Ah, there with wide snows round her like a pall, OEnone crouch'd in sable robes; as still As Winter brooding o'er the Summer's fall, Or Niobe upon her haunted hill, A woman changed to stone by grief, where chill The rain-drops fall like tears, and the wind sighs:
And Paris deem'd he saw a deadly will Unmoved in wild OEnone's frozen eyes.
LXI.
"Nay, prayer to her were vain as prayer to Fate,"He murmur'd, almost glad that it was so, Like some sick man that need no longer wait, But his pain lulls as Death draws near his woe.
And Paris beckon'd to his men, and slow They bore him dying from that fatal place, And did not turn again, and did not know The soft repentance on OEnone's face.
LXII.
But Paris spake to Helen: "Long ago, Dear, we were glad, who never more shall be Together, where the west winds fainter blow Round that Elysian island of the sea, Where Zeus from evil days shall set thee free.
Nay, kiss me once, it is a weary while, Ten weary years since thou hast smiled on me, But, Helen, say good-bye, with thine old smile!"LXIII.
And as the dying sunset through the rain Will flush with rosy glow a mountain height, Even so, at his last smile, a blush again Pass'd over Helen's face, so changed and white;And through her tears she smiled, his last delight, The last of pleasant life he knew, for grey The veil of darkness gather'd, and the night Closed o'er his head, and Paris pass'd away.
LXIV.
Then for one hour in Helen's heart re-born, Awoke the fatal love that was of old, Ere she knew all, and the cold cheeks outworn, She kiss'd, she kiss'd the hair of wasted gold, The hands that ne'er her body should enfold;Then slow she follow'd where the bearers led, Follow'd dead Paris through the frozen wold Back to the town where all men wish'd her dead.
LXV.
Perchance it was a sin, I know not, this!
Howe'er it be, she had a woman's heart, And not without a tear, without a kiss, Without some strange new birth of the old smart, From her old love of the brief days could part For ever; though the dead meet, ne'er shall they Meet, and be glad by Aphrodite's art, Whose souls have wander'd each its several way.
* * * * * *
LXVI.
And now was come the day when on a pyre Men laid fair Paris, in a broider'd pall, And fragrant spices cast into the fire, And round the flame slew many an Argive thrall.
When, like a ghost, there came among them all, A woman, once beheld by them of yore, When first through storm and driving rain the tall Black ships of Argos dash'd upon the shore.
LXVII.
Not now in wrath OEnone came; but fair Like a young bride when nigh her bliss she knows, And in the soft night of her fallen hair Shone flowers like stars, more white than Ida's snows, And scarce men dared to look on her, of those The pyre that guarded; suddenly she came, And sprang upon the pyre, and shrill arose Her song of death, like incense through the flame.
LXVIII.
And still the song, and still the flame went up, But when the flame wax'd fierce, the singing died;And soon with red wine from a golden cup Priests drench'd the pyre; but no man might divide The ashes of the Bridegroom from the Bride.
Nay, they were wedded, and at rest again, As in those old days on the mountain-side, Before the promise of their youth was vain.
