Now farewell, prince!  I rank thee aye with gods: 
    And read this lesson to the afterdays,
    Mayhap they’ll prize it:  ‘Honour is of Zeus.’

IDYLL XVIII.

The Bridal of Helen.

    Whilom, in Lacedaemon,
      Tript many a maiden fair
    To gold-tressed Menelaus’ halls,
      With hyacinths in her hair: 
    Twelve to the Painted Chamber,
      The queenliest in the land,
    The clustered loveliness of Greece,
      Came dancing hand in hand. 
    For Helen, Tyndarus’ daughter,
      Had just been wooed and won,
    Helen the darling of the world,
      By Atreus’ younger son: 
    With woven steps they beat the floor
      In unison, and sang
    Their bridal-hymn of triumph
      Till all the palace rang.

    “Slumberest so soon, sweet bridegroom? 
      Art thou o’erfond of sleep? 
    Or hast thou leadenweighted limbs? 
      Or hadst thou drunk too deep
    When thou didst fling thee to thy lair? 
      Betimes thou should’st have sped,
    If sleep were all thy purpose,
      Unto thy bachelor’s bed: 
    And left her in her mother’s arms
      To nestle, and to play
    A girl among her girlish mates
      Till deep into the day:—­
    For not alone for this night,
      Nor for the next alone,
    But through the days and through the years
      Thou hast her for thine own.

    “Nay! heaven, O happy bridegroom,
      Smiled as thou enteredst in
    To Sparta, like thy brother kings,
      And told thee thou should’st win! 
    What hero son-in-law of Zeus
      Hath e’er aspired to be? 
    Yet lo! one coverlet enfolds
      The child of Zeus, and thee. 
    Ne’er did a thing so lovely
      Roam the Achaian lea.

    “And who shall match her offspring,
      If babes are like their mother? 
    For we were playmates once, and ran
      And raced with one another
    (All varnished, warrior fashion)
      Along Eurotas’ tide,
    Thrice eighty gentle maidens,
      Each in her girlhood’s pride: 
    Yet none of all seemed faultless,
      If placed by Helen’s side.

    “As peers the nascent Morning
      Over thy shades, O Night,
    When Winter disenchains the land,
      And Spring goes forth in white: 
    So Helen shone above us,
      All loveliness and light.

    “As climbs aloft some cypress,
      Garden or glade to grace;
    As the Thessalian courser lends
      A lustre to the race: 
    So bright o’er Lacedaemon
      Shone Helen’s rosebud face.

    “And who into the basket e’er
      The yarn so deftly drew,
    Or through the mazes of the web
      So well the shuttle threw,
    And severed from the framework