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That, while I speak of it, a little while My heart may wander from its deeperwoe.
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
O mother Ida, many fountain’d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken 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-horn'd,
white-hooved, Came up from reedy Sinois all alone.
O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken 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.
O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far-off the torrent calld 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
O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken 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
* Dear mother Ida, harken 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.
<“My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind * 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
* Dear mother Ida, harken 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 Aphroditè, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the
cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, un
heard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of
O mother Ida, harken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and
lean'd Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. Then first I heard the voice of her, to
whom Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that
grows Larger and clearer, with one mind the
Gods Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made Proffer of royal power, ample rule Unquestion’d, overflowing revenue Wherewith to embellish state, “from
many a vale And river-sunder'd champaign clothed
with corn, Or labour'd mines undrainable of ore. Honour,” she said, “and homage, tax
and toll, From many an inland town and haven
large, Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing
citadel In glassy bays among her tallest towers."
* Dear mother Ida, harken 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. Naked they came to that smooth-swarded
bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies; and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, This way and that, in many a wild festoon Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro'
O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of
power, “ Which in all action is the end of all; Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred And throned of wisdom- from all neigh
bour crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon
from me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee
king-born, A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, Should come most welcome, seeing men,
in power, Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd