Helen Redeemed and Other Poems | Page 4

this dreadful show?Staring, they pondered it done far below?As on a stage where the thin players seem?Unkith to them who watch, the stuff of dream.?Nor else about the plain showed living thing?Save high in the blue where sailed on outspread wing?A vulture bird intent, with mighty span?Of pinion.
In the hush spake the dead man,?Hollow-voiced, terrible: "Ye tribes of Troy,?Here stand I out for death, and ye for joy?Of killing as ye will, by cast of spear,?By bowshot or with sword. If any peer?Of Hector or Sarpedon care the bout?Which they both tried aforetime let him out?With speed, and bring his many against one,?Fearing no treachery, for there shall be none?To aid me, God nor man; nor yet will I?Stir finger in the business, but will die?By murder sooner than in battle fall?Under some Trojan hand."
Breathless stood all,?Not moving out; but Paris on the roof?Of his high house, where snug he sat aloof,?Drew taut the bowstring home, and notched a shaft,?Soft whistling to himself, what time with craft?Of peering eyes and narrow twisted face?He sought an aim.
Swift from her hiding-place?Came burning Helen then, in her blue eyes?A fire unquenchable, but cold as ice?That scorcheth ere it strike a mortal chill?Upon the heart. "Darest thou...?"
Smiling still,?He heeded not her warning, nor he read?The terror of her eyes, but drew and sped?A screaming arrow, deadly, swerving not--?Then stood to watch the ruin he had wrought.?He heard the sob of breath o'er all the host?Of hushing men; he marked, but then he lost,?The blood-spurt at the shaft-head; for the crest?Upheaved, the shoulders stiffen'd, ere to the breast?Bent down the head, as though the glazing sight?Curious would mark the death-spot. Still upright?Stood he; but as a tree that on the side?Of Ida yields to axe her soaring pride?And lightlier waves her leafy crown, and swings?From side to side--so on his crest the wings?Erect seemed shaking upwards, and to sag?The spear's point, and the burden'd head to wag?Before the stricken body felt the stroke,?Or the strong knees grew lax, or the heart broke.?Breathless they waited; then the failing man?Stiffened anew his neck, and changed and wan?Looked for the last time in the face of day,?And seemed to dare the Gods such might to slay?As this, the sanguine splendid thing he was,?Withal now gray of face and pinched. Alas,?For pride of life! Now he had heard his knell.?His spirit passed, and crashing down he fell,?Mighty Achilles, and struck the earth, and lay?A huddled mass, a bulk of bronze and clay?Bestuck with gilt and glitter, like a toy.?There dropt a forest hush on watching Troy,?Upon the plain and watching ranks of men;?And from a tower some woman keened him then?With long thin cry that wavered in the air--?As once before one wailed her Hector there.
SECOND STAVE
MENELAUS' DREAM: HELEN ON THE WALL
So he who wore his honour like a wreath?About his brows went the dark way of death;?Which being done, that deed of ruth and doom?Gave breath to Troy; but on the Achaians gloom?Settled like pall of cloud upon a land?That swoons beneath it. Desperate they scanned?Each other, saying: "Now we are left by God,"?And in the huts behind the wall abode,?Heeding not Diomede, Idomeneus,?Nor keen Odysseus, nor that friend of Zeus?Mykenai's king, nor that robbed Menelaus,?Nor bowman Teukros, Nestor wise, nor Aias--?Huge Aias, cursed in death! Peleides bare?Himself with pride, but he went raving there.?For in the high assembly Thetis made?In honour of her son, to waft his shade?In peace to Hades' house, after the fire?Twice a man's height for him who did suspire?Twice a man's heart and render it to Heaven?Who gave it, after offerings paid and given,?And games of men and horses, she brought forth?His regal arms for hero of most worth?In the broad Danaan host, who was adjudged?Odysseus by all voices. Aias grudged?The vote and wandered brooding, drawn apart?From his room-fellows, seeding in his heart?Envy, which biting inwards did corrode?His mettle, and his ill blood plied the goad?Upon his brain, until the wretch made mad?Went muttering his wrongs, ill-trimmed, ill-clad,?Sightless and careless, with slack mouth awry,?And working tongue, and danger in the eye;?And oft would stare at Heaven and laugh his scorn:?"O fools, think not to trick me!" then forlorn?Would gaze about green earth or out to sea:?"This is the end of man in his degree"--?Thus would he moralise in those bare lands?With hopeless brows and tossing up of hands--?"To sow in sweat and see another reap!"?Then, pitying himself, he'd fall to weep?His desolation, scorned by Gods, by men?Slighted; but in a flash he'd rage again?And shake his naked sword at unseen foes,?And dare them bring Odysseus to his blows:?Or let the man but flaunt himself in arms...!?So threatening God knows what of savage harms,?On him the oxen patient in the marsh,?Knee-deep in rushes, gazed to hear his harsh?Outcry; and them his madness taught for