But throughout the streets of Ilion there was hurrying and shouting of armed men, and terror and cries of women and children; for the hosts of the Achaians were come to take vengeance for the wrongs of Menelaus. Yet Paris heeded not the prayers of his brethren, that he should send back Helen; so she tarried by his side in his gilded chambers, and he went not forth to the battle, till all men reviled him for his evil love, because he had forsaken the fair Œnone.
So for Paris fell the mighty Hector; for him died the brave Sarpedon; and the women of Ilion mourned for their husbands who were smitten down by the Achaian warriors. Fiercer and fiercer grew the strife, for Here and Athene fought against the men of Troy, and no help came from the laughter-loving Aphrodite.
Many times the years went round, while yet the Achaians strove to take the city of Priam, till at last for very shame Paris took from the wall his spear and shield, and went forth to the battle, but the strength of his heart and of his arm was gone, and he trembled at the fierce war-cries, as a child trembles at the roaring of the storm. Then before the walls of Ilion there was fiercer strife, and the bodies of the slain lay in heaps upon the battle plain. Faint and weary, the people of Priam were shut up within the walls, until the Achaians burst into the gates and gave the city to sword and flame. Then the cry of men and women went up to the high heaven, and the blood ran in streams upon the ground. With a mighty blaze rose up the flames of the burning city, and the dream of Paris was ended.
Fast he fled from the wrath of Menelaus, and he cared not to look back on the Argive Helen or the slaughter of his kinsfolk and his people. But the arrow of Philoctetes came hissing through the air, and the barb was fixed in the side of Paris. Hastily he drew it from the wound, but the weapons of Herakles failed not to do their work, and the poison sped through his burning veins. Onwards he hastened to the pine forests of Ida, but his limbs trembled beneath him, and he sank down as he drew nigh to the grassy bank where he had tended his flocks in the former days. "Ah, Œnone," he said, "the evil dream is over, and thy voice comes back to mine ear, soft and loving as when I wooed and won thee among the dells of Ida. Thou hearest me not, Œnone, or else I know that, forgiving all the wrong, thou wouldst hasten to help me."
And even as he spoke Œnone stood before him, fair and beautiful as in the days that were past. The glory as of the pure evening time was shed upon her face, and her eye glistened with the light of an undying love. Then she laid her hand upon him and said, gently, "Dost thou know me, Paris? I am the same Œnone whom thou didst woo in the dells of woody Ida. My grief hath not changed me, but thou art not the same, O Paris, for thy love hath wandered far away, and thou hast yielded thyself long to an evil dream." But Paris said, "I have wronged thee, Œnone, fairest and sweetest, and what may atone for the wrong? The fire burns in my veins, my head reels, and mine eye is dim; look but upon me once, that thinking on our ancient love, I may fall asleep and die."
Then Œnone knelt by the side of Paris, and saw the wound which the arrow of Philoctetes had made; but soon she knew that neither gods nor men could stay the poison with which Herakles had steeped his mighty weapons. There she knelt, but Paris spoke not more. The coldness of death passed over him as Œnone looked down upon his face and thought of the days when they lived and loved amid the dells of Ida.
Long time she knelt by his side, until the stars looked forth in the sky. Then Œnone said, "O Eris, well hast thou worked thy will, and well hath Aphrodite done thy bidding. O Paris, we have loved and suffered, but I never did thee wrong, and now I follow thee to the dark land of Hades."
Presently the flame shot up to heaven from the funeral pile of Paris, and Œnone lay down to rest on the fiery couch by his side.