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O Queen, think of thy children and thy land,

And break her spell! The sweet soft speech, the hand

And heart so fell: it maketh me afraid.

Meseems her goddesses first cry mine aid

Against these lying lips! Not Hera, nay,

Nor virgin Pallas deem I such low clay,

To barter their own folk, Argos and brave

Athens, to be trod down, the Phrygian's slave,

All for vain glory and a shepherd's prize

On Ida! Wherefore should great Hera's eyes

So hunger to be fair? She doth not use

To seek for other loves, being wed with Zeus.

And maiden Pallas did some strange god's face

Beguile her, that she craved for loveliness,

Who chose from God one virgin gift above

All gifts, and fleëth from the lips of love?

Ah, deck not out thine own heart's evil springs

By making spirits of heaven as brutish things

And cruel. The wise may hear thee, and guess all!

And Cypris must take ship—fantastical!

Sail with my son and enter at the gate

To seek thee! Had she willed it, she had sate

At peace in heaven, and wafted thee, and all

Amyclae with thee, under Ilion's wall.

My son was passing beautiful, beyond

His peers; and thine own heart, that saw and conned

His face, became a spirit enchanting thee.

For all wild things that in mortality