CENONE. THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Behind the valley topmost Gargarus Stands up and takes the morning: but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, upper "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, cliff. "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My heart may wander from its deeper woe. "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horned, white-hooved, Came up from reedy Simois all alone. "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: Far-up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes I sat alone: white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved: a leopard skin And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm 666 'My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added, This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due : But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering that to me, by common voice Elected umpire. Here comes to-day Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, |