Books: Helen of Troy
A >>
Andrew Lang >> Helen of Troy
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6
V.
And now the bower of Helen fill'd with light,
And now she knew the thing that she did fear
Was close upon her (for the black of night
Doth burn like fire, whene'er the Gods are near);
Then shone like flame each helm and shield and spear
That hung within the chamber of the King,
But he,--though all the bower as day was clear, -
Slept as they sleep that know no wakening.
VI.
But Helen leap'd from her fair carven bed
As some tormented thing that fear makes bold,
And on the ground she beat her golden head
And pray'd with bitter moanings manifold.
Yet knew that she could never move the cold
Heart of the lovely Goddess, standing there,
Her feet upon a little cloud, a fold
Of silver cloud about her bosom bare.
VII.
So stood Queen Aphrodite, as she stands
Unmoved in her bright mansion, when in vain
Some naked maiden stretches helpless hands
And shifts the magic wheel, and burns the grain,
And cannot win her lover back again,
Nor her old heart of quiet any more,
Where moonlight floods the dim Sicilian main,
And the cool wavelets break along the shore.
VIII.
Then Helen ceased from unavailing prayer,
And rose and faced the Goddess steadily,
Till even the laughter-loving lady fair
Half shrank before the anger of her eye,
And Helen cried with an exceeding cry,
"Why does Zeus live, if we indeed must be
No more than sullen spoils of destiny,
And slaves of an adulteress like thee?
IX.
"What wilt thou with me, mistress of all woe?
Say, wilt thou bear me to another land
Where thou hast other lovers? Rise and go
Where dark the pine trees upon Ida stand,
For there did one unloose thy girdle band;
Or seek the forest where Adonis bled,
Or wander, wander on the yellow sand,
Where thy first lover strew'd thy bridal bed.
X.
"Ah, thy first lover! who is first or last
Of men and gods, unnumber'd and unnamed?
Lover by lover in the race is pass'd,
Lover by lover, outcast and ashamed.
Oh, thou of many names, and evil famed!
What wilt thou with me? What must I endure
Whose soul, for all thy craft, is never tamed?
Whose heart, for all thy wiles, is ever pure?
XI.
"Behold, my heart is purer than the plume
Upon the stainless pinions of the swan,
And thou wilt smirch and stain it with the fume
Of all thy hateful lusts Idalian.
My name shall be a hissing that a man
Shall smile to speak, and women curse and hate,
And on my little child shall come a ban,
And all my lofty home be desolate.
XII.
"Is it thy will that like a golden cup
From lip to lip of heroes I must go,
And be but as a banner lifted up,
To beckon where the winds of war may blow?
Have I not seen fair Athens in her woe,
And all her homes aflame from sea to sea,
When my fierce brothers wrought her overthrow
Because Athenian Theseus carried me -
XIII.
"Me, in my bloomless youth, a maiden child,
From Artemis' pure altars and her fane,
And bare me, with Pirithous the wild
To rich Aphidna? Many a man was slain,
And wet with blood the fair Athenian plain,
And fired was many a goodly temple then,
But fire nor blood can purify the stain
Nor make my name reproachless among men."
XIV.
Then Helen ceased, her passion like a flame
That slays the thing it lives by, blazed and fell,
As faint as waves at dawn, though fierce they came,
By night to storm some rocky citadel;
For Aphrodite answer'd,--like a spell
Her voice makes strength of mortals pass away, -
"Dost thou not know that I have loved thee well,
And never loved thee better than to-day?
XV.
"Behold, thine eyes are wet, thy cheeks are wan,
Yet art thou born of an immortal sire,
The child of Nemesis and of the Swan;
Thy veins should run with ichor and with fire.
Yet this is thy delight and thy desire,
To love a mortal lord, a mortal child,
To live, unpraised of lute, unhymn'd of lyre,
As any woman pure and undefiled.
XVI.
"Thou art the toy of Gods, an instrument
Wherewith all mortals shall be plagued or blest,
Even at my pleasure; yea, thou shalt be bent
This way and that, howe'er it like me best:
And following thee, as tides the moon, the West
Shall flood the Eastern coasts with waves of war,
And thy vex'd soul shall scarcely be at rest,
Even in the havens where the deathless are.
XVII.
"The instruments of men are blind and dumb,
And this one gift I give thee, to be blind
And heedless of the thing that is to come,
And ignorant of that which is behind;
Bearing an innocent forgetful mind
In each new fortune till I visit thee
And stir thy heart, as lightning and the wind
Bear fire and tumult through a sleeping sea.
XVIII.
"Thou shalt forget Hermione; forget
Thy lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin;
Thy hand within a stranger's shalt thou set,
And follow him, nor deem it any sin;
And many a strange land wand'ring shalt thou win,
And thou shalt come to an unhappy town,
And twenty long years shalt thou dwell therein,
Before the Argives mar its towery crown.
XIX.
"And of thine end I speak not, but thy name, -
Thy name which thou lamentest,--that shall be
A song in all men's speech, a tongue of flame
Between the burning lips of Poesy;
And the nine daughters of Mnemosyne,
With Prince Apollo, leader of the nine,
Shall make thee deathless in their minstrelsy!
Yea, for thou shalt outlive the race divine,
XX.
"The race of Gods, for like the sons of men
We Gods have but our season, and go by;
And Cronos pass'd, and Uranus, and then
Shall Zeus and all his children utterly
Pass, and new Gods be born, and reign, and die, -
But thee shall lovers worship evermore
What Gods soe'er usurp the changeful sky,
Or flit to the irremeable shore.
XXI.
"Now sleep and dream not, sleep the long day through,
And the brief watches of the summer night,
And then go forth amid the flowers and dew,
Where the red rose of Dawn outburns the white.
Then shalt thou learn my mercy and my might
Between the drowsy lily and the rose;
There shalt thou spell the meaning of delight,
And know such gladness as a Goddess knows!"
XXII.
Then Sleep came floating from the Lemnian isle,
And over Helen crush'd his poppy crown,
Her soft lids waver'd for a little while,
Then on her carven bed she laid her down,
And Sleep, the comforter of king and clown,
Kind Sleep the sweetest, near akin to Death,
Held her as close as Death doth men that drown,
So close that none might hear her inward breath -
XXIII.
So close no man might tell she was not dead!
And then the Goddess took her zone,--where lies
All her enchantment, love and lustihead,
And the glad converse that beguiles the wise,
And grace the very Gods may not despise,
And sweet Desire that doth the whole world move, -
And therewith touch'd she Helen's sleeping eyes
And made her lovely as the Queen of Love.
XXIV.
Then laughter-loving Aphrodite went
To far Idalia, over land and sea,
And scarce the fragrant cedar-branches bent
Beneath her footsteps, faring daintily;
And in Idalia the Graces three
Anointed her with oil ambrosial, -
So to her house in Sidon wended she
To mock the prayers of lovers when they call.
XXV.
And all day long the incense and the smoke
Lifted, and fell, and soft and slowly roll'd,
And many a hymn and musical awoke
Between the pillars of her house of gold,
And rose-crown'd girls, and fair boys linen-stoled,
Did sacrifice her fragrant courts within,
And in dark chapels wrought rites manifold
The loving favour of the Queen to win.
XXVI.
But Menelaus, waking suddenly,
Beheld the dawn was white, the day was near,
And rose, and kiss'd fair Helen; no good-bye
He spake, and never mark'd a fallen tear, -
Men know not when they part for many a year, -
He grasp'd a bronze-shod lance in either hand,
And merrily went forth to drive the deer,
With Paris, through the dewy morning land.
XXVII.
So up the steep sides of Taygetus
They fared, and to the windy hollows came,
While from the streams of deep Oceanus
The sun arose, and on the fields did flame;
And through wet glades the huntsmen drave the game,
And with them Paris sway'd an ashen spear,
Heavy, and long, and shod with bronze to tame
The mountain-dwelling goats and forest deer.
XXVIII.
Now in a copse a mighty boar there lay,
For through the boughs the wet winds never blew,
Nor lit the bright sun on it with his ray,
Nor rain might pierce the woven branches through,
But leaves had fallen deep the lair to strew:
Then questing of the hounds and men's foot-fall
Aroused the boar, and forth he sprang to view,
With eyes that burn'd, at bay, before them all.
XXIX.
Then Paris was the first to rush on him,
With spear aloft in his strong hand to smite,
And through the monster pierced the point; and dim
The flame fell in his eyes, and all his might
With his last cry went forth; forgetting fight,
Forgetting strength, he fell, and gladly then
They gather'd round, and dealt with him aright;
Then left his body with the serving men.
XXX.
Now birds were long awake, that with their cry
Were wont to waken Helen; and the dew
Where fell the sun upon the lawn was dry,
And all the summer land was glad anew;
And maidens' footsteps rang the palace through,
And with their footsteps chimed their happy song,
And one to other cried, "A marvel new
That soft-wing'd Sleep hath held the Queen so long!"
XXXI.
Then Phylo brought the child Hermione,
And close unto her mother's side she crept,
And o'er her god-like beauty tumbled she,
Chiding her sweetly that so late she slept,
And babbling still a merry coil she kept;
But like a woman stiff beneath her shroud
Lay Helen; till the young child fear'd and wept,
And ran, and to her nurses cried aloud.
XXXII.
Then came the women quickly, and in dread
Gather'd round Helen, but might naught avail
To wake her; moveless as a maiden dead
That Artemis hath slain, yet nowise pale,
She lay; but Aethra did begin the wail,
And all the women with sad voice replied,
Who deem'd her pass'd unto the poplar vale
Wherein doth dread Persephone abide.
XXXIII.
Ah! slowly pass'd the miserable day
In the rich house that late was full of pride;
Then the sun fell, and all the paths were grey,
And Menelaus from the mountain-side
Came, and through palace doors all open wide
Rang the wild dirge that told him of the thing
That Helen, that the Queen had strangely died.
Then on his threshold fell he grovelling,
XXXIV.
And cast the dust upon his yellow hair,
And, but that Paris leap'd and held his hand,
His hunter's knife would he have clutch'd, and there
Had slain himself, to follow to that land
Where flit the ghosts of men, a shadowy band
That have no more delight, no more desire,
When once the flesh hath burn'd down like a brand,
Drench'd by the dark wine on the funeral pyre:
XXXV.
So on the ashen threshold lay the king,
And all within the house was chill and drear;
The women watchers gather'd in a ring
About the bed of Helen and her bier;
And much had they to tell, and much to hear,
Of happy queens and fair, untimely dead, -
Such joy they took amid their evil cheer, -
While the low thunder muttered overhead.
BOOK III--THE FLIGHT OF HELEN
The flight of Helen and Paris from Lacedaemon, and of what things
befell them in their voyaging, and how they came to Troy.
I.
The grey Dawn's daughter, rosy Morn awoke
In old Tithonus' arms, and suddenly
Let harness her swift steeds beneath the yoke,
And drave her shining chariot through the sky.
Then men might see the flocks of Thunder fly,
All gold and rose, the azure pastures through,
What time the lark was carolling on high
Above the gardens drench'd with rainy dew.
II.
But Aphrodite sent a slumber deep
On all in the King's palace, young and old,
And one by one the women fell asleep, -
Their lamentable tales left half untold, -
Before the dawn, when folk wax weak and cold,
But Helen waken'd with the shining morn,
Forgetting quite her sorrows manifold,
And light of heart as was the day new-born.
III.
She had no memory of unhappy things,
She knew not of the evil days to come,
Forgotten were her ancient wanderings,
And as Lethaean waters wholly numb
The sense of spirits in Elysium,
That no remembrance may their bliss alloy,
Even so the rumour of her days was dumb,
And all her heart was ready for new joy.
IV.
The young day knows not of an elder dawn,
Joys of old noons, old sorrows of the night,
And so from Helen was the past withdrawn,
Her lord, her child, her home forgotten quite,
Lost in the marvel of a new delight:
She was as one who knows he shall not die,
When earthly colours melt into the bright
Pure splendour of his immortality.
V.
Then Helen rose, and all her body fair
She bath'd in the spring water, pure and cold,
And with her hand bound up her shining hair
And clothed her in the raiment that of old
Athene wrought with marvels manifold,
A bridal gift from an immortal hand,
And all the front was clasp'd with clasps of gold,
And for the girdle was a golden band.
VI.
Next from her upper chamber silently
Went Helen, moving like a morning dream.
She did not know the golden roof, the high
Walls, and the shields that on the pillars gleam,
Only she heard the murmur of the stream
That waters all the garden's wide expanse,
This song, and cry of singing birds, did seem
To guide her feet as music guides the dance.
VII.
The music drew her on to the glad air
From forth the chamber of enchanted death,
And lo! the world was waking everywhere;
The wind went by, a cool delicious breath,
Like that which in the gardens wandereth,
The golden gardens of the Hesperides,
And in its song unheard of things it saith,
The myriad marvels of the fairy seas.
VIII.
So through the courtyard to the garden close
Went Helen, where she heard the murmuring
Of water 'twixt the lily and the rose;
For thereby doth a double fountain spring.
To one stream do the women pitchers bring
By Menelaus' gates, at close of day;
The other through the close doth shine and sing,
Then to the swift Eurotas fleets away.
IX.
And Helen sat her down upon the grass,
And pluck'd the little daisies white and red,
And toss'd them where the running waters pass,
To watch them racing from the fountain-head,
And whirl'd about where little streams dispread;
And still with merry birds the garden rang,
And, MARRY, MARRY, in their song they said,
Or so do maids interpret that they sang.
X.
Then stoop'd she down, and watch'd the crystal stream,
And fishes poising where the waters ran,
And lo! upon the glass a golden gleam,
And purple as of robes Sidonian,
Then, sudden turning, she beheld a man,
That knelt beside her; as her own face fair
Was his, and o'er his shoulders for a span
Fell the bright tresses of his yellow hair.
XI.
Then either look'd on other with amaze
As each had seen a God; for no long while
They marvell'd, but as in the first of days,
The first of men and maids did meet and smile,
And Aphrodite did their hearts beguile,
So hands met hands, lips lips, with no word said
Were they enchanted 'neath that leafy aisle,
And silently were woo'd, betroth'd, and wed.
XII.
Ah, slowly did their silence wake to words
That scarce had more of meaning than the song
Pour'd forth of the innumerable birds
That fill the palace gardens all day long;
So innocent, so ignorant of wrong,
Was she, so happy each in other's eyes,
Thus wrought the mighty Goddess that is strong,
Even to make naught the wisdom of the wise.
XIII.
Now in the midst of that enchanted place
Right gladly had they linger'd all day through,
And fed their love upon each other's face,
But Aphrodite had a counsel new,
And silently to Paris' side she drew,
In guise of Aethra, whispering that the day
Pass'd on, while his ship waited, and his crew
Impatient, in the narrow Gythian bay.
XIV.
For thither had she brought them by her skill;
But Helen saw her not,--nay, who can see
A Goddess come or go against her will?
Then Paris whisper'd, "Come, ah, Love, with me!
Come to a shore beyond the barren sea;
There doth the bridal crown await thy head,
And there shall all the land be glad of thee!"
Then, like a child, she follow'd where he led.
XV.
For, like a child's her gentle heart was glad.
So through the courtyard pass'd they to the gate;
And even there, as Aphrodite bade,
The steeds of Paris and the chariots wait;
Then to the well-wrought car he led her straight,
And grasped the shining whip and golden rein,
And swift they drave until the day was late
By clear Eurotas through the fruitful plain.
XVI.
But now within the halls the magic sleep
Was broken, and men sought them everywhere;
Yet Aphrodite cast a cloud so deep
About their chariot none might see them there.
And strangely did they hear the trumpets blare,
And noise of racing wheels; yet saw they nought:
Then died the sounds upon the distant air,
And safe they won the haven that they sought.
XVII.
Beneath a grassy cliff, beneath the down,
Where swift Eurotas mingles with the sea,
There climb'd the grey walls of a little town,
The sleepy waters wash'd it languidly,
For tempests in that haven might not be.
The isle across the inlet guarded all,
And the shrill winds that roam the ocean free
Broke and were broken on the rocky wall.
XVIII.
Then Paris did a point of hunting blow,
Nor yet the sound had died upon the hill
When round the isle they spied a scarlet prow,
And oars that flash'd into that haven still,
The oarsmen bending forward with a will,
And swift their black ship to the haven-side
They brought, and steer'd her in with goodly skill,
And bare on board the strange Achaean bride.
XIX.
Now while the swift ship through the waters clave,
All happy things that in the waters dwell,
Arose and gamboll'd on the glassy wave,
And Nereus led them with his sounding shell:
Yea, the sea-nymphs, their dances weaving well,
In the green water gave them greeting free.
Ah, long light linger'd, late the darkness fell,
That night, upon the isle of Cranae!
XX.
And Hymen shook his fragrant torch on high,
Till all its waves of smoke and tongues of flame,
Like clouds of rosy gold fulfill'd the sky;
And all the Nereids from the waters came,
Each maiden with a musical sweet name;
Doris, and Doto, and Amphithoe;
And their shrill bridal song of love and shame
Made music in the silence of the sea.
XXI.
For this was like that night of summer weather,
When mortal men and maidens without fear,
And forest-nymphs, and forest-gods together,
Do worship Pan in the long twilight clear.
And Artemis this one night spares the deer,
And every cave and dell, and every grove
Is glad with singing soft and happy cheer,
With laughter, and with dalliance, and with love.
* * * * *
XXII.
Now when the golden-throned Dawn arose
To waken gods and mortals out of sleep,
Queen Aphrodite sent the wind that blows
From fairy gardens of the Western deep.
The sails are spread, the oars of Paris leap
Past many a headland, many a haunted fane:
And, merrily all from isle to isle they sweep
O'er the wet ways across the barren plain.
XXIII.
By many an island fort, and many a haven
They sped, and many a crowded arsenal:
They saw the loves of Gods and men engraven
On friezes of Astarte's temple wall.
They heard that ancient shepherd Proteus call
His flock from forth the green and tumbling lea,
And saw white Thetis with her maidens all
Sweep up to high Olympus from the sea.
XXIV.
They saw the vain and weary toil of men,
The ships that win the rich man all he craves;
They pass'd the red-prow'd barks Egyptian,
And heard afar the moaning of the slaves
Pent in the dark hot hold beneath the waves;
And scatheless the Sardanian fleets among
They sail'd; by men that sow the sea with graves,
Bearing black fate to folk of alien tongue.
XXV.
Then all day long a rolling cloud of smoke
Would hang on the sea-limits, faint and far,
But through the night the beacon-flame upbroke
From some rich island-town begirt with war;
And all these things could neither make nor mar
The joy of lovers wandering, but they
Sped happily, and heedless of the star
That hung o'er their glad haven, far away.
XXVI.
The fisher-sentinel upon the height
Watch'd them with vacant eyes, and little knew
They bore the fate of Troy; to him the bright
Plashed waters, with the silver shining through
When tunny shoals came cruising in the blue,
Was more than Love that doth the world unmake;
And listless gazed he as the gulls that flew
And shriek'd and chatter'd in the vessel's wake.
XXVII.
So the wind drave them, and the waters bare
Across the great green plain unharvested,
Till through an after-glow they knew the fair
Faint rose of snow on distant Ida's head.
And swifter then the joyous oarsmen sped;
But night was ended, and the waves were fire
Beneath the fleet feet of a dawning red
Or ere they won the land of their desire.
XXVIII.
Now when the folk about the haven knew
The scarlet prow of Paris, swift they ran
And the good ship within the haven drew,
And merrily their welcoming began.
But none the face of Helen dared to scan;
Their bold eyes fell before they had their fill,
For all men deem'd her that Idalian
Who loved Anchises on the lonely hill.
XXIX.
But when her sweet smile and her gentleness
And her kind speech had won them from dismay,
They changed their minds, and 'gan the Gods to bless
Who brought to Ilios that happy day.
And all the folk fair Helen must convey,
Crown'd like a bride, and clad with flame-hued pall,
Through the rich plain, along the water-way
Right to the great gates of the Ilian wall.
XXX.
And through the vines they pass'd, where old and young
Had no more heed of the glad vintaging,
But all unpluck'd the purple clusters hung,
Nor more of Linus did the minstrel sing,
For he and all the folk were following,
Wine-stain'd and garlanded, in merry bands,
Like men when Dionysus came as king,
And led his revel from the sun-burnt lands,
XXXI.
So from afar the music and the shout
Roll'd up to Ilios and the Scaean gate,
And at the sound the city folk came out
And bore sweet Helen--such a fairy weight
As none might deem the burden of Troy's fate -
Across the threshold of the town, and all
Flock'd with her, where King Priam sat in state,
Girt by his elders, on the Ilian wall.
XXXII.
No man but knew him by his crown of gold,
And golden-studded sceptre, and his throne;
Ay, strong he seem'd as those great kings of old,
Whose image is eternal on the stone
Won from the dust that once was Babylon;
But kind of mood was he withal, and mild,
And when his eyes on Argive Helen shone,
He loved her as a father doth a child.
XXXIII.
Round him were set his peers, as Panthous,
Antenor, and Agenor, hardly grey,
Scarce touch'd as yet with age, nor garrulous
As are cicalas on a sunny day:
Such might they be when years had slipp'd away,
And made them over-weak for war or joy,
Content to watch the Leaguer as it lay
Beside the ships, beneath the walls of Troy.
XXXIV.
Then Paris had an easy tale to tell,
Which then might win upon men's wond'ring ears,
Who deem'd that Gods with mortals deign to dwell,
And that the water of the West enspheres
The happy Isles that know not Death nor tears;
Yea, and though monsters do these islands guard,
Yet men within their coasts had dwelt for years
Uncounted, with a strange love for reward.
XXXV.
And there had Paris ventured: so said he, -
Had known the Sirens' song, and Circe's wile;
And in a cove of that Hesperian sea
Had found a maiden on a lonely isle;
A sacrifice, if so men might beguile
The wrath of some beast-god they worshipp'd there,
But Paris, 'twixt the sea and strait defile,
Had slain the beast, and won the woman fair.
XXXVI.
Then while the happy people cried "Well done,"
And Priam's heart was melted by the tale -
For Paris was his best-beloved son -
Came a wild woman, with wet eyes, and pale
Sad face, men look'd on when she cast her veil,
Not gladly; and none mark'd the thing she said,
Yet must they hear her long and boding wail
That follow'd still, however fleet they fled.
XXXVII.
She was the priestess of Apollo's fane,
Cassandra, and the God of prophecy
Spurr'd her to speak and rent her! but in vain
She toss'd her wasted arms against the sky,
And brake her golden circlet angrily,
And shriek'd that they had brought within the gate
Helen, a serpent at their hearts to lie!
Helen, a hell of people, king, and state!
XXXVIII.
But ere the God had left her; ere she fell
And foam'd among her maidens on the ground,
The air was ringing with a merry swell
Of flute, and pipe, and every sweetest sound,
In Aphrodite's fane, and all around
Were roses toss'd beneath the glimmering green
Of that high roof, and Helen there was crown'd
The Goddess of the Trojans, and their Queen.
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6