First published in 1833, On being republished in 1842 this poem was practically rewritten, the alterations and additions so transforming the poem as to make it almost a new work. I have therefore printed a complete transcript of the edition of 1833, which the reader can compare. The final text is, with the exception of one alteration which will be noticed, precisely that of 1842, so there is no trouble with variants. _Œnone_ is the first of Tennyson’s fine classical studies. The poem is modelled partly on the Alexandrian Idyll, such an Idyll for instance as the second Idyll of Theocritus or the _Megara_ or _Europa_ of Moschus, and partly perhaps on the narratives in the _Metamorphoses_ of Ovid, to which the opening bears a typical resemblance. It is possible that the poem may have been suggested by Beattie’s _Judgment of Paris_ which tells the same story, and tells it on the same lines on which it is told here, though it is not placed in the mouth of Œnone. Beattie’s poem opens with an elaborate description of Ida and of Troy in the distance. Paris, the husband of Œnone, is one afternoon confronted with the three goddesses who are, as in Tennyson’s Idyll, elaborately delineated as symbolising what they here symbolise. Each makes her speech and each offers what she has to offer, worldly dominion, wisdom, sensual pleasure. There is, of course, no comparison in point of merit between the two poems, Beattie’s being in truth perfectly commonplace. In its symbolic aspect the poem may be compared with the temptations to which Christ is submitted in _Paradise Regained_. See books iii. and iv. There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier[1] 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 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[2]> 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 Œnone, wandering forlorn 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 Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. “O mother Ida, many-fountain’d[3] Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:[4] The grasshopper is silent in the grass; The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,[5] Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps.[6] The purple flowers droop: the golden bee Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,[7] And I am all aweary of my life.