Who was He who found for thee That name, truthful utterly— Was it One beyond our vision Moving sure in pre-decision Of man’s doom his mystic lips?— Calling thee, the Battle-wed, Thee, the Strife-encompassèd, HELEN? Yea, in fate’s derision, Hell in cities, Hell in ships, Hell in hearts of men they knew her, When the dim and delicate fold Of her curtains backward rolled, And to sea, to sea, she threw her In the West Wind’s giant hold; And with spear and sword behind her Came the hunters in a flood, Down the oarblade’s viewless trail Tracking, till in Simoïs’ vale Through the leaves they crept to find her, A Wrath, a seed of blood. (_The Trojans welcomed her with triumph and praised Alexander till at last their song changed and they saw another meaning in Alexander’s name also._) So the Name to Ilion came On God’s thought-fulfilling flame, She a vengeance and a token Of the unfaith to bread broken, Of the hearth of God betrayed, Against them whose voices swelled Glorying in the prize they held And the Spoiler’s vaunt outspoken And the song his brethren made ’Mid the bridal torches burning; Till, behold, the ancient City Of King Priam turned, and turning Took a new song for her learning, A song changed and full of pity, With the cry of a lost nation; And she changed the bridegroom’s name: Called him Paris Ghastly-wed; For her sons were with the dead, And her life one lamentation, ’Mid blood and burning flame. (_Like a lion’s whelp reared as a pet and turning afterwards to a great beast of prey,_) Lo, once there was a herdsman reared In his own house, so stories tell, A lion’s whelp, a milk-fed thing And soft in life’s first opening Among the sucklings of the herd; The happy children loved him well, And old men smiled, and oft, they say, In men’s arms, like a babe, he lay, Bright-eyed, and toward the hand that teased him Eagerly fawning for food or play. Then on a day outflashed the sudden Rage of the lion brood of yore; He paid his debt to them that fed With wrack of herds and carnage red, Yea, wrought him a great feast unbidden, Till all the house-ways ran with gore; A sight the thralls fled weeping from, A great red slayer, beard a-foam, High-priest of some blood-cursèd altar God had uplifted against that home. (_So was it with Helen in Troy._) And how shall I call the thing that came At the first hour to Ilion city? Call it a dream of peace untold, A secret joy in a mist of gold, A woman’s eye that was soft, like flame, A flower which ate a man’s heart with pity. But she swerved aside and wrought to her kiss a bitter ending, And a wrath was on her harbouring, a wrath upon her friending, When to Priam and his sons she fled quickly o’er the deep, With the god to whom she sinned for her watcher on the wind, A death-bride, whom brides long shall weep. (_Men say that Good Fortune wakes the envy of God; not so; Good Fortune may be innocent, and then there is no vengeance_.)