Helen of Troy [14]
on the mountain sing,
Not now she met him in the forest hoar.
Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore
An alien love he sought; yet was she strong
To live, who deem'd that even as of yore
In days to come might Paris love her long.
XVI.
For dark OEnone from her Father drew
A power beyond all price; the gift to deal
With wounded men, though now the dreadful dew
Of Death anoint them, and the secret seal
Of Fate be set on them; these might she heal;
And thus OEnone trusted still to save
Her lover at the point of death, and steal
His life from Helen, and the amorous grave.
XVII.
And she had borne, though Paris knew it not,
A child, fair Corythus, to be her shame,
And still she mused, whenas her heart was hot,
"He hath no child by that Achaean dame:"
But when her boy unto his manhood came,
Then sorer yet OEnone did repine,
And bade him "fare to Ilios, and claim
Thy father's love, and all that should be thine!"
XVIII.
Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair
She drew, and from a green-tress'd birchen tree
She pluck'd a strip of smooth white bark and fair,
And many signs and woful graved she,
A message of the evil things to be.
Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold,
And bound the tokens well and cunningly,
Three times and four times, with a thread of gold.
XIX.
"Give these to Argive Helen's hand," she cried:
And so embraced her child, and with no fear
Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side,
Like a king's son that goes to hunt the deer,
Clad softly, and in either hand a spear,
With two swift-footed hounds that follow'd him,
So leap'd he down the grassy slopes and sheer,
And won the precinct of the forest dim.
XX.
He trod that ancient path his sire had trod,
Far, far below he saw the sea, the town;
He moved as light as an immortal god,
For mansions in Olympus gliding down.
He left the shadow of the forest brown,
And through the shallow waters did he cross,
And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown
Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios.
XXI.
Now folk that mark'd him hasting deem'd that he
Had come to tell the host was on its way,
As one that from the hills had seen the sea
Beclouded with the Danaan array,
So straight to Paris' house with no delay
They led him, and did eagerly await
Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey,
To hear some certain message of their fate.
XXII.
Now Paris was asleep upon his bed
Tired with a listless day; but all along
The palace chambers Corythus was led,
And still he heard a music, shrill and strong,
That seem'd to clamour of an old-world wrong,
And hearts a long time broken; last they came
To Helen's bower, the fountain of the song
That cried so loud against an ancient shame.
XXIII.
And Helen fared before a mighty loom,
And sang, and cast her shuttle wrought of gold,
And forth unto the utmost secret room
The wave of her wild melody was roll'd;
And still she fashion'd marvels manifold,
Strange shapes of fish and serpent, bear and swan,
The loves of the immortal Gods of old,
Wherefrom the peoples of the world began.
XXIV.
Now Helen met the stranger graciously
With gentle speech, and bade set forth a chair
Well wrought of cedar wood and ivory
That wise Icmalius had fashion'd fair.
But when young Corythus had drunk the rare
Wine of the princes, and had broken bread,
Then Helen took the word, and bade declare
His instant tidings; and he spake and said,
XXV.
"Lady and Queen, I have a secret word,
And bear a token sent to none but thee,
Also I bring message to my Lord
That spoken to another may not be."
Then Helen gave a sign unto her three
Bower-maidens, and they went forth from that place,
Silent they went; and all forebodingly,
They left the man and woman face to face.
XXVI.
Then from his breast the birchen scroll he took
And gave to Helen; and she read therein:
"Oh thou that on those hidden runes dost look,
Hast thou
Not now she met him in the forest hoar.
Nay, but she knew that on an alien shore
An alien love he sought; yet was she strong
To live, who deem'd that even as of yore
In days to come might Paris love her long.
XVI.
For dark OEnone from her Father drew
A power beyond all price; the gift to deal
With wounded men, though now the dreadful dew
Of Death anoint them, and the secret seal
Of Fate be set on them; these might she heal;
And thus OEnone trusted still to save
Her lover at the point of death, and steal
His life from Helen, and the amorous grave.
XVII.
And she had borne, though Paris knew it not,
A child, fair Corythus, to be her shame,
And still she mused, whenas her heart was hot,
"He hath no child by that Achaean dame:"
But when her boy unto his manhood came,
Then sorer yet OEnone did repine,
And bade him "fare to Ilios, and claim
Thy father's love, and all that should be thine!"
XVIII.
Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair
She drew, and from a green-tress'd birchen tree
She pluck'd a strip of smooth white bark and fair,
And many signs and woful graved she,
A message of the evil things to be.
Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold,
And bound the tokens well and cunningly,
Three times and four times, with a thread of gold.
XIX.
"Give these to Argive Helen's hand," she cried:
And so embraced her child, and with no fear
Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side,
Like a king's son that goes to hunt the deer,
Clad softly, and in either hand a spear,
With two swift-footed hounds that follow'd him,
So leap'd he down the grassy slopes and sheer,
And won the precinct of the forest dim.
XX.
He trod that ancient path his sire had trod,
Far, far below he saw the sea, the town;
He moved as light as an immortal god,
For mansions in Olympus gliding down.
He left the shadow of the forest brown,
And through the shallow waters did he cross,
And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown
Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios.
XXI.
Now folk that mark'd him hasting deem'd that he
Had come to tell the host was on its way,
As one that from the hills had seen the sea
Beclouded with the Danaan array,
So straight to Paris' house with no delay
They led him, and did eagerly await
Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey,
To hear some certain message of their fate.
XXII.
Now Paris was asleep upon his bed
Tired with a listless day; but all along
The palace chambers Corythus was led,
And still he heard a music, shrill and strong,
That seem'd to clamour of an old-world wrong,
And hearts a long time broken; last they came
To Helen's bower, the fountain of the song
That cried so loud against an ancient shame.
XXIII.
And Helen fared before a mighty loom,
And sang, and cast her shuttle wrought of gold,
And forth unto the utmost secret room
The wave of her wild melody was roll'd;
And still she fashion'd marvels manifold,
Strange shapes of fish and serpent, bear and swan,
The loves of the immortal Gods of old,
Wherefrom the peoples of the world began.
XXIV.
Now Helen met the stranger graciously
With gentle speech, and bade set forth a chair
Well wrought of cedar wood and ivory
That wise Icmalius had fashion'd fair.
But when young Corythus had drunk the rare
Wine of the princes, and had broken bread,
Then Helen took the word, and bade declare
His instant tidings; and he spake and said,
XXV.
"Lady and Queen, I have a secret word,
And bear a token sent to none but thee,
Also I bring message to my Lord
That spoken to another may not be."
Then Helen gave a sign unto her three
Bower-maidens, and they went forth from that place,
Silent they went; and all forebodingly,
They left the man and woman face to face.
XXVI.
Then from his breast the birchen scroll he took
And gave to Helen; and she read therein:
"Oh thou that on those hidden runes dost look,
Hast thou