Alfred, Lord Tennyson - OEnone lyrics

There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier 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 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 OEnone, 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 Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: The gra**hopper is silent in the gra**; The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. 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, 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, 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 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 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 OEnone, Beautiful-brow'd OEnone, 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.' "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, Herè 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, 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 peaco*k 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 gla**y 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 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 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, Unbia**'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, 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 wells, With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom 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 Herè'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 OEnone 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 Peleïan 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 d**h, d**h, d**h, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pa** by the happy souls, that love to live: I pray thee, pa** 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 d**h 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 Ca**andra, 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 OEnone 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-entwinèd 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 gra**hopper is silent in the gra**, 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 OEnone, Beautifulbrowed OEnone, 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 Herè 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 archèd eyebrow smiling sovranly, Fulleyèd 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 gla**y 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 barèd 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 Herè'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 pa**ed 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 greengulphèd 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 OEnone 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 d**h, d**h, d**h, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pa** by the happy souls, that love to live: I pray thee, pa** 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.)