LIX.

They reach'd the gateway of that highest glen
And halted, wond'ring what the end should be;
But Paris whisper'd Helen, while his men
Fell back: "Here judged I Gods, here shalt thou see
What judgment mine old love will pass on me.
But hide thee here; thou soon the end shalt know,
Whether the Gods at length will set thee free
From that old net they wove so long ago."

LX.

Ah, there with wide snows round her like a pall,
OEnone crouch'd in sable robes; as still
As Winter brooding o'er the Summer's fall,
Or Niobe upon her haunted hill,
A woman changed to stone by grief, where chill
The rain-drops fall like tears, and the wind sighs:
And Paris deem'd he saw a deadly will
Unmoved in wild OEnone's frozen eyes.

LXI.

"Nay, prayer to her were vain as prayer to Fate,"
He murmur'd, almost glad that it was so,
Like some sick man that need no longer wait,
But his pain lulls as Death draws near his woe.
And Paris beckon'd to his men, and slow
They bore him dying from that fatal place,