But that God bless thee, dear-who wrought Two spirits to one equal mind-
With blessings beyond hope or thought, With blessings which no words can find. Arise, and let us wander forth,
To yon old mill across the wolds; For look, the sunset, south and north, Winds all the vale in rosy folds, And fires your narrow casement glass, Touching the sullen pool below: On the chalk-hill the bearded grass Is dry and dewless.
O withering might! O sun, that from thy noonday height Shudderest when I strain my sight, Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light, Lo, falling from my constant mind, Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind, I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.
Last night I wasted hateful hours Below the city's eastern towers: I thirsted for the brooks, the showers: I roll'd among the tender flowers:
I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth : I look'd athwart the burning drouth Of that long desert to the south.
Last night, when some one spoke his name, From my swift blood that went and came A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.
O Love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul thro' My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
Before he mounts the hill, I know He cometh quickly from below Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow Before him, striking on my brow. In my dry brain my spirit soon, Down-deepening from swoon to swoon, Faints like a dazzled morning moon.
The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
My whole soul waiting silently, All naked in a sultry sky,
Droops blinded with his shining eye: I will possess him or will die.
I will grow round him in his place, Grow, live, die looking on his face, Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace.
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.
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 cliff.
"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, 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 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, 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 Simois all alone.
O mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft:
Far up the solitary morning smote
The streaks of virgin snow.
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, 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.
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, 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, Herè comes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'
"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' and thro'.
"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.'
"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 neighbour 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 Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy.'
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit
Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.
"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts. Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shalt thou find me fairest.
If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbiass'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure
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