: Helen of Troy by Lang Andrew - Helen of Troy Queen of Sparta Poetry

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HELEN OF TROY

A. LANG

LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN 1882

CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

To all old Friends; to all who dwell Where Avon dhu and Avon gel Down to the western waters flow Through valleys dear from long ago; To all who hear the whisper'd spell Of Ken; and Tweed like music swell Hard by the Land Debatable, Or gleaming Shannon seaward go,-- To all old Friends!

BOOK I--THE COMING OF PARIS

Of the coming of Paris to the house of Menelaus, King of Lacedaemon, and of the tale Paris told concerning his past life.

All day within the palace of the King In Lacedaemon, was there revelry, Since Menelaus with the dawn did spring Forth from his carven couch, and, climbing high The tower of outlook, gazed along the dry White road that runs to Pylos through the plain, And mark'd thin clouds of dust against the sky, And gleaming bronze, and robes of purple stain.

Then cried he to his serving men, and all Obey'd him, and their labour did not spare, And women set out tables through the hall, Light polish'd tables, with the linen fair. And water from the well did others bear, And the good house-wife busily brought forth Meats from her store, and stinted not the rare Wine from Ismarian vineyards of the North.

The men drave up a heifer from the field For sacrifice, and sheath'd her horns with gold; And strong Boethous the axe did wield And smote her; on the fruitful earth she roll'd, And they her limbs divided; fold on fold They laid the fat, and cast upon the fire The barley grain. Such rites were wrought of old When all was order'd as the Gods desire.

And now the chariots came beneath the trees Hard by the palace portals, in the shade, And Menelaus knew King Diocles Of Pherae, sprung of an unhappy maid Whom the great Elian River God betray'd In the still watches of a summer night, When by his deep green water-course she stray'd And lean'd to pluck his water-lilies white.

Besides King Diocles there sat a man Of all men mortal sure the fairest far, For o'er his purple robe Sidonian His yellow hair shone brighter than the star Of the long golden locks that bodeth war; His face was like the sunshine, and his blue Glad eyes no sorrow had the spell to mar Were clear as skies the storm hath thunder'd through.

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