So he, his very heart with agony thrilled, Fled from the war. Still clashed the grappling hosts, Man slaying man: aye bloodier waxed the fray As rained the blows: corpse upon corpse was flung Confusedly, like thunder-drops, or flakes Of snow, or hailstones, by the wintry blast At Zeus' behest strewn over the long hills And forest-boughs; so by a pitiless doom Slain, friends with foes in heaps on heaps were strown.
Sorely groaned Paris; with the torturing wound Fainted his spirit. Leeches sought to allay His frenzy of pain. But now drew back to Troy The Trojans, and the Danaans to their ships Swiftly returned, for dark night put an end To strife, and stole from men's limbs weariness, Pouring upon their eyes pain-healing sleep.
But through the livelong night no sleep laid hold On Paris: for his help no leech availed, Though ne'er so willing, with his salves. His weird Was only by Oenone's hands to escape Death's doom, if so she willed. Now he obeyed The prophecy, and he went -- exceeding loth, But grim necessity forced him thence, to face The wife forsaken. Evil-boding fowl Shrieked o'er his head, or darted past to left, Still as he went. Now, as he looked at them, His heart sank; now hope whispered, "Haply vain Their bodings are!" but on their wings were borne Visions of doom that blended with his pain.
Into Oenone's presence thus he came.
Amazed her thronging handmaids looked on him As at the Nymph's feet that pale suppliant fell Faint with the anguish of his wound, whose pangs Stabbed him through brain and heart, yea, quivered through His very bones, for that fierce venom crawled Through all his inwards with corrupting fangs;
And his life fainted in him agony-thrilled.
As one with sickness and tormenting thirst Consumed, lies parched, with heart quick-shuddering, With liver seething as in flame, the soul, Scarce conscious, fluttering at his burning lips, Longing for life, for water longing sore;
So was his breast one fire of torturing pain.
Then in exceeding feebleness he spake:
"O reverenced wife, turn not from me in hate For that I left thee widowed long ago!
Not of my will I did it: the strong Fates Dragged me to Helen -- oh that I had died Ere I embraced her -- in thine arms had died!
All, by the Gods I pray, the Lords of Heaven, By all the memories of our wedded love, Be merciful! Banish my bitter pain:
Lay on my deadly wound those healing salves Which only can, by Fate's decree, remove This torment, if thou wilt. Thine heart must speak My sentence, to be saved from death or no.
Pity me -- oh, make haste to pity me!
This venom's might is swiftly bringing death!
Heal me, while life yet lingers in my limbs!
Remember not those pangs of jealousy, Nor leave me by a cruel doom to die Low fallen at thy feet! This should offend The Prayers, the Daughters of the Thunderer Zeus, Whose anger followeth unrelenting pride With vengeance, and the Erinnys executes Their wrath. My queen, I sinned, in folly sinned;
Yet from death save me -- oh, make haste to save!"
So prayed he; but her darkly-brooding heart Was steeled, and her words mocked his agony:
"Thou comest unto me! -- thou, who didst leave Erewhile a wailing wife in a desolate home! -- Didst leave her for thy Tyndarid darling! Go, Lie laughing in her arms for bliss! She is better Than thy true wife -- is, rumour saith, immortal!
Make haste to kneel to her but not to me!
Weep not to me, nor whimper pitiful prayers!
Oh that mine heart beat with a tigress' strength, That I might tear thy flesh and lap thy blood For all the pain thy folly brought on me!
Vile wretch! where now is Love's Queen glory-crowned?
Hath Zeus forgotten his daughter's paramour?
Have them for thy deliverers! Get thee hence Far from my dwelling, curse of Gods and men!
Yea, for through thee, thou miscreant, sorrow came On deathless Gods, for sons and sons' sons slain.
Hence from my threshold! -- to thine Helen go!
Agonize day and night beside her bed:
There whimper, pierced to the heart with cruel pangs, Until she heal thee of thy grievous pain."
So from her doors she drave that groaning man -- Ah fool! not knowing her own doom, whose weird Was straightway after him to tread the path Of death! So Fate had spun her destiny-thread.
Then, as he stumbled down through Ida's brakes, Where Doom on his death-path was leading him Painfully halting, racked with heart-sick pain, Hera beheld him, with rejoicing soul Throned in the Olympian palace-court of Zeus.
And seated at her side were handmaids four Whom radiant-faced Selene bare to the Sun To be unwearying ministers in Heaven, In form and office diverse each from each;
For of these Seasons one was summer's queen, And one of winter and his stormy star, Of spring the third, of autumn-tide the fourth.
So in four portions parted is man's year Ruled by these Queens in turn -- but of all this Be Zeus himself the Overseer in heaven.
And of those issues now these spake with her Which baleful Fate in her all-ruining heart Was shaping to the birth the new espousals Of Helen, fatal to Deiphobus -- The wrath of Helenus, who hoped in vain For that fair bride, and how, when he had fled, Wroth with the Trojans, to the mountain-height, Achaea's sons would seize him and would hale Unto their ships -- how, by his counselling Strong Tydeus' son should with Odysseus scale The great wall, and should slay Alcathous The temple-warder, and should bear away Pallas the Gracious, with her free consent, Whose image was the sure defence of Troy; -- Yea, for not even a God, how wroth soe'er, Had power to lay the City of Priam waste While that immortal shape stood warder there.
No man had carven that celestial form, But Cronos' Son himself had cast it down From heaven to Priam's gold-abounding burg.
Of these things with her handmaids did the Queen Of Heaven hold converse, and of many such, But Paris, while they talked, gave up the ghost On Ida: never Helen saw him more.
