XVIII.
Therewith a golden bodkin from her hair
She drew, and from a green-tress’d birchen tree
She pluck’d a strip of smooth white bark and fair,
And many signs and woful gravèd she,
A message of the evil things to be.
Then deftly closed the birch-bark, fold on fold,
And bound the tokens well and cunningly,
Three times and four times, with a thread of gold.
XIX.
“Give these to Argive Helen’s hand,” she cried:
And so embraced her child, and with no fear
Beheld him leaping down the mountain-side,
Like a king’s son that goes to hunt the deer,
Clad softly, and in either hand a spear,
With two swift-footed hounds that follow’d him,
So leap’d he down the grassy slopes and sheer,
And won the precinct of the forest dim.
XX.
He trod that ancient path his sire had trod,
Far, far below he saw the sea, the town;
He moved as light as an immortal god,
For mansions in Olympus gliding down.
He left the shadow of the forest brown,
And through the shallow waters did he cross,
And stood, ere twilight fell, within the crown
Of towers, the sacred keep of Ilios.
XXI.
Now folk that mark’d him hasting deem’d that he
Had come to tell the host was on its way,
As one that from the hills had seen the sea
Beclouded with the Danaan array,
So straight to Paris’ house with no delay
They led him, and did eagerly await
Within the forecourt, in the twilight grey,
To hear some certain message of their fate.
XXII.
Now Paris was asleep upon his bed
Tired with a listless day; but all along
The palace chambers Corythus was led,
And still he heard a music, shrill and strong,
That seem’d to clamour of an old-world wrong,
And hearts a long time broken; last they came
To Helen’s bower, the fountain of the song
That cried so loud against an ancient shame.