University of Virginia Library

I.

On lofty Ida's grassy slope
Sat Priam's shepherd son,
What time Apollo's beaming car
Its course had well nigh run,
One radiant day in June. He leant
Upon his curved crook,
Musing; and to the sky around,
And to the various-dappled ground,
And the slow-oozing mossy rill,
On the green bosom of the hill,
Sent many a wandering look.
And with intenter gaze he eyed
The palace of his father's pride,
That in the vale below
Rose regal; battlement and tower
And massy porch of brazen power
To stay the battering foe:
And many a dwelling sheltered well,
'Neath Ilium's sacred citadel
Far-smoking; and the firm faced line
Of the high-gated wall,
That rose with upright strength divine,
At strong Poseidon's call.
And in his heart the hopeful thought
Swell'd venturous; and fair fancies float
Before him; and the secret germ
Of manhood's ripening fate grew warm.
The pomp of life in rolling splendour,
Bright wealth and purple power,
And rosy smiles and twinings tender,
In love's fresh-blossoming hour
O'ercame his spirit, and possessed
With pleasant tumult his young breast.
Thus finely rapt he mused, and leant
Upon his curved crook;
And, as the shadows came and went,
Upon the hill, he, like a seer,
Saw flitting shapes of hope and fear,
In the heart's shadowy book.

II.

Serene and still the sun doth set,
The wave with gold is gleaming;
But see a glory brighter yet
From high Olympus streaming!
The shepherd lifts his eye, and looks:
A splendour like a star
Sails westward; like a watch fire now;
Now 'tis a flaming car.
O Heavens! a glorious sight he sees;
With sweep of breezy lightness
Down Ida's slope the car descends,
And fills the mount with brightness;
Then lights at Paris' foot. The god
That bears a serpent-cinctured rod,
And guides, a winged charioteer,
That radiant cloud-car's swift career,
Checks the keen steeds with cunning rein,
And thus bespeaks the princely swain:
“Beautiful son of Ilium's king,
To thee from Jove on flaming wing
This word I bring: A contest rare,
Which is the fairest of the fair,
Between Jove's daughter and his wife
And Aphrodite golden-fair
Breaks Heaven's sweet peace. This hour prepare
Thy doom to end the strife.”
He spake; and, forth from out the cloud,
That doth the Olympian car enshroud,
Steps lofty Hera, with the mien
And posture of a queen.
“Shepherd, thou seest the Queen of Heaven,
Jove's thunder-hall is mine,
To me if beauty's prize be given,
Attend what meed is thine.
I give thee sway and lordly rule;
This populous Asian land
Shall be to thee a training school,
To mould with plastic hand
The pliant millions of mankind;
Thy lofty thought shall be,
A law to ages, that resigned
Shall take their stamp from thee.
Where to Apollo swells the pæan
From the bright isles of the Ægean,
Where the white peaks of Caucasus shine
O'er the dark Euxine's horrid brine,
Where blest Arabia's sunny shore
Teems with the fragrant spicy store,
Where Ganges rolls his ample flood,
And spreads wide leagues of pregnant mud,
Far as the wine-god tiger-borne
Travelled the bright realms of the morn;
So far, if beauty's prize be mine,
Shall wealth, and state, and power be thine.”
She spake; and her proud form back-drew
Into the cloud; when forth with spear,
And casque and large round buckler clear,
Jove's blue-eyed daughter stept to view.
“Thou seest the warrior-maid of Heaven,
The strength of spears is mine,
To me if beauty's prize be given,
The hero's fame is thine.
I give the strength of sinewy arm,
And the sure-levelled blow,
To stay the march of insolent harm,
And quell the lawless foe:
The daring thought, the piercing eye,
The free and generous breath,
The grasp that snatches victory,
Even in the throat of death.
Where forests of the twinkling spear
Fence the long battle line with fear;
Where furious Mars in scythed car
Leads the hot chase of panting war;
Where quakes the air with arrowy storm,
And man to man works hideous harm,
Thou shalt not fear; but to the cry
Of freedom, and of fatherland,
Shalt feel thy manhood mounting high,
And, with a chosen true-sworn band,
Breasting war's crimson tide shalt stand,
Firm as a rock. Thy name shall be
A travelling watch-word to the free;
The peasant's song shall tell of thee,
And little children shout for glee;
The hearth by thee shall blaze more brightly,
And loving hearts shall beat more lightly;
Thou shalt be blest of mothers; thou
Shalt see the ploughman turn his plough
O'er fields of recent slaughter;
The full-ear'd corn shall wave its pride,
Where wisdom was true valour's guide,
From me, Jove's blue-eyed daughter.”
She spake; and back the maid withdrew;
When forth, in beauty mighty,
Stept radiant to the ravished view
The golden Aphrodite.
“Shepherd, the strongest power in Heaven,
All-conquering love, is mine;
To me if beauty's prize be given,
Earth's fairest fair is thine.
I give thee beauty; being fair,
A fairer thou shalt find,
And mated live the loveliest pair,
From Gaul to furthest Ind.
The clear smooth brow, the glowing eye,
The shining hue of health,
The living grace that none may buy
With mines of golden wealth,
I give to thee. In fragrant beds,
Where violets nod their purple heads,
Where odorous jessamine and roses
Twine the cool bower where peace reposes,
Where glimpses of the stray sunshine,
Pierce the broad-leaved dark-clustered vine;
There thou shalt look in beauty's face,
And gently twine the soft embrace,
Till thy full liquid eye shall swim
With ecstacy, and overbrim
Thy soul with joy, and every limb
Thrill with rare transport. Gods above
No keener joy have known than love,
Then when with impulse fresh and mighty,
It stirs the soul and elevates,
And every throbbing sense dilates,
By gift of golden Aphrodite.
Such bliss, if beauty's prize be mine,
Shepherd of Ida, shall be thine.”
She spake; and the full-floating view
Of her bright fairness overthrew
All sterner purpose. “Thou art fair,”
He cried, “beyond the dull compare
Of meaner forms! My only duty
Henceforth, with pure resolve, shall be
To win the fair, and worship beauty
In thee, and those most like to thee.”
He said; and straight the vision flew,
Dissolving from his tranceful view,
And all the air was clear.
But as he homeward bent his way,
'Neath the last streaks of rosy day,
Jove's thunder from the hill-top grey,
Rolled ominous on his ear.