"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Hear me, O earth, hear me, O hills, O caves
That house the cold-crowned 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
Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,
A cloud that gathered shape; for it may be
That, while I speak of it, a little while
My heart may wander from its deeper woe.

"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. I waited underneath the dawning hills; Aloft the mountain-lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain-pine. Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horned, white-hooved, Came up from reedy Simois all alone.

"O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far off the torrent called me from the cleft; Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes I sat alone; white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin Dropped from his shoulder, but his sunny hair Clustered about his temples like a god's; And his cheek brightened as the foam-bow brightens When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came.

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,
That smelt ambrosially, and while I looked
And listened, the full-flowing river of speech
Came down upon my heart:

‘My own none, Beautiful-browed Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingraven “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 pressed the blossom of his lips to mine,
And added, “This was cast upon the board,
When all the full-faced presence of the gods
Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon
Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due;
But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,
Delivering, that to me, by common voice
Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day,
Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each
This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave
Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,
Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard
Hear all, and see thy Paris, judge of gods.'

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon; one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piny sides 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,
This

way and that, in many a wild festoon
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 fowed a golden cloud, and leaned
Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew.
Then first I heard the voice of her to whom
Coming thro’ heaven, like a light that grows
Larger and clearer, with one mind the gods
Rise up for reverence.

She to Paris made
Proffer of royal power, ample rule
Unquestioned, overflowing revenue
Wherewith to embellish state, ‘from many a vale
And river-sundered champaign clothed with corn,
Or labored mine undrainable of ore.
Honor,' she said, “and homage, tax and toll,
From many an inland town and haven large,
Mast-thronged beneath her shadowing citadel
In glassy bays among her tallest towers.'

“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 neighbor crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the scepter-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 attained
Rest in a happy place and quiet seats
Above the thunder, with undying bliss
In knowledge of their own supremacy.'

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm’s-length, so much the thought of power Flattered his spirit; but Pallas where she stood Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O’erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply: “Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in thc scorn of consequence.'

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts.
Sequel of guerdon could not alter me
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,
So shalt thou find me fairest.

Yet, indeed,
If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbiased by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure

That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,
So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a god's,
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinewed with action, and the full-grown will,
Circled thro' all experiences, pure law,
Commeasure perfect freedom.'

“Here she ceased,
And Paris pondered, and I cried, 'O Paris,
Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

“O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,
Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,
With

rosy slender fingers backward drew
From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair
Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat
And shoulder; from the violets her light foot
Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form
Between the shadows of the vine-bunches
Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,
The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh
Half-whispered in his ear, 'I promise thee
The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'
She spoke and laughed; I shut my sight for fear;
But when I looked, Paris had raised his arm,
And I beheld great Here's angry eyes,
As she withdrew into the golden cloud,