She spoke, and Helen’s secret soul was moved; She scorn’d the champion, but the man she loved. Fair Venus’ neck, her eyes that sparkled fire, And breast, reveal’d the queen of soft desire.[123] Struck with her presence, straight the lively red Forsook her cheek; and trembling, thus she said: “Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive? And woman’s frailty always to believe! Say, to new nations must I cross the main, Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain? For whom must Helen break her second vow? What other Paris is thy darling now? Left to Atrides, (victor in the strife,) An odious conquest and a captive wife, Hence let me sail; and if thy Paris bear My absence ill, let Venus ease his care. A handmaid goddess at his side to wait, Renounce the glories of thy heavenly state, Be fix’d for ever to the Trojan shore, His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more. For me, to lawless love no longer led, I scorn the coward, and detest his bed; Else should I merit everlasting shame, And keen reproach, from every Phrygian dame: Ill suits it now the joys of love to know, Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.” [Illustration: ] VENUS PRESENTING HELEN TO PARIS Then thus incensed, the Paphian queen replies: “Obey the power from whom thy glories rise: Should Venus leave thee, every charm must fly, Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye. Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more The world’s aversion, than their love before; Now the bright prize for which mankind engage, Than, the sad victim, of the public rage.” At this, the fairest of her sex obey’d, And veil’d her blushes in a silken shade; Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves, Led by the goddess of the Smiles and Loves. Arrived, and enter’d at the palace gate, The maids officious round their mistress wait; Then, all dispersing, various tasks attend; The queen and goddess to the prince ascend. Full in her Paris’ sight, the queen of love Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove; Where, as he view’d her charms, she turn’d away Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say: “Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame, Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword Of that brave man whom once I call’d my lord! The boaster Paris oft desired the day With Sparta’s king to meet in single fray: Go now, once more thy rival’s rage excite, Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.”