Xxvii

"What puts it in my head to make yourself judge you?" Well, it may be, the name of Helen brought to mind A certain myth I mused in years long left behind: How she that fled from Greece with Paris whom she loved, And came to Troy, and there found shelter, and so proved Such cause of the world's woe,--how she, old stories call This creature, Helen's self, never saw Troy at all. Jove had his fancy-fit, must needs take empty air, Fashion her likeness forth, and set the phantom there I' the midst for sport, to try conclusions with the blind And blundering race, the game create for Gods, mankind: Experiment on these,--establish who would yearn To give up life for her, who, other-minded, spurn The best her eyes could smile,--make half the world sublime, And half absurd, for just a phantom all the time! Meanwhile true Helen's self sat, safe and far away, By a great river-side, beneath a purer day, With solitude around, tranquillity within; Was able to lean forth, look, listen, through the din And stir; could estimate the worthlessness or worth Of Helen who inspired such passion to the earth, A phantom all the time! That put it in my head To make yourself judge you--the phantom-wife instead O' the tearful true Elvire!