Andrew Lang

Helen Of Troy Andrew Lang

All day within the palace of the King In Lacedaemon, was there revelry, Since Menelaus with the dawn did spring Forth from his carven couch, and, climbing high The tower of outlook, gazed along the dry White road that runs to Pylos through the plain, And mark'd thin clouds of dust against the sky, And gleaming bronze, and robes of purple stain. Then cried he to his serving men, and all Obey'd him, and their labour did not spare, And women set out tables through the hall, Light polish'd tables, with the linen fair. And water from the well did others bear, And the good house-wife busily brought forth Meats from her store, and stinted not the rare Wine from Ismarian vineyards of the North. The men drave up a heifer from the field For sacrifice, and sheath'd her horns with gold; And strong Boethous the axe did wield And smote her; on the fruitful earth she roll'd, And they her limbs divided; fold on fold They laid the fat, and cast upon the fire The barley grain. Such rites were wrought of old When all was order'd as the Gods desire. And now the chariots came beneath the trees Hard by the palace portals, in the shade, And Menelaus knew King Diocles Of Pherae, sprung of an unhappy maid Whom the great Elian River God betray'd In the still watches of a summer night, When by his deep green water-course she stray'd And lean'd to pluck his water-lilies white.