E-Text

Tennyson's Poems

'None


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. ''none' 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 'none. Beattie's poem opens with an elaborate description of Ida and of Troy in the distance. Paris, the husband of 'none, 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 'none, 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.


"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves

That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks,

I am the daughter of a River-God, [8]

Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all

My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls

Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, [9]

A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be

That, while I speak of it, a little while

My 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 [10] all alone.


"O mother Ida, harken ere I die.

Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft:

Far up the solitary morning smote

The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes

I sat alone: white-breasted like a star

Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin

Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair

Cluster'd about his temples like a God's;

And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens

When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart

Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came.


"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm

Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,

That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd

And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech

Came down upon my heart.


"'My own 'none,

Beautiful-brow'd 'none, 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 haunt

The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace

Of movement, and the charm of married brows.'[11]


"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 Gods

Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon

Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due:

But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,

Delivering, that to me, by common voice

Elected umpire, Here comes to-day,

Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each

This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave

Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,

Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'


"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud

Had lost his way between the piney sides

Of 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,[12]

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 festoon

Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs

With 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'd

Upon him, slowing dropping fragrant dew.

Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom

Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows

Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods

Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made

Proffer of royal power, ample rule

Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue

Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale

And 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 citadel

In 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-bred

And throned of wisdom--from all neighbour crowns

Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand

Fail 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 power

Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd

Rest in a happy place and quiet seats

Above the thunder, with undying bliss

In knowledge of their own supremacy.'


"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit

Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power

Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,

The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek [13]

Kept 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 herself

Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law,

Acting the law we live by without fear;

And, because right is right, to follow right [14]

Were 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 me

To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,

So shalt thou find me fairest. Yet indeed,


If gazing on divinity disrobed

Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,

Unbiass'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure

That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee,


So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood, [15]

Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,

To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,

Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow

Sinew'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 [16] wells,

With rosy slender fingers backward drew

From her warm brows and bosom [17] her deep hair

Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat

And shoulder: from the violets her light foot

Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form

Between the shadows of the vine-bunches

Floated 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 nigh

Half-whisper'd in his ear, 'I promise thee

The 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 Here'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 tail

Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?

Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms

Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest

Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew

Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains

Flash 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 ledge

High over the blue gorge, and all between

The snowy peak and snow-white cataract

Foster'd the callow eaglet--from beneath

Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn

The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat

Low in the valley. Never, never more

Shall lone 'none see the morning mist

Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid

With 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, [18] that uninvited came

Into the fair Peleian 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 hate

Her 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 thoughts

Do shape themselves within me, more and more,

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,

Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see

My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother

Conjectures of the features of her child

Ere it is born: her child!--a shudder comes

Across 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 me

Walking the cold and starless road of

Death Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love

With the Greek woman. [19] I will rise and go

Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth

Talk with the wild Cassandra, [20] for she says

A fire dances before her, and a sound

Rings ever in her ears of armed men.

What this may be I know not, but I know

That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day,

All earth and air seem only burning fire."


[1833.]


There is a dale in Ida, lovelier

Than any in old Ionia, beautiful

With emerald slopes of sunny sward, that lean

Above the loud glenriver, which hath worn

A path thro' steepdown granite walls below

Mantled with flowering tendriltwine. In front

The cedarshadowy valleys open wide.

Far-seen, high over all the God-built wall

And many a snowycolumned range divine,

Mounted with awful sculptures--men and Gods,

The work of Gods--bright on the dark-blue sky

The windy citadel of Ilion

Shone, like the crown of Troas. Hither came

Mournful 'none wandering forlorn

Of 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-entwined stone,

Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shadow

Sloped 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 stone

Sleeps like a shadow, and the scarletwinged [21]

Cicala in the noonday leapeth not

Along the water-rounded granite-rock.

The purple flower droops: the golden bee

Is 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 Caves

That 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 all

My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls

Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,

A cloud that gathered shape: for it may be

That, while I speak of it, a little while

My 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 morn

Rosehued the scornful hills: I sate alone

With downdropt eyes: white-breasted like a star

Fronting the dawn he came: a leopard skin

From his white shoulder drooped: his sunny hair

Clustered about his temples like a God's:

And his cheek brightened, as the foambow brightens

When 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 palm

Close-held a golden apple, lightningbright

With changeful flashes, dropt with dew of Heaven

Ambrosially smelling. From his lip,

Curved crimson, the full-flowing river of speech

Came down upon my heart.


"' My own 'none,

Beautifulbrowed 'none, mine own soul,

Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n

"For the most fair," in aftertime may breed

Deep evilwilledness of heaven and sore

Heartburning toward hallowed Ilion;

And all the colour of my afterlife

Will be the shadow of to-day. To-day

Hera and Pallas and the floating grace

Of laughter-loving Aphrodite meet

In manyfolded Ida to receive

This meed of beauty, she to whom my hand

Award the palm. Within the green hillside,

Under yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,

Is an ingoing grotto, strown with spar

And ivymatted at the mouth, wherein

Thou unbeholden may'st behold, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'


"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud

Had lost his way between the piney hills.

They came--all three--the Olympian goddesses.

Naked they came to the smoothswarded bower,

Lustrous with lilyflower, violeteyed

Both white and blue, with lotetree-fruit thickset,

Shadowed with singing-pine; and all the while,

Above, the overwandering ivy and vine

This way and that in many a wild festoon

Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs

With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'.

On the treetops a golden glorious cloud

Leaned, slowly dropping down ambrosial dew.

How beautiful they were, too beautiful

To look upon! but Paris was to me

More lovelier than all the world beside.


"O mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

First spake the imperial Olympian

With arched eyebrow smiling sovranly,

Fulleyed here. She to Paris made

Proffer of royal power, ample rule

Unquestioned, overflowing revenue

Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many a vale

And 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 citadel

In 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 by

The height of the general feeling, wisdomborn

And throned of wisdom--from all neighbour crowns

Alliance and allegiance evermore. Such boon from me

Heaven's Queen to thee kingborn,

A shepherd all thy life and yet kingborn,

Should come most welcome, seeing men, in this

Only are likest gods, who have attained

Rest in a happy place and quiet seats

Above the thunder, with undying bliss

In 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 fruit

Out at arm's length, so much the thought of power

Flattered his heart: but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold;

The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snowcold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.


"'Selfreverence, selfknowledge, selfcontrol

Are the three hinges of the gates of Life,

That open into power, everyway

Without horizon, bound or shadow or cloud.

Yet not for power (power of herself

Will come uncalled-for) but to live by law

Acting the law we live by without fear,

And, because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence.


(Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.)

Not as men value gold because it tricks

And 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, infect

Each other, bound in one with hateful love.

So both into the fountain and the stream

A 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 become

Sinewed with motion, till thine active will

(As the dark body of the Sun robed round

With his own ever-emanating lights)

Be flooded o'er with her own effluences,

And thereby grow to freedom.' "Here she ceased

And 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 drew

From her warm brow and bosom her dark hair

Fragrant and thick, and on her head upbound

In a purple band: below her lucid neck

Shone ivorylike, and from the ground her foot

Gleamed rosywhite, and o'er her rounded form

Between the shadows of the vine-bunches

Floated 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 nigh

Half-whispered in his ear, 'I promise thee

The fairest and most loving wife in Greece'.

I only saw my Paris raise his arm:

I only saw great Here'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 tail

Crouched fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?

Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms

Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest

Close-close to thine in that quickfalling dew

Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains

Flash 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 ledge

High over the blue gorge, or lower down

Filling greengulphed Ida, all between

The snowy peak and snowwhite cataract

Fostered the callow eaglet--from beneath

Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark

The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat

Low in the valley. Never, nevermore

Shall lone 'none see the morning mist

Sweep thro' them--never see them overlaid

With 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 thoughts

Do shape themselves within me, more and more,

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,

Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see

My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother

Conjectures of the features of her child

Ere 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.)


[Footnote 1: Tennyson, as we learn from his 'Life' (vol. i., p. 83),] began ''none' while he and Arthur Hallam were in Spain, whither they went with money for the insurgent allies of Torrigos in the summer of 1830. He wrote part of it in the valley of Cauteretz in the Pyrenees, the picturesque beauty of which fascinated him and not only suggested the scenery of this Idyll, but inspired many years afterwards the poem 'All along the valley'. The exquisite scene with which the Idyll opens bears no resemblance at all to Mount Ida and the Troad.


[Footnote 2: Gargarus or Gargaron is the highest peak of the Ida range,] rising about 4650 feet above the level of the sea.


[Footnote 3: The epithet many-fountain'd [Greek:'polpidax'] is Homer's] stock epithet for Ida. 'Cf. Iliad', viii., 47; xiv., 283, etc., etc.


[Footnote 4: A literal translation from a line in Callimachus, 'Lavacrum] Palladis', 72:


[Greek: 'mesambrinae d'eich horos haesuchia']

(noonday quiet held the hill).


[Footnote 5: So Theocritus, 'Idyll', vii., 22:--]


[Greek: 'Anika dae kai sauros eph aimasiaisi katheudei.']


(When indeed the very lizard is sleeping on the loose stones of the

wall.)


[Footnote 6: This extraordinary mistake in natural history (the cicala] being of course loudest in mid noonday when the heat is greatest) Tennyson allowed to stand, till securing accuracy at the heavy price of a pointless pleonasm, he substituted in 1884 "and the winds are dead".


[Footnote 7: An echo from 'Henry VI.', part ii., act ii., se.] iii.:--


Mine eyes arc full of tears, my heart of grief.


[Footnote 8: 'none was the daughter of the River-God Kebren.]


[Footnote 9: For the myth here referred to see Ovid, 'Heroides',] xvi., 179-80:--


Ilion aspicies, firmataque turribus altis Moenia,

Phoeboeae; structa canore lyrae.


It was probably an application of the Theban legend of Amphion, and arose from the association of Apollo with Poseidon in founding Troy.


A fabric huge 'Rose like an exhalation,'


--Milton's 'Paradise Lost', i., 710-11.


'Cf. Gareth and Lynette', 254-7.


[Footnote 10: The river Simois, so often referred to in the 'Iliad',] had its origin in Mount Cotylus, and passing by Ilion joined the Scamander below the city.


[Footnote 11: 'Cf'. the [Greek: synophrys kora](the maid of the meeting] brows) of Theocritus, 'Id'., viii., 72. This was considered a great beauty among the Greeks, Romans and Orientals. Ovid, 'Ars. Amat'., iii., 201, speaks of women effecting this by art: "Arte, supercilii confinia nuda repletis".


[Footnote 12: The whole of this gorgeous passage is taken, with one or] two additions and alterations in the names of the flowers, from 'Iliad', xiv., 347-52, with a reminiscence no doubt of Milton, 'Paradise Lost', iv., 695-702.


[Footnote 13: The "'angry' cheek" is a fine touch.]


[Footnote 14: This fine sentiment is, of course, a commonplace among] ancient philosophers, but it may be interesting to put beside it a passage from Cicero, 'De Finibus', ii., 14, 45:


"Honestum id intelligimus quod tale est ut, detracta omni utilitate,

sine ullis praemiis fructibusve per se ipsum possit jure laudari".


We are to understand by the truly honourable that which, setting aside

all consideration of utility, may be rightly praised in itself,

exclusive of any prospect of reward or compensation.


[Footnote 15: This passage is very obscurely expressed, but the general] meaning is clear: "Until endurance grow sinewed with action, and the full-grown will, circled through all experiences grow or become law, be identified with law, and commeasure perfect freedom". The true moral ideal is to bring the will into absolute harmony with law, so that virtuous action becomes an instinct, the will no longer rebelling against the law, "service" being in very truth "perfect freedom".


[Footnote 16: The Paphos referred to is the old Paphos which was sacred] to Aphrodite; it was on the south-west extremity of Cyprus.


[Footnote 17: Adopted from a line excised in 'Mariana in the South'.] See 'supra'.


[Footnote 18: This was Eris.]


[Footnote 19: Helen.]


[Footnote 20: With these verses should be compared Schiller's fine lyric] 'Kassandra', and with the line, "All earth and air seem only burning fire,' from Webster's 'Duchess of Malfi':--


The heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,

The earth of flaming sulphur.


[Footnote 21: In the Pyrenees, where part of this poem was written, I saw] a very beautiful species of Cicala, which had scarlet wings spotted with black. Probably nothing of the kind exists in Mount Ida.

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