Classic Poem

Paris is of knights the fairest,
Every heart to him is vowed;
Every dame this truth confesses
'Mid the court's illustrious crowd.

Lo! what boastful proofs of conquest
Fortune in his bosom flings,
Letters breathing balmy kisses,
Curls unnumbered, costly rings.

Tokens of too easy conquests,
Happiness unsought by pride,
Bonds and fetters Paris calls you,
Thrusts such glittering toys aside!

Sheathed in steel, he leaps on horseback,
Glows with lust of glory's bays,
Turns his back on all the ladies,
Face and breast to men displays.

Nowhere sign of foe appeareth,
Spring-tide reigns o'er stream and field;
Breezes with his plume are playing,
Glancing sunlight gilds his shield.

Far and long he thus hath ridden —
Where begins yon forest drear,
Lo! a knight who, high on horseback,
Waits him with uplifted spear!

Paris to the conflict rushes,
Swift as though to dance he hied;
Levels with the earth his foeman,
Gazes round with conscious pride.

Down he 'lights to raise the fallen,
Loosens quick the helmet's lace;
Lo! down waver clustering ringlets
Round a soft and gentle face!

Greaves and breast-plate quick he loosens,
Ah! how white that bosom bare!
Stretched before him, all unconscious,
Lies a damsel passing fair!

Should her pale and deathly features
Blush with beauty's bloom anew,
Should she now unclose those eye-lids,
What wouldst thou, young Paris! do?

Yes! a deep-drawn sigh she heaveth,
Softly opes her tender eyes;
She, who died a savage foeman,
Friendly, kind, to life doth rise!

There, in pieces, lies the casing
Which but now a warrior seemed;
Here, in Paris' arms, the kernel
From the steely shell redeemed!

Paris, comely knight, exclaimeth:
" Here is conquest! here is fame!
Must I ne'er attain a garland,
Never win a hero's name?

Changeth all I fain would grasp at
Into shapes of joy and love?
Fortune kind, my path pursuing,
Shall I thank thee — or reprove? "