Rearing on high, a mighty blow let fall
On Paris' helm; but shiv'ring in his hand
In countless fragments new the faithless blade.
Then thus to Jove, with eyes uplift to Heav'n,
Atrides made his moan: "O Father Jove!
Of all the Gods, the most unfriendly thou!
On Paris' head I hop'd for all his crimes
To wreak my vengeance due; but in my grasp
My faithless sword is shatter'd, and my spear
Hath bootless left my hand, nor reached my foe."
Then onward rushing, by the horsehair plume
He seiz'd his foeman's helm, and wrenching round
Dragg'd by main force amid the well-greav'd Greeks.
The broider'd strap, that, pass'd beneath his beard,
The helmet held, the warrior's throat compress'd:
Then had Atrides dragg'd him from the field,
And endless fame acquir'd; but Venus, child
Of Jove, her fav'rite's peril quickly saw.
And broke the throttling strap of tough bull's hide.
In the broad hand the empty helm remained.
The trophy, by their champion whirl'd amid
The well-greav'd Greeks, his eager comrades seiz'd;
While he, infuriate, rush'd with murd'rous aim
On Priam's son; but him, the Queen of Love
(As Gods can only) from the field convey'd,
Wrapt in a misty cloud; and on a couch,
Sweet perfumes breathing, gently laid him down;
Then went in search of Helen; her she found,
Circled with Trojan dames, on Ilium's tow'r:
Her by her airy robe the Goddess held,
And in the likeness of an aged dame
Who oft for her, in Sparta when she dwelt,
Many a fair fleece had wrought, and lov'd her well,
Address'd her thus: "Come, Helen, to thy house;
Come, Paris calls thee; in his chamber he
Expects thee, resting on luxurious couch,
In costly garb, with manly beauty grac'd:
Not from the fight of warriors wouldst thou deem
He late had come, but for the dance prepar'd,
Or resting from the dance's pleasing toil."
She said, and Helen's spirit within her mov'd;
And when she saw the Goddess' beauteous neck,
Her lovely bosom, and her glowing eyes,
She gaz'd in wonder, and address'd her thus:
"Oh why, great Goddess, make me thus thy sport?
Seek'st thou to bear me far away from hence
To some fair Phrygian or Maeonian town,
If there some mortal have thy favour gain'd?
Or, for that Menelaus in the field
Hath vanquish'd Paris, and is willing yet
That I, his bane, should to his home return;
Here art thou found, to weave again thy wiles!
Go then thyself! thy godship abdicate!
Renounce Olympus! lavish here on him
Thy pity and thy care! he may perchance
Make thee his wife—at least his paramour!
But thither go not I! foul shame it were
Again to share his bed; the dames of Troy
Will for a byword hold me; and e'en now
My soul with endless sorrow is possess'd."
To whom in anger heav'nly Venus spoke:
"Incense me not, poor fool! lest I in wrath
Desert thee quite, and as I heretofore
Have lov'd, so make thee object of my hate;
And kindle, 'twixt the Trojans and the Greeks,
Such bitter feuds, as both shall wreak on thee."
She said; and trembled Helen, child of Jove;
She rose in silence; in a snow-white veil
All glitt'ring, shrouded; by the Goddess led
She pass'd, unnotic'd by the Trojan dames.
But when to Paris' splendid house they came,
Thronging around her, her attendants gave
Their duteous service; through the lofty hall
With queenly grace the godlike woman pass'd.
A seat the laughter-loving Goddess plac'd
By Paris' side; there Helen sat, the child
Of aegis-bearing Jove, with downcast eyes,
Yet with sharp words she thus address'd her Lord:
"Back from the battle? would thou there hadst died
Beneath a warrior's arm, whom once I call'd
My husband! vainly didst thou boast erewhile
Thine arm, thy dauntless courage, and thy spear
The warlike Menelaus should subdue!
Go now again, and challenge to the fight
The warlike Menelaus. Be thou ware!
I warn thee, pause, ere madly thou presume
With fair-hair'd Menelaus to contend!
Soon shouldst thou fall beneath his conqu'ring spear."
To whom thus Paris: "Wring not thus my soul
With keen reproaches: now, with Pallas' aid,
Hath Menelaus conquer'd; but my day
Will come: I too can boast my guardian Gods.
But turn we now to love, and love's delights;
For never did thy beauty so inflame
My sense; not when from Lacedaemon first
I bore thee in my ocean-going ships,
And revell'd in thy love on Cranae's isle,
As now it fills my soul with fond desire."
He said, and led her to the nuptial couch;
Her Lord she follow'd; and while there reclin'd
Upon the richly-inlaid couch they lay,
Atrides, like a lion baffled, rush'd
Amid the crowd, if haply he might find
The godlike Paris; but not one of all
The Trojans and their brave allies could aid
The warlike Menelaus in his search;
Not that, for love, would any one that knew
Have screen'd him from his anger, for they all
Abhorr'd him as the shade of death: then thus
Outspoke great Agamemnon, King of men:
"Hear me, ye Trojans, Dardans, and Allies!
With warlike Menelaus rests, 'tis plain,
The prize of vict'ry: then surrender ye
The Argive Helen and the spoils of war,
With compensation due to Greece, that so