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, hearken 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 thron'd of wisdom; from all neighbour crowns
Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand

Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me,
From me, heav'n'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.'

Protinus audiri, cui per cœlestia regna
Grassanti, ut lumen majores crescit in orbes,
Unanimi assurgunt Superi. 'Tibi regis honores,
Intactæ ditionis opes, quascunque vel arva
Fluminis ad ripas interlabentis amœnas
Fertilia effundant, vel terra effossa metallis
Reddat inexhaustis, mea sunt donanda: vel urbes
Larga e congestis quæ vectigalia gazis

Contulerint; pelagique procul cogenda per undas,
Qua vitreo in portus glomeratos æquore malos
Despiciunt veteres summis a turribus arces.'

"Ida meam, genetrix, mors advenit, accipe vocem. 'A me,' continuo, 'tibi derivata vigebit Illa homini finis rerum, opportuna Potestas, Cui nutrix propriam dederit Sapientia sedem: Unde et finitimi, donec moritura resignet Sceptra manus, reges sociata et subdita jungant Jura tuis. Tibi, pastor adhuc, sed regia proles, Hæc, regina Deum, quæ sint gratissima, servo; Non aliter Dis æquando, trans fulminis ortum Æternam nactis propria inter regna quietem.'

"Dear mother Ida, hearken 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, hearken 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. Yet, indeed,
If, gazing on divinity disrobed,

Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbiass'd with self-profit, oh! rest thee sure
That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,

"Ida meam, genetrix, mors advenit, accipe vocem. Desiit: et Paridem, promisso munere lætum, Vidi ego tendentem cum optato brachia pomo: Sed Pallas, nudos semota ubi constitit artus Effulgens, humerosque hasta trajecta nitentes, Dum super in niveosque sinus iramque genarum Excubias agerent immoto lumina vultu, 'Te colito: te nosce ipsum:' (sic casta Dearum) 'Te regito: hac itur summi ad fastigia regni. Nec tamen hunc libeat sectando quærere finem: Sponte aderit. Sapiens unus, cui ponere rectam Vivendi steterit normam, qui ducere norit Venturi impavidum securus temporis ævum.'

"Ida meam, genetrix, mors advenit, accipe vocem. Deinde: 'Nec illecebris frustra deflectere litem Constitui. Mea non adjecto munere forma Clarior eniteat. Quod sum pulcherrima, per me Ipsa probo.

Sed et oh! si contemplata Dearum Nudatam speciem, vincat mortalia iniquum Lumina judicium-si fas est fallere lucroMe tibi polliceor. Vegetos tibi detur amores Abdita per cordis rapere, interiusque medullis

So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses like a God's,
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinew'd with action, and the fullgrown will,
Circled thro' all experiences, pure law,
Commeasure perfect freedom.'

"Here she ceased,

And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, ‘O Paris,
Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

"O mother Ida, many fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die! Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,

Fresh as the foam, new-bath'd in Paphian wells,

With rosy slender fingers backward drew

From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair
Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat
And shoulder: from the violets her light foot
Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form,
Between the shadows of the vine-bunches,
Floated the glowing sunlight, as she moved.

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die! She, with a subtle smile in her mild eye, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh, Half-whisper'd in his ear, I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'