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CENONE.

THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.

The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,
And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand
The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down
Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars
The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine
In cataract after cataract to the sea.

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
Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest.

She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,
Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade
Sloped downward to her seat from the

upper

"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.
For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:
The grasshopper is silent in the grass :
The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,
Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps.
The purple flowers droop: the golden bee
Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.

My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
And I am all aweary of my life.

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,
I am the daughter of a River-God,

Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all
My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls
Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,
A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be
That, while I speak of it, a little while

My heart may wander from its deeper woe.

"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.
I waited underneath the dawning hills.
Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark.

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
Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair
Cluster'd about his temples like a God's :

And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens
When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart
Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came.

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,
That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd
And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech
Came down upon my heart.

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,
Mayest well behold them unbeheld, unheard
Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'

"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,

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