Helen of Troy

In Lacedaemon, was there revelry,

Since Menelaus with the dawn did spring

Forth from his carven couch, and, climbing high

The tower of outlook, gazed along the dry

White road that runs to Pylos through the plain,

And mark’d thin clouds of dust against the sky,

And gleaming bronze, and robes of purple stain.

Then cried he to his serving men, and all

Obey’d him, and their labour did not spare,

And women set out tables through the hall,

Light polish’d tables, with the linen fair.

And water from the well did others bear,

And the good house-wife busily brought forth

Meats from her store, and stinted not the rare

Wine from Ismarian vineyards of the North.

The men drave up a heifer from the field

For sacrifice, and sheath’d her horns with gold;

And strong Boethous the axe did wield

And smote her; on the fruitful earth she roll’d,

And they her limbs divided; fold on fold

They laid the fat, and cast upon the fire

The barley grain. Such rites were wrought of old

When all was order’d as the Gods desire.