Œnone
There lies a vale in Ida, lovelierThan 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 handThe lawns and meadow-ledges midway downHang rich in flowers, and far below them roarsThe long brook falling thro’ the clov’n ravineIn cataract after cataract to the sea.Behind the valley topmost Gargarus>Stands up and takes the morning: but in frontThe gorges, opening wide apart, revealTroas and Ilion’s column’d citadel,The crown of Troas.
Hither came at noonMournful Œnone, wandering forlornOf Paris, once her playmate on the hills.Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neckFloated her hair or seem’d to float in rest.She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shadeSloped 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;The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps.The purple flowers droop: the golden beeIs lily-cradled: I alone awake.My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,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 CavesThat house the cold crown’d snake! O mountain brooks,I am the daughter of a River-God,Hear me, for I will speak, and build up allMy sorrow with my song, as yonder wallsRose slowly to a music slowly breathed,A cloud that gather’d shape: for it may beThat, while I speak of it, a little whileMy heart may wander from its deeper woe.
“O mother Ida, many-fountain’d 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-horn’d, white-hooved,Came up from reedy Simois all alone.
“O mother Ida, harken ere I die.Far-off the torrent call’d me from the cleft:Far up the solitary morning smoteThe streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyesI sat alone: white-breasted like a starFronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skinDroop’d from his shoulder, but his sunny hairCluster’d about his temples like a God’s;And his cheek brighten’d as the foam-bow brightensWhen the wind blows the foam, and all my heartWent forth to embrace him coming ere he came.
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palmDisclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,That smelt ambrosially, and while I look’dAnd listen’d, the full-flowing river of speechCame down upon my heart.
“‘My own Œnone,Beautiful-brow’d Œnone, my own soul,Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n“For the most fair,” would seem to award it thine,As lovelier than whatever Oread hauntThe knolls of Ida, loveliest in all graceOf movement, and the charm of married brows.’
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.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 GodsRanged in the halls of Peleus; whereuponRose feud, with question unto whom ’twere due:But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,Delivering, that to me, by common voiceElected umpire, Herè comes to-day,Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming eachThis meed of fairest. Thou, within the caveBehind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheardHear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.’
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloudHad lost his way between the piney sidesOf 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 festoonRan riot, garlanding the gnarled boughsWith 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 flow’d a golden cloud, and lean’dUpon him, slowing dropping fragrant dew.Then first I heard the voice of her, to whomComing thro’ Heaven, like a light that growsLarger and clearer, with one mind the GodsRise up for reverence. She to Paris madeProffer of royal power, ample ruleUnquestion’d, overflowing revenueWherewith to embellish state, ‘from many a valeAnd river-sunder’d champaign clothed 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,Mast-throng’d beneath her shadowing citadelIn 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-bredAnd throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crownsAlliance and allegiance, till thy handFail 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 powerOnly, are likest gods, who have attain’dRest in a happy place and quiet seatsAbove the thunder, with undying blissIn knowledge of their own supremacy.’
“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruitOut at arm’s-length, so much the thought of powerFlatter’d his spirit; but Pallas where she stoodSomewhat apart, her clear and bared limbsO’erthwarted with the brazen-headed spearUpon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,The while, above, her full and earnesteyeOver her snow-cold breast and angry cheekKept 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 herselfWould come uncall’d for) but to live by law,Acting the law we live by without fear;And, because right is right, to follow rightWere 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 meTo fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,So shalt thou find me fairest.
Yet indeed,If gazing on divinity disrobedThy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,Unbiass’d by self-profit, oh! rest thee sureThat 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,Dangers, and deeds, until endurance growSinew’d with action, and the full-grown will.Circled thro’ all experiences, pure law,Commeasure perfect freedom.’
“Here she ceased,And Paris ponder’d, 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-fountain’d 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 drewFrom her warm brows and bosom her deep hairAmbrosial, golden round her lucid throatAnd shoulder: from the violets her light footShone rosy-white, and o’er her rounded formBetween the shadows of the vine-bunchesFloated 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 nighHalf-whisper’d in his ear, ‘I promise theeThe 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,And I beheld great Herè’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.
“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,Eyed like the evening star, with playful tailCrouch’d fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my armsWere wound about thee, and my hot lips prestClose, close to thine in that quick-falling dewOf fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rainsFlash 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 ledgeHigh over the blue gorge, and all betweenThe snowy peak and snow-white cataractFoster’d the callow eaglet—from beneathWhose thick mysterious boughs in the dark mornThe panther’s roar came muffled, while I satLow in the valley. Never, never moreShall lone Œnone see the morning mistSweep thro’ them; never see them overlaidWith narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud,Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.
“O mother, here 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 cameInto the fair Peleïan 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 hateHer presence, hated both of Gods and men.
“O mother, here 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?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,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.
“O mother, hear me yet before I die.I will not die alone, for fiery thoughtsDo shape themselves within me, more and more,Whereof I catch the issue, as I hearDead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly seeMy far-off doubtful purpose, as a motherConjectures of the features of her childEre it is born: her child!—a shudder comesAcross me: never child be born of me,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 meWalking the cold and starless road of DeathUncomforted, leaving my ancient loveWith the Greek woman. I will rise and goDown into Troy, and ere the stars come forthTalk with the wild Cassandra, for she saysA fire dances before her, and a soundRings ever in her ears of armed men.What this may be I know not, but I knowThat, wheresoe’er I am by night and day,All earth and air seem only burning fire.”
There is a dale in Ida, lovelierThan any in old Ionia, beautifulWith emerald slopes of sunny sward, that leanAbove the loud glenriver, which hath wornA path thro’ steepdown granite walls belowMantled with flowering tendriltwine. In frontThe cedarshadowy valleys open wide.Far-seen, high over all the God-built wallAnd many a snowycolumned range divine,Mounted with awful sculptures—men and Gods,The work of Gods—bright on the dark-blue skyThe windy citadel of IlionShone, like the crown of Troas. Hither cameMournful Œnone wandering forlornOf Paris, once her playmate. Round her neck,Her neck all marblewhite and marblecold,Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest.She, leaning on a vine-entwinèd stone,Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shadowSloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.
“O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.The grasshopper is silent in the grass,The lizard with his shadow on the stoneSleeps like a shadow, and the scarletwingedCicala in the noonday leapeth notAlong the water-rounded granite-rock.The purple flower droops: the golden beeIs lilycradled: I alone awake.My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,My heart is breaking and my eyes are dim,And I am all aweary of my life.
“O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O CavesThat 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 allMy sorrow with my song, as yonder wallsRose slowly to a music slowly breathed,A cloud that gathered shape: for it may beThat, while I speak of it, a little whileMy heart may wander from its deeper woe.
“O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.Aloft the mountain lawn was dewydark,And dewydark aloft the mountain pine;Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,Leading a jetblack goat whitehorned, whitehooved,Came up from reedy Simois all alone.
“O mother Ida, hearken ere I die.I sate alone: the goldensandalled mornRosehued the scornful hills: I sate aloneWith downdropt eyes: white-breasted like a starFronting the dawn he came: a leopard skinFrom his white shoulder drooped: his sunny hairClustered about his temples like a God’s:And his cheek brightened, as the foambow brightensWhen the wind blows the foam; and I called out,‘Welcome Apollo, welcome home Apollo,Apollo, my Apollo, loved Apollo’.
“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.He, mildly smiling, in his milk-white palmClose-held a golden apple, lightningbrightWith changeful flashes, dropt with dew of HeavenAmbrosially smelling. From his lip,Curved crimson, the full-flowing river of speechCame down upon my heart.
“‘My own Œnone,Beautifulbrowed Œnone, mine own soul,Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n“For the most fair,” in aftertime may breedDeep evilwilledness of heaven and soreHeartburning toward hallowed Ilion;And all the colour of my afterlifeWill be the shadow of to-day. To-dayHerè and Pallas and the floating graceOf laughter-loving Aphrodite meetIn manyfolded Ida to receiveThis meed of beauty, she to whom my handAward the palm. Within the green hillside,Under yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,Is an ingoing grotto, strown with sparAnd ivymatted at the mouth, whereinThou unbeholden may’st behold, unheardHear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.’
“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloudHad lost his way between the piney hills.They came—all three—the Olympian goddesses.Naked they came to the smoothswarded bower,Lustrous with lilyflower, violeteyedBoth white and blue, with lotetree-fruit thickset,Shadowed with singing-pine; and all the while,Above, the overwandering ivy and vineThis way and that in many a wild festoonRan riot, garlanding the gnarled boughsWith bunch and berry and flower thro’ and thro’.On the treetops a golden glorious cloudLeaned, slowly dropping down ambrosial dew.How beautiful they were, too beautifulTo look upon! but Paris was to meMore lovelier than all the world beside.
“O mother Ida, hearken ere I die.First spake the imperial OlympianWith archèd eyebrow smiling sovranly,Fulleyèd here. She to Paris madeProffer of royal power, ample ruleUnquestioned, overflowing revenueWherewith to embellish state, ‘from many a valeAnd river-sundered champaign clothed with corn,Or upland glebe wealthy in oil and wine—Honour and homage, tribute, tax and toll,From many an inland town and haven large,Mast-thronged below her shadowing citadelIn glassy bays among her tallest towers.’
“O mother Ida, hearken 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, measured byThe height of the general feeling, wisdombornAnd throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crownsAlliance and allegiance evermore. Such boon from meHeaven’s Queen to thee kingborn,A shepherd all thy life and yet kingborn,Should come most welcome, seeing men, in thisOnly are likest gods, who have attainedRest in a happy place and quiet seatsAbove the thunder, with undying blissIn knowledge of their own supremacy;The changeless calm of undisputed right,The highest height and topmost strength of power.’
“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruitOut at arm’s length, so much the thought of powerFlattered his heart: but Pallas where she stoodSomewhat apart, her clear and barèd limbsO’erthwarted with the brazen-headed spearUpon her pearly shoulder leaning cold;The while, above, her full and earnest eyeOver her snowcold breast and angry cheekKept watch, waiting decision, made reply.
“‘Selfreverence, selfknowledge, selfcontrolAre the three hinges of the gates of Life,That open into power, everywayWithout horizon, bound or shadow or cloud.Yet not for power (power of herselfWill come uncalled-for) but to live by lawActing the law we live by without fear,And, because right is right, to follow rightWere wisdom, in the scorn of consequence.
(Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.)Not as men value gold because it tricksAnd blazons outward Life with ornament,But rather as the miser, for itself.Good for selfgood doth half destroy selfgood.The means and end, like two coiled snakes, infectEach other, bound in one with hateful love.So both into the fountain and the streamA drop of poison falls. Come hearken to me,And look upon me and consider me,So shall thou find me fairest, so endurance,Like to an athlete’s arm, shall still becomeSinewed with motion, till thine active will(As the dark body of the Sun robed roundWith his own ever-emanating lights)Be flooded o’er with her own effluences,And thereby grow to freedom.’
“Here she ceasedAnd Paris pondered. I cried out, ‘Oh, Paris,Give it to Pallas!’ but he heard me not,Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!
“O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida,Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.Idalian Aphrodite oceanborn,Fresh as the foam, newbathed in Paphian wells,With rosy slender fingers upward drewFrom her warm brow and bosom her dark hairFragrant and thick, and on her head upboundIn a purple band: below her lucid neckShone ivorylike, and from the ground her footGleamed rosywhite, and o’er her rounded formBetween the shadows of the vine-bunchesFloated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.
“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,The herald of her triumph, drawing nighHalf-whispered in his ear, ‘I promise theeThe fairest and most loving wife in Greece’.I only saw my Paris raise his arm:I only saw great Herè’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.
“Yet, mother Ida, hearken 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 passed by, a wild and wanton pard,Eyed like the evening star, with playful tailCrouched fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my armsWere wound about thee, and my hot lips prestClose-close to thine in that quickfalling dewOf fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rainsFlash in the pools of whirling Simois.
“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.They came, they cut away my tallest pines—My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledgeHigh over the blue gorge, or lower downFilling greengulphèd Ida, all betweenThe snowy peak and snowwhite cataractFostered the callow eaglet—from beneathWhose thick mysterious boughs in the darkThe panther’s roar came muffled, while I satLow in the valley. Never, nevermoreShall lone Œnone see the morning mistSweep thro’ them—never see them overlaidWith narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud,Between the loud stream and the trembling stars.
“Oh! mother Ida, hearken ere 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?Sealed it with kisses? watered it with tears?Oh happy tears, and how unlike to these!Oh happy Heaven, how can’st thou see my face?Oh happy earth, how can’st thou bear my weight?O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,There are enough unhappy on this earth,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.
“Yet, mother Ida, hear me ere I die.I will not die alone, for fiery thoughtsDo shape themselves within me, more and more,Whereof I catch the issue, as I hearDead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly seeMy far-off doubtful purpose, as a motherConjectures of the features of her childEre it is born. I will not die alone.“Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone,Lest their shrill, happy laughter, etc.(Same as last stanza of subsequent editions.)
The epithet many-fountain’d πλπῖδαοξ is Homer’s stock epithet for
A literal translation from a line in Callimachus, LavacrumPalladis, 72: μεσαμβρινὴ δ’ ἔιχ’ ὅρος ἡσυχία (noonday quiet held thehill).
So Theocritus, Idyll, vii., 22:—Ανίκα δὴ καὶ σαῦρος ἐφ’ αἱμασιᾶισι καθεύδει.(When indeed the very lizard is sleeping on the loose stones of thewall.)
Ilion aspicies, firmataque turribus altis Moenia,Phoeboeae; structa canore lyrae.
The Paphos referred to is the old Paphos which was sacred toAphrodite; it was on the south-west extremity of Cyprus.
Words in this poem 76
- vale n.
- A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
- ionian a.
- Of or pertaining to Ionia or the Ionians; Ionic. [L. Ionius. See Ionic.]
- vapour n.
- Any substance in the gaseous, or aëriform, state, the condition of which is ordinarily that of a liquid or solid. [OE. vapour, OF. vapour, vapor, vapeur, F. vapeur, L. vapor; probably for cvapor, and akin to Gr. kvepti to breathe, smell, Russ. kopote fine soot. Cf. Vapid.]
- midway n.
- The middle of the way or distance; a middle way or course.
- forlorn a.
- Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
- playmate n.
- A companion in diversions; a playfellow.
- stillness n.
- The quality or state of being still; quietness; silence; calmness; inactivity.
- noonday n.
- Midday; twelve o'clock in the day; noon.
- cicala n.
- A cicada. See Cicada. [It., fr. L. cicada.]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- sunny a.
- Of or pertaining to the sun; proceeding from, or resembling the sun; hence, shining; bright; brilliant; radiant.
- brighten v. t.
- To make bright or brighter; to make to shine; to increase the luster of; to give a brighter hue to.
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- hesperian a.
- Western; being in the west; occidental. [L. hesperius, fr. hesperus the evening star, Gr. Vesper.]
- ambrosially adv.
- After the manner of ambrosia; delightfully.
- award v. t.
- To give by sentence or judicial determination; to assign or apportion, after careful regard to the nature of the case; to adjudge; as, the arbitrators awarded damages to the complainant. [OF. eswarder to look at, consider, decide, judge; es (L. ex) + warder, garder, to observe, take heed, keep, fr. OHG. wart to watch, guard. See Ward.]
- oread n.
- One of the nymphs of mountains and grottoes. [L. Oreas, -adis, Gr. oréade.]
- prest a.
- Ready; prompt; prepared. [OF. prest, F. prêt, fr. L. praestus ready. Cf. Presto.]
- whereupon adv.
- Upon which; in consequence of which; after which.
- pallas n.
- Pallas Athene, the Grecian goddess of wisdom, called also Athene, and identified, at a later period, with the Roman Minerva.
- aphrodite n.
- The Greek goddess of love, corresponding to the Venus of the Romans.
- meed v. t.
- To reward; to repay. Waytt.
- unheard a.
- Not heard; not perceived by the ear; as, words unheard by those present.
- amaracus n.
- A fragrant flower.
- asphodel n.
- A general name for a plant of the genus Asphodelus. The asphodels are hardy perennial plants, several species of which are cultivated for the beauty of their flowers. [L. asphodelus, Gr. Daffodil.]
- festoon n.
- A garland or wreath hanging in a depending curve, used in decoration for festivals, etc.; anything arranged in this way. [F. feston (cf. Sp. feston, It. festone), prob. fr. L. festum festival. See Feast.]
- gnarled a.
- Knotty; full of knots or gnarls; twisted; crossgrained.
- clearer n.
- One who, or that which, clears.
- wherewith adv.
- With which; -- used relatively.
- champaign n.
- A flat, open country. [OF. champaigne; same word as campagne.]
- honour n.
- Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
- shadowing n.
- Shade, or gradation of light and color; shading. Feltham.
- neighbour v. i.
- To dwell in the vicinity; to be a neighbor, or in the neighborhood; to be near.
- sceptre n.
- A staff or baton borne by a sovereign, as a ceremonial badge or emblem of authority; a royal mace. [F. sceptre, L. sceptrum, from Gr. shaft. See Shaft, and cf. Scape a stem, shaft.]
- boon n.
- A prayer or petition. [OE. bone, boin, a petition, fr. Icel. b; akin to Sw. & Dan. b, AS. b, and perh. to E. ban; but influenced by F. bon good, fr. L. bonus. Ban, Bounty.]
- undying a.
- Not dying; imperishable; unending; immortal; as, the undying souls of men.
- angry a.
- Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
- sequel n.
- That which follows; a succeeding part; continuation; as, the sequel of a man's advantures or history. [L. sequela, fr. sequit to follow: cf. F. séquelle a following. See Sue to follow.]
- guerdon n.
- A reward; requital; recompense; -- used in both a good and a bad sense. [OF. guerdon, guerredon, LL. widerdonum (influenced by L. donum gift, cf. Donation ), fr. OHG. widarl; widar again, against (G. wider wieder) + lon reward, G. lo]
- shalt
- 2d per. sing. of Shall.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- vigour v. t.
- To invigorate. Feltham.
- wedded a.
- Joined in wedlock; married.
- circled a.
- Having the form of a circle; round.
- commeasure v. t.
- To be commensurate with; to equal.
- idalian a.
- Of or pertaining to Idalium, a mountain city in Cyprus, or to Venus, to whom it was sacred.
- paphian a.
- Of or pertaining to Paphos, an ancient city of Cyprus, having a celebrated temple of Venus; hence, pertaining to Venus, or her rites.
- ambrosial a.
- Consisting of, or partaking of the nature of, ambrosia; delighting the taste or smell; delicious.
- spoke n.
- The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
- methinks v.
- It seems to me; I think. See Me. [AS. þyncan to seem, me þynceedh, me þuhte, OE. me thinketh, me thoughte; akin to G. dünken to seem, denken to think, and E. think. See Me, and Think.]
- pard n.
- A leopard; a panther. [L. pardus, Gr. p tiger, panther.]
- snowy a.
- White like snow.
- callow a.
- Destitute of feathers; naked; unfledged. [OE. calewe, calu, bald, AS. calu; akin to D. kaal, OHG. chalo, G. Kuhl; cf. L. calvus.]
- eaglet n.
- A young eagle, or a diminutive eagle. [Cf. OF. aiglet.]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
- somewhere adv.
- In some place unknown or not specified; in one place or another.
- whereof adv.
- Of which; of whom; formerly, also, with which; -- used relatively.
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- dimly adv.
- In a dim or obscure manner; not brightly or clearly; with imperfect sight.
- unblest a.
- Not blest; excluded from benediction; hence, accursed; wretched. [Pref. un- not + blessed, blest.]
- starless a.
- Being without stars; having no stars visible; as, a starless night.
- sate v. t.
- To satisfy the desire or appetite of; to satiate; to glut; to surfeit. [Probably shortened fr. satiate: cf. L. satus full. See Satiate.]
- changeful a.
- Full of change; mutable; inconstant; fickle; uncertain.
- heartburning a.
- Causing discontent.
- thickset a.
- Close planted; as, a thickset wood; a thickset hedge.
- glorious a.
- Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
- eyebrow n.
- The brow or hairy arch above the eye.
- unquestioned a.
- Not called in question; not doubted.
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- changeless a.
- That can not be changed; constant; as, a changeless purpose.
- hateful a.
- Manifesting hate or hatred; malignant; malevolent.
- sinewed a.
- Furnished with sinews; as, a strong-sinewed youth.
- crouched a.
- Marked with the sign of the cross. Crouched friar. See Crutched friar, under Crutched.
- nevermore adv.
- Never again; at no time hereafter. Testament of Love. Tyndale.
- cyprus n.
- A thin, transparent stuff, the same as, or corresponding to, crape. It was either white or black, the latter being most common, and used for mourning. [OE. cipres, cypirs; perh. so named as being first manufactured in Cyprus. Cf. Cipers.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Œnone is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Project Gutenberg ebook #8601; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Alfred Tennyson, Œnone, in The Early Poems (1830–1842), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #8601, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tennyson-early-poems/none.html, id L16533.
Form and metre
Œnone is 529 lines in 50 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.8 syllables. 42 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 43% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter, other poems in blank verse.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 9 -A-B-------A-B die · mineA · board · godsB · whereupon · due · eve · voice · day · each · cave · pineA · unheard · godsB
- 11 ---A-----A------- die · lit · lean'd · dewA · whom · grows · gods · made · rule · revenueA · vale · corn · ore · toll · large · citadel · towers
- 12 -A-----BBA---- die · powerA · all · bred · crowns · hand · me · bornB · bornB · powerA · attain'd · seats · bliss · supremacy
- 13 A------A-A dieA · fruit · power · stood · limbs · spear · cold · earnesteyeA · cheek · replyA
- 15 A-A-- dieA · gifts · meA · am · fairest
- 19 ABAA---B---A dieA · eyesB · nighA · theeA · greece · fear · arm · eyesB · cloud · bower · alone · dieA
- 23 A-----------A-A dieA · times · hill · stone · tears · these · face · weight · cloud · earth · live · life · dieA · within · dieA
- 24 -----A---A- die · thoughts · more · hear · hills · seeA · mother · child · comes · meA · eyes
- 25 A-A--B----B-- dieA · alone · meA · death · love · goB · forth · says · sound · men · knowB · day · fire
- 26 ---AB--------A----B- lovelier · beautiful · lean · wornA · belowB · front · wide · wall · divine · gods · sky · ilion · came · forlornA · neck · marblecold · rest · stone · shadowB · cliff
- 30 ---------AA die · morn · alone · star · skin · hair · god's · brightens · out · apolloA · apolloA
- 33 -A----------A---- die · cloudA · hills · goddesses · bower · violeteyed · thickset · while · vine · festoon · boughs · thro · cloudA · dew · beautiful · me · beside
- 35 AB-AC-ACCD--D--B dieA · powerB · all · byA · wisdombornC · crowns · meA · kingbornC · kingbornC · thisD · attained · seats · blissD · supremacy · right · powerB
- 36 A------A-A dieA · fruit · power · stood · limbs · spear · cold · eyeA · cheek · replyA
- 38 --------AA------- die · tricks · ornament · itself · selfgood · infect · love · stream · meA · meA · endurance · become · will · round · lights · effluences · freedom
- 41 ABAA--B---A dieA · eyesB · nighA · theeA · greece · arm · eyesB · cloud · bower · alone · dieA
- 44 A-----------A-A dieA · times · hill · stone · tears · these · face · weight · cloud · earth · live · life · dieA · within · dieA
- 45 A----A--BAB-- dieA · thoughts · more · hear · hills · seeA · mother · child · aloneB · dieA · aloneB · etc · editions
- 48 AA-- — · — · the · wall
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. | 11 | ···/˘·˘/˘˘· |
| The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/·· |
| Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, | 10 | ·········· |
| And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down | 10 | ···/·/˘/·· |
| Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars | 10 | ···/······ |
| The long brook falling thro’ the clov’n ravine | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| In cataract after cataract to the sea. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Behind the valley topmost Gargarus> | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Stands up and takes the morning: but in front | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘/ |
| Troas and Ilion’s column’d citadel, | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| The crown of Troas. | 4 | ···· |
| Hither came at noon | 5 | /˘··· |
| Mournful Œnone, wandering forlorn | 8 | /˘·/˘˘˘/ |
| Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck | 10 | ·········· |
| Floated her hair or seem’d to float in rest. | 10 | /˘········ |
| She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. | 10 | ·/·····/˘· |
| “O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/··/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: | 9 | ···/˘/··· |
| The grasshopper is silent in the grass; | 10 | ·/·˘·/˘··· |
| The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. | 11 | ···/···˘/˘· |
| The purple flowers droop: the golden bee | 9 | ·/˘/··/˘· |
| Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘/ |
| My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, | 10 | ·········· |
| My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And I am all aweary of my life. | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| “O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/··/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves | 10 | ·········· |
| That house the cold crown’d snake! O mountain brooks, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| I am the daughter of a River-God, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all | 10 | ·········· |
| My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| A cloud that gather’d shape: for it may be | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| That, while I speak of it, a little while | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| My heart may wander from its deeper woe. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| “O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/··/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| I waited underneath the dawning hills, | 10 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘· |
| Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, | 10 | ˘/·/˘··/˘· |
| And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: | 10 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘· |
| Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, | 9 | /˘/˘//˘/˘ |
| Leading a jet-black goat white-horn’d, white-hooved, | 10 | /˘········ |
| Came up from reedy Simois all alone. | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Far-off the torrent call’d me from the cleft: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Far up the solitary morning smote | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| I sat alone: white-breasted like a star | 10 | ··˘/·/˘··· |
| Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| Droop’d from his shoulder, but his sunny hair | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Cluster’d about his temples like a God’s; | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| And his cheek brighten’d as the foam-bow brightens | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart | 10 | ·········· |
| Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. | 11 | ···˘/·/˘··· |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, | 11 | ˘/····˘/˘˘· |
| That smelt ambrosially, and while I look’d | 10 | ··˘/˘˘···· |
| And listen’d, the full-flowing river of speech | 10 | ·/˘··//˘·· |
| Came down upon my heart. | 6 | ······ |
| “‘My own Œnone, | 3 | ··· |
| Beautiful-brow’d Œnone, my own soul, | 8 | /˘˘····· |
| Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n | 10 | ˘/···/˘··· |
| “For the most fair,” would seem to award it thine, | 11 | ·······˘/·· |
| As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt | 12 | ······/˘/˘˘· |
| The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| Of movement, and the charm of married brows.’ | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And added ‘This was cast upon the board, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| When all the full-faced presence of the Gods | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon | 10 | ·······/˘/ |
| Rose feud, with question unto whom ’twere due: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Delivering, that to me, by common voice | 10 | ˘/˘····/˘· |
| Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day, | 9 | ˘/˘/˘···· |
| Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each | 10 | ····˘/˘/˘· |
| This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard | 10 | ··˘/····˘/ |
| Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.’ | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Had lost his way between the piney sides | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, | 10 | /˘·····/˘/ |
| And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, | 10 | ·····/˘··/ |
| Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, | 10 | /˘˘/˘˘·/˘˘ |
| Lotos and lilies: and a wind arose, | 10 | /˘·/˘···˘/ |
| And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, | 11 | ·/˘/·/˘/˘·· |
| This way and that, in many a wild festoon | 10 | ·····/···/ |
| Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs | 8 | ·//˘˘··· |
| With bunch and berry and flower thro’ and thro’. | 10 | ···/˘·/··· |
| “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, | 10 | ·····/˘/·· |
| And o’er him flow’d a golden cloud, and lean’d | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Upon him, slowing dropping fragrant dew. | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom | 10 | ·········· |
| Coming thro’ Heaven, like a light that grows | 9 | /˘·/····· |
| Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Proffer of royal power, ample rule | 9 | /˘·/˘//˘· |
| Unquestion’d, overflowing revenue | 10 | ˘/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| Wherewith to embellish state, ‘from many a vale | 11 | ˘/·˘/˘··/·· |
| And river-sunder’d champaign clothed with corn, | 10 | ·/˘··˘/··· |
| Or labour’d mines undrainable of ore. | 10 | ·········· |
| Honour,’ she said, ‘and homage, tax and toll, | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| From many an inland town and haven large, | 10 | ·/·/···/˘· |
| Mast-throng’d beneath her shadowing citadel | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| In glassy bays among her tallest towers.’ | 10 | ·/˘····/˘/ |
| “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Still she spake on and still she spake of power, | 10 | ·········/ |
| ‘Which in all action is the end of all; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred | 10 | //˘··/˘/˘· |
| And throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crowns | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand | 10 | ˘/˘·˘/˘··· |
| Fail from the sceptre staff. Such boon from me, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| From me, Heaven’s Queen, Paris to thee king-born, | 11 | ··/˘·/˘···· |
| A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power | 9 | ···/˘/··/ |
| Only, are likest gods, who have attain’d | 10 | /˘······˘/ |
| Rest in a happy place and quiet seats | 9 | ···/˘··/· |
| Above the thunder, with undying bliss | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| In knowledge of their own supremacy.’ | 9 | ·/˘···˘/˘ |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Out at arm’s-length, so much the thought of power | 10 | ·········/ |
| Flatter’d his spirit; but Pallas where she stood | 10 | /˘·/······ |
| Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs | 9 | //˘/····· |
| O’erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| The while, above, her full and earnesteye | 10 | ·········· |
| Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. | 10 | ··/˘˘/˘·˘/ |
| “‘Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·˘/ |
| These three alone lead life to sovereign power. | 10 | ··˘/···/˘/ |
| Yet not for power, (power of herself | 8 | ···//·˘/ |
| Would come uncall’d for) but to live by law, | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Acting the law we live by without fear; | 10 | /˘········ |
| And, because right is right, to follow right | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.’ | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Again she said: ‘I woo thee not with gifts. | 10 | ˘/········ |
| Sequel of guerdon could not alter me | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| So shalt thou find me fairest. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Yet indeed, | 3 | ·˘/ |
| If gazing on divinity disrobed | 9 | ·/˘·˘/˘·· |
| Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Unbiass’d by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, | 10 | ·········· |
| So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God’s, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| To push thee forward thro’ a life of shocks, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow | 9 | /˘····/˘· |
| Sinew’d with action, and the full-grown will. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Circled thro’ all experiences, pure law, | 9 | /˘··˘/˘·· |
| Commeasure perfect freedom.’ | 7 | ˘/˘/·/˘ |
| “Here she ceased, | 3 | ··· |
| And Paris ponder’d, and I cried, ‘O Paris, | 11 | ·/˘/˘····/˘ |
| Give it to Pallas!’ but he heard me not, | 10 | ·········· |
| Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| “O mother Ida, many-fountain’d Ida. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/··/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Idalian Aphrodite, beautiful, | 10 | ˘/˘˘·˘/˘/˘ |
| Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, | 11 | ·······/˘˘· |
| With rosy slender fingers backward drew | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat | 10 | ˘/˘/˘··/˘· |
| And shoulder: from the violets her light foot | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Shone rosy-white, and o’er her rounded form | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Between the shadows of the vine-bunches | 10 | ···/····/˘ |
| Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved. | 10 | /˘·/˘/···· |
| “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Half-whisper’d in his ear, ‘I promise thee | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| The fairest and most loving wife in Greece’. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| She spoke and laugh’d: I shut my sight for fear: | 10 | ·········· |
| But when I look’d, Paris had raised his arm, | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| And I beheld great Herè’s angry eyes, | 9 | ··˘/··/˘· |
| As she withdrew into the golden cloud, | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| And I was left alone within the bower; | 10 | ····˘/···/ |
| And from that time to this I am alone, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| And I shall be alone until I die. | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| “Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Fairest—why fairest wife? am I not fair? | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| My love hath told me so a thousand times. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, | 10 | ˘/·····/˘· |
| When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Crouch’d fawning in the weed. Most loving is she? | 11 | ·/˘····/˘·· |
| Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest | 10 | ·········· |
| Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| “O mother, hear me yet before I die. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| They came, they cut away my tallest pines, | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| High over the blue gorge, and all between | 9 | ········· |
| The snowy peak and snow-white cataract | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Foster’d the callow eaglet—from beneath | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| The panther’s roar came muffled, while I sat | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Low in the valley. Never, never more | 8 | ···/˘//· |
| Shall lone Œnone see the morning mist | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Sweep thro’ them; never see them overlaid | 9 | ···/··/˘· |
| With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| “O mother, here me yet before I die. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I wish that somewhere in the ruin’d folds, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The Abominable, that uninvited came | 10 | ·˘/˘··˘/˘· |
| Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| And cast the golden fruit upon the board, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, | 10 | ·········· |
| And tell her to her face how much I hate | 10 | ·········· |
| Her presence, hated both of Gods and men. | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| “O mother, here me yet before I die. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| In this green valley, under this green hill, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Ev’n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Seal’d it with kisses? water’d it with tears? | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| O happy tears, and how unlike to these! | 10 | ·/˘···˘/·· |
| O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face? | 10 | ·/˘/······ |
| O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight? | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, | 9 | ·····//˘· |
| There are enough unhappy on this earth, | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| Pass by the happy souls, that love to live: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| I pray thee, pass before my light of life, | 10 | ·········· |
| And shadow all my soul, that I may die. | 10 | ·/········ |
| Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die. | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| “O mother, hear me yet before I die. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Do shape themselves within me, more and more, | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see | 10 | ·/·····/˘· |
| My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother | 11 | ···/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Conjectures of the features of her child | 10 | ˘/˘··/˘··· |
| Ere it is born: her child!—a shudder comes | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Across me: never child be born of me, | 9 | ˘/·/····· |
| Unblest, to vex me with his father’s eyes! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| “O mother, hear me yet before I die. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Walking the cold and starless road of Death | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love | 10 | ····/˘·/˘· |
| With the Greek woman. I will rise and go | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth | 10 | ·········· |
| Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| A fire dances before her, and a sound | 10 | ·//˘······ |
| Rings ever in her ears of armed men. | 8 | ·/······ |
| What this may be I know not, but I know | 10 | ·········· |
| That, wheresoe’er I am by night and day, | 10 | ·········· |
| All earth and air seem only burning fire.” | 10 | ·····/˘/˘/ |
| There is a dale in Ida, lovelier | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Than any in old Ionia, beautiful | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| With emerald slopes of sunny sward, that lean | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Above the loud glenriver, which hath worn | 10 | ·········· |
| A path thro’ steepdown granite walls below | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Mantled with flowering tendriltwine. In front | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| The cedarshadowy valleys open wide. | 11 | ······/˘/˘· |
| Far-seen, high over all the God-built wall | 9 | ········· |
| And many a snowycolumned range divine, | 10 | ·/······˘/ |
| Mounted with awful sculptures—men and Gods, | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| The work of Gods—bright on the dark-blue sky | 10 | ·········· |
| The windy citadel of Ilion | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| Shone, like the crown of Troas. Hither came | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Mournful Œnone wandering forlorn | 8 | /˘·/˘˘˘/ |
| Of Paris, once her playmate. Round her neck, | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Her neck all marblewhite and marblecold, | 10 | ·········· |
| Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest. | 10 | /˘········ |
| She, leaning on a vine-entwinèd stone, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shadow | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/· |
| Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. | 10 | ·/·····/˘· |
| “O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida, | 11 | ·/˘/˘····/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| The grasshopper is silent in the grass, | 10 | ·/·˘·/˘··· |
| The lizard with his shadow on the stone | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Sleeps like a shadow, and the scarletwinged | 10 | ···/······ |
| Cicala in the noonday leapeth not | 10 | ˘/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Along the water-rounded granite-rock. | 10 | ˘/·/˘/˘/˘· |
| The purple flower droops: the golden bee | 9 | ·/˘/··/˘· |
| Is lilycradled: I alone awake. | 9 | ·····˘/˘/ |
| My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, | 10 | ·········· |
| My heart is breaking and my eyes are dim, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And I am all aweary of my life. | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| “O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida, | 11 | ·/˘/˘····/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves | 10 | ·········· |
| That house the cold crowned snake! O mountain brooks, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| I am the daughter of a River-God, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all | 10 | ·········· |
| My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| A cloud that gathered shape: for it may be | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| That, while I speak of it, a little while | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| My heart may wander from its deeper woe. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| “O mother Ida, manyfountained Ida, | 11 | ·/˘/˘····/˘ |
| Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Aloft the mountain lawn was dewydark, | 10 | ˘/·/˘····· |
| And dewydark aloft the mountain pine; | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, | 9 | /˘/˘//˘/˘ |
| Leading a jetblack goat whitehorned, whitehooved, | 11 | /˘·/˘·/···· |
| Came up from reedy Simois all alone. | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| “O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| I sate alone: the goldensandalled morn | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Rosehued the scornful hills: I sate alone | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| With downdropt eyes: white-breasted like a star | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Fronting the dawn he came: a leopard skin | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| From his white shoulder drooped: his sunny hair | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Clustered about his temples like a God’s: | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| And his cheek brightened, as the foambow brightens | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| When the wind blows the foam; and I called out, | 10 | ·········· |
| ‘Welcome Apollo, welcome home Apollo, | 11 | /˘˘/˘/˘·˘/˘ |
| Apollo, my Apollo, loved Apollo’. | 11 | ˘/˘·˘/˘·˘/˘ |
| “Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| He, mildly smiling, in his milk-white palm | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Close-held a golden apple, lightningbright | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| With changeful flashes, dropt with dew of Heaven | 10 | ·/˘/˘····/ |
| Ambrosially smelling. From his lip, | 9 | ˘/˘˘/˘··· |
| Curved crimson, the full-flowing river of speech | 10 | ·/˘··//˘·· |
| Came down upon my heart. | 6 | ······ |
| “‘My own Œnone, | 3 | ··· |
| Beautifulbrowed Œnone, mine own soul, | 8 | ········ |
| Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav’n | 10 | ˘/···/˘··· |
| “For the most fair,” in aftertime may breed | 10 | ·········· |
| Deep evilwilledness of heaven and sore | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Heartburning toward hallowed Ilion; | 9 | /·˘··/˘·· |
| And all the colour of my afterlife | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Will be the shadow of to-day. To-day | 10 | ···/······ |
| Herè and Pallas and the floating grace | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Of laughter-loving Aphrodite meet | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| In manyfolded Ida to receive | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| This meed of beauty, she to whom my hand | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Award the palm. Within the green hillside, | 10 | ˘/······/· |
| Under yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Is an ingoing grotto, strown with spar | 9 | ··/˘/···· |
| And ivymatted at the mouth, wherein | 10 | ·········· |
| Thou unbeholden may’st behold, unheard | 10 | ······˘/˘/ |
| Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.’ | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| “Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Had lost his way between the piney hills. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| They came—all three—the Olympian goddesses. | 10 | ·····˘/˘/˘ |
| Naked they came to the smoothswarded bower, | 10 | /˘·······/ |
| Lustrous with lilyflower, violeteyed | 9 | /˘······· |
| Both white and blue, with lotetree-fruit thickset, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| Shadowed with singing-pine; and all the while, | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Above, the overwandering ivy and vine | 12 | ········/˘·· |
| This way and that in many a wild festoon | 10 | ·····/···/ |
| Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs | 8 | ·//˘˘··· |
| With bunch and berry and flower thro’ and thro’. | 10 | ···/˘·/··· |
| On the treetops a golden glorious cloud | 10 | ··/··/˘/˘· |
| Leaned, slowly dropping down ambrosial dew. | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| How beautiful they were, too beautiful | 9 | ·/˘···/˘˘ |
| To look upon! but Paris was to me | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| More lovelier than all the world beside. | 10 | ········˘/ |
| “O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| First spake the imperial Olympian | 9 | ···˘/˘˘/˘ |
| With archèd eyebrow smiling sovranly, | 9 | ··/·/˘··· |
| Fulleyèd here. She to Paris made | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Proffer of royal power, ample rule | 9 | /˘·/˘//˘· |
| Unquestioned, overflowing revenue | 10 | ˘/˘/˘·˘/˘· |
| Wherewith to embellish state, ‘from many a vale | 11 | ˘/·˘/˘··/·· |
| And river-sundered champaign clothed with corn, | 10 | ·/˘/˘˘/··· |
| Or upland glebe wealthy in oil and wine— | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| Honour and homage, tribute, tax and toll, | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| From many an inland town and haven large, | 10 | ·/·/···/˘· |
| Mast-thronged below her shadowing citadel | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| In glassy bays among her tallest towers.’ | 10 | ·/˘····/˘/ |
| “O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Still she spake on and still she spake of power | 10 | ·········/ |
| ‘Which in all action is the end of all. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Power fitted to the season, measured by | 10 | //˘··/˘/˘· |
| The height of the general feeling, wisdomborn | 11 | ····/˘/˘··· |
| And throned of wisdom—from all neighbour crowns | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Alliance and allegiance evermore. Such boon from me | 14 | ˘/˘·˘/˘/˘····· |
| Heaven’s Queen to thee kingborn, | 7 | /˘····· |
| A shepherd all thy life and yet kingborn, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Should come most welcome, seeing men, in this | 9 | ···/˘/··· |
| Only are likest gods, who have attained | 10 | /˘······˘/ |
| Rest in a happy place and quiet seats | 9 | ···/˘··/· |
| Above the thunder, with undying bliss | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| In knowledge of their own supremacy; | 9 | ·/˘···˘/˘ |
| The changeless calm of undisputed right, | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| The highest height and topmost strength of power.’ | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··/ |
The first 400 of 529 lines; the reader marks them all.
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.