But Helen the court doors unbolting straight, When 'fore the hall the Trojan she had seen, And throughly mark'd, kindly invites him in, And seats him in a silver chair: her eyes, Whilst on his looks she feeds, not satisfies. First she suppos'd he Venus' son might be, Yet, when his quiver'd shafts she did not see, She knew he was not Love; but by the shine Of his bright looks thought him the god of wine. At length her wonder in these words did break: "Whence art, my guest? thy stock, thy country, For majesty is printed in thy face: [speak; And yet thou seem'st not of the Argive race. Of sandy Pylos sure thou canst not be:
I know Antilochus, but know not thee.
Nor art of Phthia, which stout men doth breed:
I know all Æacus' renowned seed;
The glorious Peleus, and his warlike son,
Courteous Patroclus, and stout Telamon."
Thus Helen, curious to be satisfi'd,
Questions her guest; who fairly thus reply'd:
"If thou of Troy, in Phrygia's utmost bound,
By Neptune and Apollo walled round,
And of a king from Saturn sprung, who there
Now fortunately rules, didst ever hear,
His son am I; and all within his sway,
To me, as chief next him, subjection pay.
From Dardanus am I descended, he'
From Jove; where gods, immortal though they be,
Do oft serve mortals: who begirt our town
Round with a wall, a wall that ne'er shall down.
I am, great queen! the judge of goddesses,
Whom, tho' displeas'd, I censur'd, and of these
The lovely Venus' beauty did prefer:
For which, in noble recompense, by her
Promis'd a wife, her sister, Helen nam'd,
For whom these troubles I thro' seas sustain'd.
Since Venus bids, here let us solemnize
Our nuptial rites; me nor my bed despise :
On what is known, insist we need not long,
Thy spouse from an unwarlike race is sprung:
Thou all the Grecian dames dost far outvie,
Beauteous thy looks are; theirs, their sex belie."
At this she fix'd on earth her lovely eyes,
And doubtful, paus'd awhile, at length replies :
"Your walls, my guest! by hands celestial
rais'd,
And pastures, where his herds Apollo graz'd,
I long to see: to Troy bear me away.
I'll follow thee, and Venus will obey;
Nor, there, will Menelaus' anger heed."
Thus Paris and the beauteous nymph agreed.
Now night, the ease of cares, the day quite
spent,
Sleep brought, suspended by the morn's ascent,
Of dreams the two gates opening: this of horn,
In which the gods' unerring truths are born:
T'other of ivory, whence cozening lies,
And vain delusions of false dreams arise.
When from Atrides' hospitable court
Paris thro' plough'd seas Helen does transport,
And in the gift of Venus proudly joy,
Bearing with speed the freight of war to Troy.
Hermione, soon as the morn appears,
To winds her torn veil casting, big with tears,
Her loss bewails; and from her chamber flying,
With grief distraught, thus to her maids spake,
"Whither without me is my mother fled?
Who lay with me last night in the same bed?
And with her own hand lock'd the chamber door!"
Thus spake she, weeping: all the maids deplore
With her their mistress' absence; yet assay
With these kind words her passion to allay :
Why dost thou weep, sweet child? thy mo-
ther's gone,
But will return soon as she hears thy moan.
See, how thy tears have blubber'd thy fair cheeks!
Much weeping the divinest beauty breaks.
She 'mongst the virgins is but gone to play,
And, coming back, perhaps hath miss'd her way:
And in some flow'ry meadow doubtful stands;
Or, in Eurotas bath'd, sports on his sands."
The weeping child replies: "The hill, brook,
walk,
And fields, she knows; do not so idly talk!
The stars do sleep, yet on cold rocks she lies;
The stars awake, and yet she does not rise.
O my dear mother! where dost thou abide?
Upon what mountain's barren top reside?
Hath some wild beast, alas! thee wand'ring slain?
(Yet from Jove's royal blood wild beasts refrain)
Or, fall'n from some steep precipice, art laid,
An unregarded corse, in some dark shade?
And yet in ev'ry grove, at ev'ry tree,
Search have I made, but cannot meet with thee.
The woods we blame not then; nor do profound
Eurotas' gentle streams conceal thee drown'd:
For in deep floods the Naïades do use,
Nor e'er by them their lives do women lose."
Thus poor Hermione complaining wept,
Then tow'rd her shoulder her leaning, slept.
(Sleep is Death's twin, and as the younger brother, In every thing doth imitate the other;
Hence 'tis that women often, when they weep,
O'ercharg'd with their own sorrows, fall asleep.)
When, in a dream, her mother (as she thought)
Seeing, she cries, vext, yet with fear distraught:
"From me disconsolate last night you fled,
And left me sleeping in my father's bed.
What hill, what mountain, have I left untrac'd?
To Venus' pleasing ties mak'st thou such haste
To whom fair Tyndaris this answer made :
"Daughter! tho' griev'd, me yet forbear t' upbraid:
That treacherous stranger, who the other day
Came hither, carried me by force away."
Thus she at which out straight Hermione flies;
But finding not her mother, louder cries:
"Wing'd issue of th' inhabitants of air,
Ye birds! to Menelaus straight declare,
One, late arriving at the Spartan port,
Hath robb'd him of the glory of his court."
Thus to regardless winds did she complain,
Seeking her absent mother, but in vain.
Meantime, thro' Thracian towns and Helle's strait,
Paris arriv'd safe with his beauteous freight,
When from the castle, viewing on the shore
A new guest land, her hair Cassandra tore.
But Troy with open gates her welcome shows
To the returning author of her woes.
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