Over unending water ever he held his course,
Birds that were curses followed, crying around and above:
“Nireus, broken by beauty, broken again by remorse,
Goes to the breaking of death for killing his friend and love.”
Rose-Flower.
And ever he cursed himself for bringing them both to wreck,
Helen and Paris, the lovely; and ever the waves seemed filled
With skull-bones hollow in death, that rose and peered on the deck:
And he thought, “They are those from Troy whom I in my madness killed.
Moon-Blossom.
“Had I refused, when they asked for my help to escape,
Paris would still be alive, Troy, the city, would stand,
And all the killed of the war would be tilling the corn and the grape,
Not ghosts with a curse in the air and torn bones strewing the land.”
Rose-Flower.
So he sailed; but at night in the dark when the lantern bubbled aloft,
And men lay sleeping, when all save he were asleep,
And the ship slid on with a gurgle of water soft,
He knew that the dead of Troy came with him over the deep.
Moon-Blossom.
Out of the long-backed roller that slid from its crest of foam,
Gibbered the bloodless dead, white faces with haggard eyes,
Pointing the bones of their hands at him who had forced them from home,
Their curses came to his ears like little twittering cries.
Together.