Part 11 (2/2)

BOOK VI--THE SACK OF TROY. THE RETURN OF HELEN

The sack of Troy, and of how Menelaus would have let stone Helen, but Aphrodite saved her, and made them at one again, and how they came home to Lacedaemon, and of their translation to Elysium.

I.

There came a day, when Trojan spies beheld How, o'er the Argive leaguer, all the air Was pure of smoke, no battle-din there swell'd, Nor any clarion-call was sounding there!

Yea, of the serried s.h.i.+ps the strand was bare, And sea and sh.o.r.e were still, as long ago When Ilios knew not Helen, and the fair Sweet face that makes immortal all her woe.

II.

So for a s.p.a.ce the watchers on the wall Were silent, wond'ring what these things might mean.

But, at the last, sent messengers to call Priam, and all the elders, and the lean Remnant of goodly chiefs, that once had been The s.h.i.+eld and stay of Ilios, and her joy, Nor yet despair'd, but trusted G.o.ds unseen, And cast their spears, and shed their blood for Troy.

III.

They came, the more part grey, grown early old, In war and plague; but with them was the young Coroebus, that but late had left the fold And flocks of sheep Maeonian hills among, And valiantly his lot with Priam flung, For love of a lost cause and a fair face,-- The eyes that once the G.o.d of Pytho sung, That now look'd darkly to the slaughter-place.

IV.

Now while the elders kept their long debate, Coroebus stole unheeded to his band, And led a handful by a postern gate Across the plain, across the barren land Where once the happy vines were wont to stand, And 'mid the cl.u.s.ters once did maidens sing,-- But now the plain was waste on every hand, Though here and there a flower would breathe of Spring.

V.

So swift across the trampled battle-field Unchallenged still, but wary, did they pa.s.s, By many a broken spear or shatter'd s.h.i.+eld That in Fate's hour appointed faithless was: Only the heron cried from the mora.s.s By Xanthus' side, and ravens, and the grey Wolves left their feasting in the tangled gra.s.s, Grudging; and loiter'd, nor fled far away.

VI.

There lurk'd no spears in the high river-banks, No ambush by the cairns of men outworn, But empty stood the huts, in dismal ranks, Where men through all these many years had borne Fierce summer, and the biting winter's scorn; And here a sword was left, and there a bow, But ruinous seem'd all things and forlorn, As in some camp forsaken long ago.

VII.

Gorged wolves crept round the altars, and did eat The flesh of victims that the priests had slain, And wild dogs fought above the sacred meat Late offer'd to the deathless G.o.ds in vain, By men that, for reward of all their pain, Must haul the ropes, and weary at the oar, Or, drowning, clutch at foam amid the main, Nor win their haven on the Argive sh.o.r.e.

VIII.

Not long the young men marvell'd at the sight, But grasping one a sword, and one the spear Aias, or Tydeus' son, had borne in fight, They sped, and fill'd the town with merry cheer, For folk were quick the happy news to hear, And pour'd through all the gates into the plain, Rejoicing as they wander'd far and near, O'er the long Argive toils endured in vain.

IX.

Ah, sweet it was, without the city walls, To hear the doves coo, and the finches sing; Ah, sweet, to twine their true-loves coronals Of woven wind-flowers, and each fragrant thing That blossoms in the footsteps of the spring; And sweet, to lie, forgetful of their grief, Where violets trail by waters wandering, And the wild fig-tree putteth forth his leaf!

X.

Now while they wander'd as they would, they found A wondrous thing: a marvel of man's skill, That stood within a vale of hollow ground, And bulk'd scarce smaller than the bitter-hill,-- The common barrow that the dead men fill Who died in the long leaguer,--not of earth, Was this new portent, but of tree, and still The Trojans stood, and marvell'd 'mid their mirth.

XI.

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