venus
would shew her gratitude for the
golden apple after her own wicked
way; but Helen is again an honest

woman-nay, start not at the homely words-for we have seen honest women beautiful as angels. Menelaus suspected from his weeping, at mention of Ulysses, that it was Telemachus; but Helen-whose beautiful eyes were always wide-awake

knew that it must be the son of the great-hearted Ulysses-from his wondrous likeness to the hero. Then

the King-but not before-sees the likeness too-in feet, hands, head, hair, and eyes! Helen can still make him see-or not see-any thing; but for our parts, we now see nothing but her own radiant self, and since

she is yet alive, what matters it that Troy has ceased to be even a heap of ashes?

Pisistratus declares it is no other than Telemachus.

LITERALLY. LINE FOR LINE WITH THE ORIGINAL.

CHRISTOPHER NORTII.

Him the auburn-(haired) Menelaus answering addressed:

"Ye Gods! of a truth indeed hath the son of a most friendly man to my house
Come, who for my sake hath toiled in many combats :

And him when he came, I said, that I would welcome conspicuously above all
The Greeks, if to us a return over the sea, should grant

The Olympian, far-seeing Jupiter,-to take place in (our) swift ships.

And I-should-have-caused-to-be-inhabited for him a city in Argos, and a palace should have built,

Bringing him from Ithaca with his possessions and his son,

And all his people, removing-the-inhabitants from one city,

(Of those) which are-dwelled-in-around (me,) and are-ruled-over by myself.

And having much intercourse here we should have mingled together, nor us two, Loving and pleased (with each other), should any thing have separated,

Until the dark cloud of death had veiled-us-around.

But-it-was-to-be that a God himself should-be-jealous-of these things,
Who, him alone, the wretched-one, hath destined not-to-return."

Thus he spoke; and among them all stirred-up a longing for lamentation.

The Argive Helen born of Jove on the one hand wept,

And on the other wept Telemachus, and Menelaus the-son-of- Atreus.
Nor verily had Nestor's son tearless eyes':

For he-called-to-mind, in his heart, the amiable Antilochus,
Whom the illustrious son of the brilliant Aurora slew.

But weeping soon becomes cold comfort-and "they to the good things lying before them ready their hands outstretched." Hungry and thirsty as they are after their long travel-scarcely can they either eat or drink for gazing upon Helen. Homer does not say so-but it was so-for there she sits, spinning like an enchantress-her white hands so lovely among the violet coloured wool and her arms gracefully twirling the distaff till their eyes are dazzled with the light of lilies, and closed of their own accord, that they

may better endure the softened beauty mellowing away in the mist of a momentary dream.

Yes-Helen is an Enchantress. She is going to drug their wine. Down she drops spindle and distaff -and will herself be cupbearer. Or glides she on a sandal of swandown close behind the youths, and interposing between them the gleam of her right arm, imposes a charm more divine than Hermes' Moly into the liquid ruby that sends its perfume into the joyous brain? Hear Homer.

LITERALLY. LINE FOR LINE WITH THE ORIGINAL.

Then truly did Helen born of Jove devise another (plan),

CHRISTOPHER NORTH.

For forthwith she mixed a drug in the wine of which they were drinking,

(A drug) grief-assuaging and anger-dispelling, inducing-forgetfulness of all evils. He who shall-have-swallowed-it-down, when-it-shall-have-been-mixed in the goblet, Shall not during-the-whole-day be pouring down his cheeks the tear,

Not even if his father and mother should have died,

Not even if before him, his brother, or his beloved son,

One should have cut off with the sword, and he looking on with his eyes.

Such a drug skilfully-prepared had the daughter of Jove (Helen),

Efficacious, which Polydamna the wife of Thon gave her

(Polydamna) the Egyptian in which (country) the all-beautiful soil produces most

numerous

Drugs, many of-good when mixed, and many destructive

And (there) every physician is skilled beyond all

Men for their descent is from Peon.