The First Vision Of Helen

_Argument—Itys, nurtured by centaurs, meets and falls in love with Helen of Troy, before her marriage with Menelaus. What befell therefrom._

Slowly blanch-handed Dawn, eyes half-awake, Upraised magnificent the silver urn, Heaped with white roses at the trembling lip, Flowers that burn with crystalline accord And die not ever. Like a pulsing heart Beat from within against the fire-loud verge A milky vast transparency of light Heavy with drowning stars; a swimming void _Morning._ Of august ether, formless as the cloud, And light made absolute. The mountains sighed, Turning in sleep. Dawn held the frozen flame An instant high above the shaggy world, Then, to the crowing of a thousand cocks, Poured out on earth the unconquerable sun!

The centaurs awoke! they aroused from their beds of pine, Their long flanks hoary with dew, and their eyes, deep-drowned In the primal slumber of stones, stirred bright to the shine! And they stamped with their hooves and their gallop abased the ground!

Swifter than arrowy birds in an eager sky, _The_ White-browed kings of the hills where old Titans feast, _Running_ —Cheiron ordered the charge with a neighing cry, _of the_ And the thousand hunters tramped like a single beast! _Centaurs._

Beautiful monstrous dreams they seemed as they ran, Trees come alive at the nod of a god grown mute! Their eyes looked up to the sun like a valiant man; Their bows clashed shrill on the loins and limbs of the brute!

Laughing, rejoicing, white as a naked birch, Slim as a spear in a torrent of moving towers, Itys, the prince, ran gay in the storm of their search, Silverly shod on feet that outstripped the Hours!

Over by Sparta bays a horn! _Ohé, Helena!_ Over by Sparta bays a horn! And the black hound grins to his milk-teeth torn; And the tall stag wishes he’d never been born! _Helena hunts on the hills!_

Past the Eurotas the chase sweeps hot! _Ohé, Helena!_ Past the Eurotas the chase sweeps hot! And the pack has nosed at a royal slot! And a white-armed girl has a magic lot! _Helena hunts on the hills!_

Echoed at Elis the dogs give tongue! _Ohé, Helena!_ Echoed at Elis the dogs give tongue! The stag flees on but his mort is sung! _The Hunting_ And the world and Helen are very young! _of_ _Helena hunts on the hills!_ _Helen._

Down by Argos the flight is stayed! _Ohé, Helena!_ Down by Argos the flight is stayed! And proud blood stifles the reeking blade!

And they cut the tongue for the golden maid! _Helena hunts on the hills!_

Over in Troy by a kingly door, _Ohé, Helena!_ Over in Troy by a kingly door, Hector’s sword is asleep from war! “Wait!” whines the bitter steel, “Two years more!” _Helena hunts on the hills!_

So the two molten clamors fused a space As silver marries brass to make a bell, Then thrust apart and vanished, save for some Faint interlocking tentacles of sound That chimed to Itys. Something halted him From the swift gallop and the embracing air, Put in him troubling languor, drove him out To rest beside a round coin of a pool, Casually flung among a cloud of pines. He dreamed as a dog dreams, uneasily.

The dreams blow North and South. Pitiless-bright they gleam. Send, Zeus, a flower across my mouth! The wing of a silver dream!

The visions smoke from the deep, _Itys_ Bannering East and West. _Dreams_ Guide, Zeus, the stumbling old feet of Sleep, That bring a dream to my breast!

I have gazed in immaculate eyes! My soul is a flame astream! Zeus, strike swift from the raging skies, That I may die with my dream!

He waked and saw two hounds, tugging their leash, Burst through the covert, and heard laughter bell Like a clear stream as Helen followed them. They drank, were quiet. Itys stood at gaze; _Itys_ Seeing in all things one miraculous face, _Beholds_ And how her tunic left one bright breast bare, _Helen_ And how she smoothed her hair back with one hand.... But very presently he was aware That some one not himself possessed his voice And used it now to talk with—babbling words Foolish and laughable to that still Beauty.

Tempest from the valiant sky, Music of the shaken reed, Can a thousand kisses buy You and April, mine indeed? _Fling the dice and let them lie!_

Not a joy from all your mind Will you toss me, beggar’s dole, And you never would be kind _Itys’_ Though I kissed your very soul! _Song_ _Race the coursers up the wind!_

Queen of desperate alarms, Though Destruction be the priest That must bring me to your arms, He shall wed our bones at least! _Life was vintage, borage-crowned, Pour the cup upon the ground!_

Vines grow in my garden; Blossoms a snake in size. Sun warms and knife-winds harden, Till the silk-stained globes arise; And men peer over the hedges With fury come in their eyes.

Pears grow in my garden; Honey a wild bee clips. _Helen’s_ Robbers afraid of pardon, _Song_ The princes steal from their ships, And pluck the fruit of iniquity And take it not from their lips.

Fate grows in my garden; Black as a cypress shoot. Sleepily smiles the warden, Guarding the gorgeous loot, Seeing the Tree, Deliciousness, And the tall lords dead at its root!

Their lips broke from the kiss. Helena sighed, Then started up, afraid. Straight toward the pool Rending the brake with hounds, shouting aloud, Crashed like a cast spear the returning chase. _The Death_ “Itys!” she said, “My brothers. They will kill.” _of Itys_ He looked down at his hands that held no sword. Helena’s hounds belled answer to their pack. Swift as a closing hand, unreal as dream, Danger shut down around them. “Dear” he said. Pollux, the shining-speared, burst through the leaves.

After the slaying, wide-eyed Helen paused To clasp the dead hands loosely, and unhook A swaying torque of gold from the white neck That it might burn, a sun, between her breasts. —The chase passed with hot noon, and in the cool A straying centaur came, snuffed the new blood And, seeing Itys dead, neighed in loud fear; Calling the hairy tramplers of the woods To mourn their friend with strange solemnities.

Close his eyes with the coins; bind his chin with the shroud; Carry this clay along, in the time of the westing cloud; Lay you the cakes beside, for the three-mouthed dog of Hell; _Death-_ Slain on the grass in fight, surely his end is well. ‰_Chant of The Centaurs_‰

Love was the wind he sought, ignorant whence it went; Now he has clasped it close, silent and eloquent; Slow as the stream and strong, answering knee to knee, Carry this clay along—it is more wise than we.

The chanting died away upon the hills, Sobbingly low. And Night reversed the urn; _Night_ Drawing all sunlight back to the hot deeps, And leaving the high heavens full of stars.