LX.
Then all men gave the stranger thanks and praise,
And Menelaus for red wine bade call;
And the sun fell, and dark were all the ways;
Then maidens set forth braziers in the hall,
And heap’d them high with lighted brands withal;
But Helen pass’d, as doth the fading day
Pass from the world, and softly left them all
Loud o’er their wine amid the twilight grey.
LXI.
So night drew on with rain, nor yet they ceased
Within the hall to drink the gleaming wine,
And late they pour’d the last cup of the feast,
To Argus-bane, the Messenger divine;
And last, ’neath torches tall that smoke and shine,
The maidens strew’d the beds with purple o’er,
That Diocles and Paris might recline
All night, beneath the echoing corridor.
BOOK II—THE SPELL OF APHRODITE
The coming of Aphrodite, and how she told Helen that she must depart in company with Paris, but promised withal that Helen, having fallen into a deep sleep, should awake forgetful of her old life, and ignorant of her shame, and blameless of those evil deeds that the Goddess thrust upon her.
I.
Now in the upper chamber o’er the gate
Lay Menelaus on his carven bed,
And swift and sudden as the stroke of Fate
A deep sleep fell upon his weary head.
But the soft-wingèd God with wand of lead
Came not near Helen; wistful did she lie,
Till dark should change to grey, and grey to red,
And golden thronèd Morn sweep o’er the sky.
II.
Slow pass’d the heavy night: like one who fears
The step of murder, she lies quivering,
If any cry of the night bird she hears;
And strains her eyes to mark some dreadful thing,
If but the curtains of the window swing,
Stirr’d by the breath of night, and still she wept
As she were not the daughter of a king,
And no strong king, her lord, beside her slept.