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Achilles Aphrodite Argive arms bear beheld beneath body cast child cloud coming cried dark dawn dead Death deem'd deep doth dreadful drew dwell Enone evil eyes face fair fall Fate fear fell fire flame fold gate glad Goddess Gods gold golden grey hand happy hate hath head hear heard heart Hector Helen hill host hour Ilios King knew land light lord lover maidens Menelaus mortal mountain night o'er Paris pass'd plain Queen rose round sacred scarce shalt shame shining ships silently sing slain sleep soft song spake spear sped spring star stood strange sweet swift swift ships tears thee thine thing thou Troia Trojans Troy unto voice wall waters wave weary wild wind wine women wrought young
Page 45 - ... plagued or blest, Even at my pleasure; yea, thou shalt be bent This way and that, howe'er it like me best: And following thee, as tides the moon, the West Shall flood the Eastern coasts with waves of war, And thy vex'd soul shall scarcely be at rest, Even in the havens where the deathless are.
Page 168 - Helen, so that within his heart there lived no memory of her sin : "Then Aphrodite vanish'd as the day Passes and leaves the darkling earth behind ; And overhead the April sky was gray, But Helen's arms about her lord were twined, And his round hers as cllngingly and kind, As when sweet vines and ivy In the spring Join their glad leaves, nor tempest may unbind The woven boughs, so lovingly they cling.
Page 173 - O'er Helen's shrine the grass is growing green, In desolate Therapnae; none the less Her sweet face now unworshipp'd and unseen Abides the symbol of all loveliness, Of Beauty ever stainless in the stress Of warring lusts and fears; — and still divine, Still ready with immortal peace to bless Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine.
Page 46 - And of thine end I speak not, but thy name, — Thy name which thou lamentest, — that shall be A song in all men's speech, a tongue of flame Between the burning lips of Poesy...
Page 161 - Meuelans, where, on his return from the sack of Troy, the hero finds her, " Flush'd like a child In sleep, and rosy red, And at his footstep did she wake and smile, And spake : ' My lord, how hath thy hunting spedT Met Milks that I have slept a weary while.
Page 43 - Theocritus, the picture of the girl who stretches helpless hands and shifts the magic wheel and burns the grain. And in Paul de St. Victor, the beginning of Is it thy will that like a golden cup From lips to lip of heroes I must go, And be but as a banner lifted up, To beckon where the winds of war may blow ? These may be multiplied. Yet his poem is not a thing of shreds and patches. It has its own movement and its atmosphere. When he goes straight to Homer, with Helen at her loom, or her lament...
Page 172 - Lacedaemon, but were brought To Rhadamanthus of the golden hair, Beyond the wide world's end ; ah never there Comes storm nor snow ; all grief is left behind, And men immortal, in enchanted air, Breathe the cool current of the Western wind.
Page 46 - Thy hand within a stranger's shalt thou set, And follow him, nor deem it any sin ; And many a strange land wand'ring shalt thou win, And thou shalt come to an unhappy town, And twenty long years shalt thou dwell therein, Before the Argives mar its towery crown.