Œnone

There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier

Than any in old Ionia, beautiful

With emerald slopes of sunny sward, that lean

Above the loud glenriver, which hath worn

A path thro' steepdown granite walls below

Mantled with flowering tendriltwine. In front

The cedarshadowy valleys open wide.

Far-seen, high over all the Godbuilt wall

And many a snowycolumned range divine,

Mounted with awful sculptures—men and Gods,

The work of Gods—bright on the darkblue sky

The windy citadel of Ilion

Shone, like the crown of Troas. Hither came

Mournful Œnone wandering forlorn

Of Paris, once her playmate. Round her neck,

Her neck all marblewhite and marblecold,

Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest.

She, leaning on a vine-entwined stone,

Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shadow

Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.

      "O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,

Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

The grasshopper is silent in the grass,

The lizard with his shadow on the stone

Sleeps like a shadow, and the scarletwinged

Cicala in the noonday leapeth not

Along the water-rounded granite-rock

The purple flower droops: the golden bee

Is lilycradled: I alone awake.

My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,

My heart is breaking and my eyes are dim,

And I am all aweary of my life.

      "O mother Ida, many fountained Ida,

Dear mother Ida; hearken ere I die.

Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves

That house the cold crowned snake! O mountain brooks,

I am the daughter of a River-God,

Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all

My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls

Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,

A cloud that gathered shape: for it may be

That, while I speak of it, a little while

My heart may wander from its deeper woe.

      "O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,

Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

Aloft the mountain lawn was dewydark,

And dewydark aloft the mountain pine;

Beautiful Paris, evilhearted Paris,

Leading a jetblack goat whitehorned, whitehooved,

Came up from reedy Simois all alone.

      "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

I sate alone: the goldensandalled morn

Rosehued the scornful hills: I sate alone

With downdropt eyes: whitebreasted like a star

Fronting the dawn he came: a leopard skin

From his white shoulder drooped: his sunny hair

Clustered about his temples like a God's:

And his cheek brightened, as the foambow brightens

When the wind blows the foam: and I called out,

'Welcome Apollo, welcome home Apollo,

Apollo, my Apollo, loved Apollo.'

      "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

He, mildly smiling, in his milkwhite palm

Close-held a golden apple, lightningbright

With changeful flashes, dropt with dew of Heaven

Ambrosially smelling. From his lip,

Curved crimson, the fullflowing river of speech

Came down upon my heart.

"'My own Œnone,

Beautifulbrowed Œnone, mine own soul,

Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n

"For the most fair," in aftertime may breed

Deep evilwilledness of heaven and sere

Heartburning toward hallowed Ilion;

And all the colour of my afterlife

Will be the shadow of today. Today

Here and Pallas and the floating grace

Of laughterloving Aphrodite meet

In manyfolded Ida to receive

This meed of beauty, she to whom my hand

Award the palm. Within the green hillside,

Under yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,

Is an ingoing grotto, strown with spar

And ivymatted at the mouth, wherein

Thou unbeholden may'st behold, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'

      "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud

Had lost his way between the piney hills.

They came—all three—the Olympian goddesses:

Naked they came to the smoothswarded bower,

Lustrous with lily flower, violeteyed

Both white and blue, with lotetree-fruit thickset,

Shadowed with singing pine; and all the while,

Above, the overwandering ivy and vine

This way and that in many a wild festoon

Ran riot, garlanding the gnarlèd boughs

With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'.

On the treetops a golden glorious cloud

Leaned, slowly dropping down ambrosial dew.

How beautiful they were, too beautiful

To look upon! hut Paris was to me

More lovelier than all the world beside.

      "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

First spake the imperial Olympian

With archèd eyebrow smiling sovranly,

Fulleyèd Here. She to Paris made

Proffer of royal power, ample rule

Unquestioned, overflowing revenue

Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale

And riversundered champaign clothed with corn,

Or upland glebe wealthy in oil and wine—

Honour and homage, tribute, tax and toll,

From many an inland town and haven large,

Mast-thronged below her shadowing citadel

In glassy bays among her tallest towers.'

      "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.

Power fitted to the season, measured hy.

The height of the general feeling, wisdomborn

And throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crowns

Alliance and allegiance evermore.

Such boon from me Heaven's Queen to thee kingborn,

A shepherd all thy life and yet kingborn,

Should come most welcome, seeing men, in this

Only are likest gods, who have attained

Rest in a happy place and quiet seats

Above the thunder, with undying bliss

In knowledge of their own supremacy;

The changeless calm of undisputed right,

The highest height and topmost strength of power.'

      "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

Flattered his heart: but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and barèd limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazenheaded spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,

The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snowcold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

      "'Selfreverence, selfknowledge, selfcontrol

Are the three hinges of the gates of Life,

That open into power, everyway

Without horizon, bound or shadow or cloud.

Yet not for power (power of herself

Will come uncalled-for) but to live by law

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.)

Not as men value gold because it tricks

And blazons outward Life with ornament,

But rather as the miser, for itself.

Good for selfgood doth half destroy selfgood.

The means and end, like two coiled snakes, infect

Each other, bound in one with hateful love.

So both into the fountain and the stream

A drop of poison falls. Come hearken to me,

And look upon me and consider me,

So shalt thou find me fairest, so endurance,

Like to an athlete's arm, shall still become

Sinewed with motion, till thine active will

(As the dark body of the Sun robed round

With his own ever-emanating lights)

Be flooded o'er with her own effluences,

And thereby grow to freedom.'

"Here she ceased

And Paris pondered. I cried out, 'Oh Paris,

Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,

Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

"O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,

Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

Idalian Aphrodite oceanborn,

Fresh as the foam, newbathed in Paphian wells,

With rosy slender fingers upward drew

From her warm brow and bosom her dark hair

Fragrant and thick, and on her head upbound

In a purple band: below her lucid neck

Shone ivorylike, and from the ground her foot

Gleamed rosywhite, and o'er her rounded form

Between the shadows of the vinebunches

Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,

The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh

Half whispered in his ear, 'I promise thee

The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'

I only saw my Paris raise his arm:

I only saw great Here'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.

"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,

Eyed like the eveningstar, with playful tail

Crouched 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 quickfalling dew

Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn-rains

Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

They came, they cut away my tallest pines—

My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge

High over the blue gorge, or lower down

Filling greengulphèd Ida, all between

The snowy peak and snowwhite cataract

Fostered the callow eaglet—from beneath

Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn

The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat

Low in the valley. Never, nevermore

Shall lone Œnone see the morning mist

Sweep thro' them—never see them overlaid

With narrow moonlit slips of silver cloud,

Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.

"Oh! mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times,

In this green valley, under this green hill,

Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone?

Sealed it with kisses? watered it with tears?

Oh happy tears, and how unlike to these!

Oh happy Heaven, how can'st thou see my face?

Oh happy earth, how can'st thou bear my weight?

O death, death, death, thou everfloating cloud,

There are enough unhappy on this earth,

Pass by the happy souls, that love to live:

I pray thee, pass before my light of life,

And shadow all my soul, that I may die.

Thou weighest heavy on the heart within,

Weigh heavy on my eyelids—let me die.

"Yet, mother Ida, hear me ere I die.

I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts

Do shape themselves within me, more and more,

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,

Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see

My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother

Conjectures of the features of her child

Ere it is born. I will not die alone.

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone,

Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me

Walking the cold and starless road of Death

Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love

With the Greek woman. I will rise and go

Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth

Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says

A fire dances before her, and a sound

Rings ever in her ears of armèd men.

What this may be I know not, but I know

That, whereso'er I am by night and day,

All earth and air seem only burning fire."