"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls My heart may wander from its deeper woe. 66 "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. I waited underneath the dawning hills, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, Came up from reedy Simois all alone. 66 O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. I sat alone With down-dropt eyes white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, Elected umpire, Here comes to-day This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 66 Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue Wherewith to embellish state, from many a vale And river-sunder'd champaign cloth'd with corn, Or labour'd mines undrainable of ore. Honour,' she said, and homage, tax and toll, 66 O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of power, 'Which in all action is the end of all; Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred And throned of wisdom-from all neighbour crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born, A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit |