Classic Poem

As the treacherous shepherd bore over the deep
His hostess, fair Helena, Nereus arose,
Husht the war of the winds for a season to sleep,
And thus sang the doom of retributive woes:

“Thou bearest her home with an omen of dread,
Whom Greece shall reclaim, with her myriads vowed
To tear, by the sword, thy false mate from thy bed,
And crush Priam's empire, the ancient, the proud.

“Horse and man, how they labour! What deaths shall o'erwhelm,
And all for thy crime, the Dardanians in night!
See Pallas preparing her ægis and helm,
Her chariot, and all the fierce frenzy of fight!

“Go, trim as thou wilt, boy, thy loose flowing curls,
Go, vaunt thee, that Venus shall shield thee from wrong,
And, laid with thy lute 'midst a bevy of girls,
Troll thy measures effeminate all the day long.

“Ay, hide an thou may'st in the couch of thy lust
From the death-dealing spear, and the arrows of Crete,
From the roar of the battle, its carnage, its dust,
And Ajax pursuing, remorseless and fleet!

“Yet in gore thy adulterous locks shall be rolled,
Though late be thy doom. Lo, the scourge of thy race,
Laertiades! Dost thou not see him! Behold!
And Pylian Nestor!—And see, on thy trace

“Rushes Tencer of Salamis, dauntless and fell,
And Sthenelus, skilful in combat, nor less
In ruling the war-steed expert to excel,
And close on thy track, too, shall Merion press.

“Lo, Tydides, surpassing his father in might,
Athirst for thy lifeblood, with furious cheer
Is hunting thee out through the thick of the fight,
While before him thou fly'st, like a timorous deer,

“Who, espying a wolf on the brow of the hill,
Flies far from the pasture, with heart-heaving pants;
Is it thus that thy leman shall see thee fulfil
The promise of all thy presumptuous vaunts?

“The wrath of Achilles shall stay for a while
The downfall of Ilion, and Phrygia's dames,—
Yet a few winters more, and her funeral pile
In ashes shall fall 'midst Achaian flames!”