Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/85

464—512 The Greeks with smiles the polished trophy view.

Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart,

In thirst of vengeance, at his rival's heart,

The queen of love her favoured champion shrouds,

For gods can all things, in a veil of clouds.

Raised from the field the panting youth she led,

And gently laid him on the bridal bed,

With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews,

And all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews.

Meantime the brightest of the female kind,

The matchless Helen, o'er the walls reclined:

To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came,

In borrowed form, the laughter-loving dame.

She seemed an ancient maid, well skilled to cull

The snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool.

The goddess softly shook her silken vest

That sheds perfumes, and whispering thus addressed:

"Haste, happy nymph, for thee thy Paris calls,

Safe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls,

Fair as a god, with odours round him spread

He lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed;

Not like a warrior parted from the foe,

But some gay dancer in the public show."

She spoke, and Helen's secret soul was moved;

She scorned the champion, but the man she loved.

Fair Venus' neck, her eyes that sparkled fire,

And breast, revealed the queen of soft desire.

Struck with her presence, straight the lively red

Forsook her cheek; and trembling thus she said:

"Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive?

And woman's frailty always to believe?

Say, to new nations must I cross the main,

Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain?

For whom must Helen break her second vow?

What other Paris is thy darling now?

Left to Atrides (victor in the strife)

An odious conquest and a captive wife,

Hence let me sail: and, if thy Paris bear

My absence ill, let Venus ease his care.

A handmaid goddess at his side to wait,

Renounce the glories of thy heavenly state,

Be fixed for ever to the Trojan shore,

His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more.

For me, to lawless love no longer led,

I scorn the coward, and detest his bed;

Else should I merit everlasting shame,

And keen reproach from every Phrygian dame:

Ill suits it now the joys of love to know,

Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe."