"O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of power, 'Which in all action is the end of all;120 Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred And throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee, king-born,125 A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss130 In knowledge of their own supremacy.'
"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood135 Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her clear and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek140 Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.
"'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law,145 Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'
"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts.150 Sequel of guerdon[196] could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, So shalt thou find me fairest. Yet indeed, If gazing on divinity disrobed Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge, of fair,155 Unbias'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure, That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, So that my vigour wedded to thy blood, Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,160 Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, Commeasure perfect freedom.'
'Here she ceas'd, And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, 'O Paris,165 Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!
"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Idalian[197] Aphroditè beautiful,170 Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian[198] wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder: from the violets her light foot175 Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form Between the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights as she moved.
"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,180 The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear: But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm,185 And I beheld great Herè's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.190
"Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Fairest—why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard,[199]195 Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she? Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew200 Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.
"O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest pines, My tall dark pines, that plumed the craggy ledge205 High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Foster'd the callow eaglet—from beneath Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat210 Low in the valley. Never, never more Shall lone Œnone see the morning mist Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.215
"O mother, hear me yet before I die. I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her The Abominable,[200] that uninvited came220 Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall, And cast the golden fruit upon the board, And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, And tell her to her face how much I hate Her presence, hated both of Gods and men.225