The wind sounds like a silver wire, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Droops blinded with his shining eye: (1853) I will grow round him in his place, LXXII CENONE THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Stands up and takes the morning: but in front 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 She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, “O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 1.) addition For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:, My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, "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 "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, "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. With down-dropt eyes I sat alone: white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm 33 Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, "My own none, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n "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. Thou, within the cave 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, 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, Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale Honour,' she said, 'and homage, tax and toll, "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of power, And throned of wisdom-from all neighbour crowns Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, "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, And, because right is right, to follow right "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. If gazing on divinity disrobed Yet, indeed, Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, "Here she ceased, "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear: But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, And I beheld great Here's angry eyes, |