Helen of Troy [2]
quest,
"For sultry is the summer, that allows
To mortal men no sweeter boon than rest;
And surely such a tale as thine is best
To make the dainty-footed hours go by,
Till sinks the sun in darkness and the West,
And soft stars lead the Night along the sky."
XXI.
Then at the word of Helen Paris spoke,
"My tale is shorter than a summer day, -
My mother, ere I saw the light, awoke,
At dawn, in Ilios, shrieking in dismay,
Who dream'd that 'twixt her feet there fell and lay
A flaming brand, that utterly burn'd down
To dust of crumbling ashes red and grey,
The coronal of towers and all Troy town.
XXII.
"Then the interpretation of this dream
My father sought at many priestly hands,
Where the white temple doth in Pytho gleam,
And at the fane of Ammon in the sands,
And where the oak tree of Dodona stands
With boughs oracular against the sky, -
And with one voice the Gods from all the lands,
Cried out, 'The child must die, the child must die.'
XXIII.
"Then was I born to sorrow; and in fear
The dark priest took me from my sire, and bore
A wailing child through beech and pinewood drear,
Up to the knees of Ida, and the hoar
Rocks whence a fountain breaketh evermore,
And leaps with shining waters to the sea,
Through black and rock-wall'd pools without a shore, -
And there they deem'd they took farewell of me.
XXIV.
"But round my neck they tied a golden ring
That fell from Ganymedes when he soar'd
High over Ida on the eagle's wing,
To dwell for ever with the Gods adored,
To be the cup-bearer beside the board
Of Zeus, and kneel at the eternal throne, -
A jewel 'twas from old King Tros's hoard,
That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.
XXV.
"And there they left me in that dell untrod, -
Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,
For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God, -
Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear
The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,
Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy
Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair, -
There had the priests appointed me to die.
XXVI.
"But vainly doth a man contend with Fate!
My father had less pity on his son
Than wild things of the woodland desolate.
'Tis said that ere the Autumn day was done
A great she-bear, that in these rocks did wonn,
Beheld a sleeping babe she did convey
Down to a den beheld not of the sun,
The cavern where her own soft litter lay.
XXVII.
"And therein was I nurtured wondrously,
So Rumour saith: I know not of these things,
For mortal men are ever wont to lie,
Whene'er they speak of sceptre-bearing kings:
I tell what I was told, for memory brings
No record of those days, that are as deep
Lost as the lullaby a mother sings
In ears of children that are fallen on sleep.
XXVIII.
"Men say that now five autumn days had pass'd,
When Agelaus, following a hurt deer,
Trod soft on crackling acorns, and the mast
That lay beneath the oak and beech-wood sere,
In dread lest angry Pan were sleeping near,
Then heard a cry from forth a cavern grey,
And peeping round the fallen rocks in fear,
Beheld where in the wild beast's tracks I lay.
XXIX.
"So Agelaus bore me from the wild,
Down to his hut; and with his children I
Was nurtured, being, as was deem'd, the child
Of Hermes, or some mountain deity;
For these with the wild nymphs are wont to lie
Within the holy caverns, where the bee
Can scarcely find a darkling path to fly
Through veils of bracken and the ivy-tree.
XXX.
"So with the shepherds on the hills I stray'd,
And drave the kine to feed where rivers run,
And play'd upon the reed-pipe in the shade,
And scarcely knew my manhood was begun,
The pleasant years still passing one by one,
Till I was chiefest of the mountain men,
And clomb the peaks that take the snow and sun,
And braved the anger'd lion in his den.
XXXI.
"Now in my herd of kine was one more dear
By far than all the rest, and fairer far;
A milkwhite
"For sultry is the summer, that allows
To mortal men no sweeter boon than rest;
And surely such a tale as thine is best
To make the dainty-footed hours go by,
Till sinks the sun in darkness and the West,
And soft stars lead the Night along the sky."
XXI.
Then at the word of Helen Paris spoke,
"My tale is shorter than a summer day, -
My mother, ere I saw the light, awoke,
At dawn, in Ilios, shrieking in dismay,
Who dream'd that 'twixt her feet there fell and lay
A flaming brand, that utterly burn'd down
To dust of crumbling ashes red and grey,
The coronal of towers and all Troy town.
XXII.
"Then the interpretation of this dream
My father sought at many priestly hands,
Where the white temple doth in Pytho gleam,
And at the fane of Ammon in the sands,
And where the oak tree of Dodona stands
With boughs oracular against the sky, -
And with one voice the Gods from all the lands,
Cried out, 'The child must die, the child must die.'
XXIII.
"Then was I born to sorrow; and in fear
The dark priest took me from my sire, and bore
A wailing child through beech and pinewood drear,
Up to the knees of Ida, and the hoar
Rocks whence a fountain breaketh evermore,
And leaps with shining waters to the sea,
Through black and rock-wall'd pools without a shore, -
And there they deem'd they took farewell of me.
XXIV.
"But round my neck they tied a golden ring
That fell from Ganymedes when he soar'd
High over Ida on the eagle's wing,
To dwell for ever with the Gods adored,
To be the cup-bearer beside the board
Of Zeus, and kneel at the eternal throne, -
A jewel 'twas from old King Tros's hoard,
That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.
XXV.
"And there they left me in that dell untrod, -
Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,
For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God, -
Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear
The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,
Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy
Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair, -
There had the priests appointed me to die.
XXVI.
"But vainly doth a man contend with Fate!
My father had less pity on his son
Than wild things of the woodland desolate.
'Tis said that ere the Autumn day was done
A great she-bear, that in these rocks did wonn,
Beheld a sleeping babe she did convey
Down to a den beheld not of the sun,
The cavern where her own soft litter lay.
XXVII.
"And therein was I nurtured wondrously,
So Rumour saith: I know not of these things,
For mortal men are ever wont to lie,
Whene'er they speak of sceptre-bearing kings:
I tell what I was told, for memory brings
No record of those days, that are as deep
Lost as the lullaby a mother sings
In ears of children that are fallen on sleep.
XXVIII.
"Men say that now five autumn days had pass'd,
When Agelaus, following a hurt deer,
Trod soft on crackling acorns, and the mast
That lay beneath the oak and beech-wood sere,
In dread lest angry Pan were sleeping near,
Then heard a cry from forth a cavern grey,
And peeping round the fallen rocks in fear,
Beheld where in the wild beast's tracks I lay.
XXIX.
"So Agelaus bore me from the wild,
Down to his hut; and with his children I
Was nurtured, being, as was deem'd, the child
Of Hermes, or some mountain deity;
For these with the wild nymphs are wont to lie
Within the holy caverns, where the bee
Can scarcely find a darkling path to fly
Through veils of bracken and the ivy-tree.
XXX.
"So with the shepherds on the hills I stray'd,
And drave the kine to feed where rivers run,
And play'd upon the reed-pipe in the shade,
And scarcely knew my manhood was begun,
The pleasant years still passing one by one,
Till I was chiefest of the mountain men,
And clomb the peaks that take the snow and sun,
And braved the anger'd lion in his den.
XXXI.
"Now in my herd of kine was one more dear
By far than all the rest, and fairer far;
A milkwhite