But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,
Delivering that to me, by common voice
Elected umpire. Here 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 piney 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 through and through.

"O mother Ida, harken ere I die.

On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit,

And o'er him flowed a golden cloud, and leaned
Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew.
Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom
Coming through 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 mines, 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 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 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 the 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 through a life of shocks,
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinewed with action, and the full-grown will,
Circled through 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,
And I was left alone within the bower;
And from that time to this I am alone,
And I shall be alone until I die.