XX.
But Helen, bending on him gracious brows,
Besought him for the story of his quest,
“For sultry is the summer, that allows
To mortal men no sweeter boon than rest;
And surely such a tale as thine is best
To make the dainty-footed hours go by,
Till sinks the sun in darkness and the West,
And soft stars lead the Night along the sky.”
XXI.
Then at the word of Helen Paris spoke,
“My tale is shorter than a summer day,—
My mother, ere I saw the light, awoke,
At dawn, in Ilios, shrieking in dismay,
Who dream’d that ’twixt her feet there fell and lay
A flaming brand, that utterly burn’d down
To dust of crumbling ashes red and grey,
The coronal of towers and all Troy town.
XXII.
“Then the interpretation of this dream
My father sought at many priestly hands,
Where the white temple doth in Pytho gleam,
And at the fane of Ammon in the sands,
And where the oak tree of Dodona stands
With boughs oracular against the sky,—
And with one voice the Gods from all the lands,
Cried out, ‘The child must die, the child must die.’
XXIII.
“Then was I born to sorrow; and in fear
The dark priest took me from my sire, and bore
A wailing child through beech and pinewood drear,
Up to the knees of Ida, and the hoar
Rocks whence a fountain breaketh evermore,
And leaps with shining waters to the sea,
Through black and rock-wall’d pools without a shore,—
And there they deem’d they took farewell of me.
XXIV.
“But round my neck they tied a golden ring
That fell from Ganymedes when he soar’d
High over Ida on the eagle’s wing,
To dwell for ever with the Gods adored,
To be the cup-bearer beside the board
Of Zeus, and kneel at the eternal throne,—
A jewel ’twas from old King Tros’s hoard,
That ruled in Ilios ages long agone.