Classic Poem

Menelaus . Out of my way! Off! or my sword may smite thee,
Heedless of venerable age. And thou,
Fugitive! stop. Stand, traitress, on that stair . .
Thou mountest not another, by the Gods! ( She stops: he seizes her .)
Now take the death thou meritest, the death
Zeus who presides o'er hospitality,
And every other god whom thou hast left,
And every other who abandons thee
In this accursed city, sends at last.
Turn, vilest of vile slaves! turn, paramour
Of what all other women hate, of cowards,
Turn, lest this hand wrench back thy head, and toss
It and its odours to the dust and flames.
Helen . Welcome the death thou promisest! Not fear
But shame, obedience, duty, make me turn.
Menelaus . Duty! false harlot!
Helen . Name too true! severe
Precursor to the blow that is to fall,
It should alone suffice for killing me.
Menelaus . Ay, weep: be not the only one in Troy
Who wails not on this day . . its last . . the day
Thou and thy crimes darken with dead on dead.
Helen . Spare! spare! O let the last that falls be me!
There are but young and old.
Menelaus . There are but guilty
Where thou art, and the sword strikes none amiss.
Hearest thou not the creeping blood buzz near
Like flies? or wouldst thou rather hear it hiss
Louder, against the flaming roofs thrown down
Wherewith the streets are pathless? Ay, but vengeance
Springs over all; and Nemesis and Ate
Drove back the flying ashes with both hands.
I never saw thee weep till now: and now
There is no pity in thy tears. The tiger
Leaves not her young athirst for the first milk,
As thou didst. Thine could scarce have claspt thy knee
If she had felt thee leave her.
Helen . O my child!
My only one! Thou livest: 'tis enough:
Hate me, abhor me, curse me . . these are duties . .
Call me but Mother in the shades of death!
She now is twelve years old, when the bud swells
And the first colours of uncertain life
Begin to tinge it.
Menelaus ( aside ). Can she think of home?
Hers once, mine yet, and sweet Hermione's!
Is there one spark that cheer'd my hearth, one left,
For thee, my last of love!
Scorn, righteous scorn
Blows it from me . . but thou mayst . . never, never.
Thou shalt not see her even there. The slave
On earth shall scorn thee, and the damn'd below.
Helen . Delay not either fate. If death is mercy,
Send me among the captives; so that Zeus
May see his offspring led in chains away,
And thy hard brother, pointing with his sword
At the last wretch that crouches on the shore,
Cry, " She alone shall never sail for Greece!"
Menelaus . Hast thou more words?
Her voice is musical
As the young maids who sing to Artemis:
How glossy is that yellow braid my grasp
Seiz'd and let loose! Ah! can then years have past
Since . . but the children of the Gods, like them,
Suffer not age.
Helen! speak honestly,
And thus escape my vengeance . . was it force
That bore thee off?
Helen . It was some evil God.
Menelaus . Helping that hated man?
Helen . How justly hated!
Menelaus . By thee too?
Helen . Hath he not made thee unhappy?
O do not strike.
Menelaus . Wretch!
Helen . Strike, but do not speak.
Menelaus . Lest thou remember me against thy will.
Helen . Lest I look up and see you wroth and sad,
Against my will; O! how against my will
They know above, they who perhaps can pity.
Menelaus . They shall not save thee.
Helen . Then indeed they pity.
Menelaus . Prepare for death.
Helen . Not from that hand: 'twould pain you.
Menelaus . Touch not my hand. Easily dost thou drop it!
Helen . Easy are all things, do but thou command.
Menelaus . Look up then.
Helen . To the hardest proof of all
I am now bidden: bid me not look up.
Menelaus . She looks as when I led her on behind
The torch and fife, and when the blush o'erspread
Her girlish face at tripping in the myrtle
On the first step before the wreathed gate.
Approach me. Fall not on thy knees.
Helen . The hand
That is to slay me, best may slay me thus.
I dare no longer see the light of heaven,
Nor thine . . alas! the light of heaven to me.
Menelaus . Follow me.
She holds out both arms . . and now
Drops them again . . She comes . . Why stoppest thou?
Helen . O Meneläus! could thy heart know mine,
As once it did . . for then did they converse,
Generous the one, the other not unworthy . .
Thou wouldst find sorrow deeper even than guilt.
Menelaus . And must I lead her by the hand again?
Nought shall persuade me. Never. She draws back . .
The true alone and loving sob like her . .
Come, Helen! [ He takes her hand .
Helen . Oh! let never Greek see this!
Hide me from Argos, from Amyclai hide me,
Hide me from all.
Menelaus . Thy anguish is too strong
For me to strive with.
Helen . Leave it all to me.
Menelaus . Peace! peace! Thy wind, I hope, is fair for Sparta.