Oenone

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Title:     Oenone
Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson [More Titles by Tennyson]

  There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
  Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.
  The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
  Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine
  And loiters, slowly drawn.  On either hand                 5
  The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down
  Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars
  The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine
  In cataract after cataract to the sea.
  Behind the valley topmost Gargarus                        10
  Stands up and takes the morning: but in front
  The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
  Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel,
  The crown of Troas.
  Hither came at noon
  Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn                        15
  Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.
  Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck
  Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest.
  She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,
  Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade            20
  Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff
  "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
  Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:
  The grasshopper is silent in the grass:                   25
  The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,
  Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead
  The purple flower droops: the golden bee
  Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.
  My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,              30
  My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
  And I am all aweary of my life.
  "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
  Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  Hear me, O Earth; hear me, O Hills, O Caves               35
  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,                   40
  A cloud that gather'd 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-fountain'd Ida,
  Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.                        45
  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-horn'd, white-hooved,      50
  Came up from reedy Simols all alone.
  "O mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft:
  Far up the solitary morning smote
  The streaks of virgin snow.  With down-dropt eyes         55
  I sat alone: white-breasted like a star
  Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin
  Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair
  Cluster'd about his temples like a God's;
  And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens        60
  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,                 65
  That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd
  And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech
  Came down upon my heart.
  "'My own Oenone,
  Beautiful-brow'd Oenone, my own soul,
  Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n           70
  "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.                       75
  He prest 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:            80
  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              85
  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 mid-noon: one silvery cloud               90
  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,                           95
  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'.         100
  "O mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit,
  And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd
  Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew.
  Then first I heard the voice other, to whom              105
  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
  Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue                        110
  Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale
  And river-sunder'd champaign cloth'd with corn,
  Or labour'd mines undrainable of ore.
  Honour,' she said, 'and homage, tax and toll,
  From many an inland town and haven large,                115
  Mast-throng'd 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;                  120
  Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred
  And throned of wisdom--from all neighbour 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,       125
  A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born,
  Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power
  Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd
  Rest in a happy place and quiet seats
  Above the thunder, with undying bliss                    130
  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
  Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood         135
  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                 140
  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 uncall'd for) but to live by law,             145
  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.              150
  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,              155
  Unbias'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure
  That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,
  So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,
  Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,
  To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,             160
  Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
  Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will,
  Circled thro' all experiences, pure law,
  Commeasure perfect freedom.'
  "Here she ceas'd,
  And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, 'O Paris,               165
  Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,
  Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!
  "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
  Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,                             170
  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            175
  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,                180
  The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh
  Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee
  The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.'
  She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear:
  But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm,             185
  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.                        190
  "Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  Fairest---why fairest wife? am I not fair?
  My love hath told me so a thousand times;
  Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday,
  When I past by, a wild and wanton pard,                  195
  Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail
  Crouch'd fawning in the weed.  Most loving is she?
  Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms
  Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest
  Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew          200
  Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains
  Flash in the pools of whirling Simois.
  "O mother, hear me yet before I die.
  They came, they cut away my tallest pines,
  My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge         205
  High over the blue gorge, and all between
  The snowy peak and snow-white cataract
  Foster'd the callow eaglet--from beneath
  Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn
  The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat               210
  Low in the valley.  Never, never more
  Shall lone Oenone see the morning mist
  Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid
  With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud,
  Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.         215
  "O mother, hear me yet before I die.
  I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds,
  Among the fragments tumbled from the glens,
  Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her,
  The Abominable, that uninvited came                      220
  Into the fair Peleian banquet-hall,
  And cast the golden fruit upon the board,
  And bred this change; that I might speak my mind,
  And tell her to her face how much I hate
  Her presence, hated both of Gods and men.                225
  "O mother, hear me yet before I die.
  Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times,
  In this green valley, under this green hill,
  Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone?
  Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears?            230
  O happy tears, and how unlike to these!
  O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face?
  O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight?
  O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,
  There are enough unhappy on this earth,                  235
  Pass by the happy souls, that love to live:
  I pray thee, pass before my light of life,
  And shadow all my soul, that I may die.
  Thou weighest heavy on the heart within,
  Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die.                   240
  "O mother, hear me yet before I die.
  I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts
  Do shape themselves within me, more and more,
  Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear
  Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,         245
  Like footsteps upon wool.  I dimly see
  My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother
  Conjectures of the features of her child
  Ere it is born: her child!--a shudder comes
  Across me: never child be born of me,                    250
  Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!
  "O mother, hear me yet before I die.
  Hear me, O earth.  I will not die alone,
  Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me
  Walking the cold and starless road of Death              255
  Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love
  With the Greek woman.  I will rise and go
  Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth
  Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says
  A fire dances before her, and a sound                    260
  Rings ever in her ears of armed men.
  What this may be I know not, but I know
  That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day,
  All earth and air seem only burning fire."
 

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NOTES:

"The poem of _Oenone_ is the first of Tennyson's elaborate essays in a metre over which be afterwards obtained an eminent command. It is also the first of his idylls and of his classical studies, with their melodious rendering of the Homeric epithets and the composite words, which Tennyson had the art of coining after the Greek manner ('lily-cradled,' 'river-sundered,' 'dewy-dashed') for compact description or ornament. Several additions were made in a later edition; and the corrections then made show with what sedulous care the poet diversified the structure of his lines, changing the pauses that break the monotonous run of blank verse, and avoiding the use of weak terminals when the line ends in the middle of a sentence. The opening of the poem was in this manner decidedly improved; yet one may judge that the finest passages are still to be found almost as they stood in the original version; and the concluding lines, in which the note of anguish culminates, are left untouched."

"Nevertheless the blank verse of _Oenone_ lacks the even flow and harmonious balance of entire sections in the _Morte d'Arthur_ or _Ulysses_, where the lines are swift or slow, rise to a point and fall gradually, in cadences arranged to correspond with the dramatic movement, showing that the poet has extended and perfected his metrical resources. The later style is simplified; he has rejected cumbrous metaphor; he is less sententious; he has pruned away the flowery exuberance and lightened the sensuous colour of his earlier composition."--_Sir Alfred Lyall_.

First published in 1832-3. It received its present improved form in the edition of 1842. The story of Paris and Oenone may be read in Lempriere, or in any good classical dictionary. Briefly it is as follows:--Paris was the son of Priam, King of Troy, and Hecuba. It was foretold that he would bring great ruin on Troy, so his father ordered him to be slain at birth. The slave, however, did not destroy him, but exposed him upon Mount Ida, where shepherds found him and, brought him up as one of themselves. "He gained the esteem of all the shepherds, and his graceful countenance and manly development recommended him to the favour of Oenone, a nymph of Ida, whom he married, and with whom he lived in the most perfect tenderness. Their conjugal bliss was soon disturbed. At the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, Eris, the goddess of discord, who had not been invited to partake of the entertainment, showed her displeasure by throwing into the assembly of gods, who were at the celebration of the nuptials, a golden apple on which were written the words _Detur pulchriori_. All the goddesses claimed it as their own: the contention at first became general, but at last only three, Juno (Here), Venus (Aphrodite), and Minerva (Pallas), wished to dispute their respective right to beauty. The gods, unwilling to become arbiters in an affair of so tender and delicate a nature, appointed Paris to adjudge the prize of beauty to the fairest of the goddesses, and indeed the shepherd seemed properly qualified to decide so great a contest, as his wisdom was so well established, and his prudence and sagacity so well known. The goddesses appeared before their judge without any covering or ornament, and each tried by promises and entreaties to gain the attention of Paris, and to influence his judgment. Juno promised him a kingdom; Minerva, military glory; and Venus, the fairest woman in the world for his wife." (Lempriere.) Paris accorded the apple to Aphrodite, abandoned Oenone, and after he had been acknowledged the son of Priam went to Sparta, where he persuaded Helen, the wife of Menelaus, to flee with him to Troy. The ten years' siege, and the destruction of Troy, resulted from this rash act. Oenone's significant words at the close of the poem foreshadow this disaster. Tennyson, in his old age concluded the narrative in the poem called _The Death of Oenone_. According to the legend Paris, mortally wounded by one of the arrows of Philoctetes, sought out the abandoned Oenone that she might heal him of his wound. But he died before he reached her, "and the nymph, still mindful of their former loves, threw herself upon his body, and stabbed herself to the heart, after she had plentifully bathed it with her tears." Tennyson follows another tradition in which Paris reaches Oenone, who scornfully repels him. He passed onward through the mist, and dropped dead upon the mountain side. His old shepherd playmates built his funeral pyre. Oenone follows the yearning in her heart to where her husband lies, and dies in the flames that consume him.

In Chapter IV of Mr. Stopford Brooke's _Tennyson_, there is a valuable commentary upon _Oenone_. He deals first with the imaginative treatment of the landscape, which is characteristic of all Tennyson's classical poems, and instances the remarkable improvement effected in the descriptive passages in the volume of 1842. "But fine landscape and fine figure re-drawing are not enough to make a fine poem. Human interest, human passion, must be greater than Nature, and dominate the subject. Indeed, all this lovely scenery is nothing in comparison with the sorrow and love of Oenone, recalling her lost love in the places where once she lived in joy. This is the main humanity of the poem. But there is more. Her common sorrow is lifted almost into the proportions of Greek tragedy by its cause and by its results. It is caused by a quarrel in Olympus, and the mountain nymph is sacrificed without a thought to the vanity of the careless gods. That is an ever-recurring tragedy in human history. Moreover, the personal tragedy deepens when we see the fateful dread in Oenone's heart that she will, far away, in time hold her lover's life in her hands, and refuse to give it back to him--a fatality that Tennyson treated before he died. And, secondly, Oenone's sorrow is lifted into dignity by the vast results which flowed from its cause. Behind it were the mighty fates of Troy, the ten years' battle, the anger of Achilles, the wanderings of Ulysses, the tragedy of Agamemnon, the founding of Rome, and the three great epics of the ancient world."

Another point of general interest is to be noted in the poem. Despite the classical theme the tone is consistently modern, as may be gathered from the philosophy of the speech of Pallas, and from the tender yielding nature of Oenone. There is no hint here of the vindictive resentment which the old classical writers, would have associated with her grief. Similarly Tennyson has systematically modernised the Arthurian legend in the _Idylls of the King_, giving us nineteenth century thoughts in a conventional mediaeval setting.

A passage from Bayne, puts this question clearly: "Oenone wails melodiously for Paris without the remotest suggestion of fierceness or revengeful wrath. She does not upbraid him for having preferred to her the fairest and most loving wife in Greece, but wonders how any one could love him better than she does. A Greek poet would have used his whole power of expression to instil bitterness into her resentful words. The classic legend, instead of representing Oenone as forgiving Paris, makes her nurse her wrath throughout all the anguish and terror of the Trojan War. At its end, her Paris comes back to her. Deprived of Helen, a broken and baffled man, he returns from the ruins of his native Troy, and entreats Oenone to heal him of a wound, which, unless she lends her aid, must be mortal. Oenone gnashes her teeth at him, refuses him the remedy, and lets him die. In the end, no doubt, she falls into remorse, and kills herself--this is quite in the spirit of classic legend; implacable vengeance, soul-sickened with its own victory, dies in despair. That forgiveness of injuries could be anything but weakness--that it could be honourable, beautiful, brave--is an entirely Christian idea; and it is because this idea, although it has not yet practically conquered the world, although it has indeed but slightly modified the conduct of nations, has nevertheless secured recognition as ethically and socially right, that Tennyson could not hope to enlist the sympathy and admiration of his readers for his Oenone, if he had cast her image in the tearless bronze of Pagan obduracy."

1. IDA. A mountain range in Mysia, near Troy. The scenery is, in part, idealised, and partly inspired by the valley of Cauteretz. See _Introduction_, p. xvi.

2. IONIAN. Ionia was the district adjacent to Mysia. 'Ionian,' therefore, is equivalent to 'neighbouring.'

10. TOPMOST GARGARUS. A Latinism, cf. _summus mons_.

12. TROAS. The Troad (Troas) was the district surrounding Troy.

ILION=Ilium, another name for Troy.

14. CROWN=chief ornament.

22-23. O MOTHER IDA--DIE. Mr. Stedman, in his _Victorian Poets_, devotes a valuable chapter to the discussion of Tennyson's relation to Theocritus, both in sentiment and form. "It is in the _Oenone_ that we discover Tennyson's earliest adaptation of that refrain, which was a striking beauty of the pastoral elegiac verse;

"'O mother Ida, hearken ere I die,'

"is the analogue of (Theocr. II).

"'See thou; whence came my love, O lady Moon,' etc.

"Throughout the poem the Syracusan manner and feeling are strictly and nobly maintained." Note, however, the modernisation already referred to.

MOTHER IDA. The Greeks constantly personified Nature, and attributed a separate individual life to rivers, mountains, etc. Wordsworth's _Excursion_, Book IV., might be read in illustration, especially from the line beginning--

"Once more to distant ages of the world."

MANY-FOUNTAIN'D IDA. Many streams took their source in Ida. Homer applies the same epithet to this mountain.

24-32. These lines are in imitation of certain passages from Theocritus. See Stedman, _Victorian Poets_, pp. 213 f. They illustrate Tennyson's skill in mosaic work.

30. MY EYES--LOVE. Cf. Shakespeare, 2 Henry VI. ii. 3. 17:

"Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief."

36. COLD CROWN'D SNAKE. "Cold crown'd" is not a compound epithet, meaning "with a cold head." Each adjective marks a particular quality. _Crown'd_ has reference to the semblance of a coronet that the hoods of certain snakes, such as cobras, possess.

37. THE DAUGHTER OF A RIVER-GOD. Oenone was the daughter of the river Cebrenus in Phrygia.

39-40. AS YONDER WALLS--BREATHED. The walls of Troy were built by Poseidon (Neptune) and Apollo, whom Jupiter had condemned to serve King Laomedon of Troas for a year. The stones were charmed into their places by the breathing of Apollo's flute, as the walls of Thebes are said to have risen to the strain of Amphion's lyre. Compare _Tithonus_, 62-63:

"Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,
When Ilion, like a mist, rose into towers."

And cf. also _The Princess_, iii. 326.

42-43. THAT--WOE. Compare _In Memoriam_, V.

50. WHITE HOOVED. Cf. "hooves" for hoofs, in the _Lady of Shalott_, l. 101.

51. SIMOIS. One of the many streams flowing from Mount Ida.

65. HESPERIAN GOLD. The fruit was in colour like the golden apples in the garden of the Hesperides. The Hesperides were three (or four) nymphs, the daughters of Hesperus. They dwelt in the remotest west, near Mount Atlas in Africa, and were appointed to guard the golden apples which Here gave to Zeus on the day of their marriage. One of Hercules' twelve labours was to procure some of these apples. See the articles _Hesperides_ and _Hercules_ in Lempriere.

66. SMELT AMBROSIALLY. Ambrosia was the food of the gods. Their drink was nectar. The food was sweeter than honey, and of most fragrant odour.

72. WHATEVER OREAD. A classical construction. The Oreads were mountain nymphs.

78. FULL-FACED--GODS. This means either that not a face was missing, or refers to the impressive countenances of the gods. Another possible interpretation is that all their faces were turned full towards the board on which the apple was cast. Compare for this epithet _Lotos Eaters_, 7; and _Princess_, ii. 166.

79. PELEUS. All the gods, save Eris, were present at the marriage between Peleus and Thetis, a sea-deity. In her anger Eris threw upon the banquet-table the apple which Paris now holds in his hand. Peleus and Thetis were the parents of the famous Achilles.

81. IRIS. The messenger of the gods. The rainbow is her symbol.

83. DELIVERING=announcing.

89-100. These lines, and the opening lines of the poem are among the best of Tennyson's blank verse lines, and therefore among the best that English poetry contains. The description owes some of its beauty to Homer. In its earlier form, in the volume of 1832-3, it is much less perfect.

132. A CRESTED PEACOCK. The peacock was sacred to Here (Juno).

103. A GOLDEN CLOUD. The gods were wont to recline upon Olympus beneath a canopy of golden clouds.

104. DROPPING FRAGRANT DEW. Drops of glittering dew fell from the golden cloud which shrouded Here and Zeus. See _Iliad_, XIV, 341 f.

105 f. Here was the queen of Heaven. Power was therefore the gift which she naturally proffered.

114. Supply the ellipsis.

121-122. POWER FITTED--WISDOM. Power that adapts itself to every crisis; power which is born of wisdom and enthroned by wisdom (i.e. does not owe its supremacy to brute strength).

121-122. FROM ALL-ALLEGIANCE. Note the ellipsis and the inversion.

128-131. WHO HAVE ATTAINED--SUPREMACY. Cf. _Lotos Eaters_, l. 155 f, and _Lucretius_, 104-108.

The gods, who haunt
The lucid interspace of world and world
Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind,
Nor ever falls the least white star of snow,
Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans.

137. O'ERTHWARTED WITH=crossed by.

142 f. Compare the tone of Pallas' speech with what has been said in the introduction, p. liv f., concerning Tennyson's love of moderation and restraint, and his belief in the efficacy of law.

Compare also the general temper of the _Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington_, and especially ll. 201-205.

144--148. Yet these qualities are not bestowed with power as the end in view. Power will come without seeking when these great principles of conduct are observed. The main thing is to live and act by the law of the higher Life,--and it is the part of wisdom to follow right for its own sake, whatever the consequences may be.

151. SEQUEL OF GUERDON. To follow up my words with rewards (such as Here proffers) would not make me fairer.

153-164. Pallas reads the weakness of Paris's character, but disdains to offer him a more worldly reward. An access of moral courage will be her sole gift to him, so that he shall front danger and disaster until his powers of endurance grow strong with action, and his full-grown will having passed through all experiences, and having become a pure law unto itself, shall be commensurate with perfect freedom, i.e., shall not know that it is circumscribed by law.

This is the philosophy that we find in Wordsworth's _Ode to Duty_.

Stern Lawgiver! Yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,
And the most ancient heavens, through thee,
are fresh and strong.

165-167. Note how dramatic this interruption is.

170. IDALIAN APHRODITE. Idalium was a town in Cyprus; an island where the goddess was especially worshipped. She was frequently called Cypria or the Cyprian.

171. FRESH AS THE FOAM. Aphrodite was born from the waves of the sea, near the Island of Cyprus.

NEW-BATHED IN PAPHIAN WELLS. Paphos was a town in Cyprus. Aphrodite was said to have landed at Paphos after her birth from the sea-foam. She is sometimes called the Paphian or Paphia on this account.

184. SHE SPOKE AND LAUGH'D. Homer calls her "the laughter-loving Aphrodite."

195-l97. A WILD--WEED. The influence of beauty upon the beasts is a common theme with poets. Cf. Una and the lion in Spenser's _Faery Queen_.

204. THEY CUT AWAY MY TALLEST PINES. Evidently to make ships for Paris's expedition to Greece.

235-240. THERE ARE--DIE. Lamartine in _Le Lac_ (written before 1820) has a very similar passage.

250. CASSANDRA. The daughter of King Priam, and therefore the sister of Paris. She had the gift of prophecy.

260. A FIRE DANCES. Signifying the burning of Troy.

[The end]
Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem: Oenone

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