And when the blessed Sun upraised his head,
We saw the Aegean waste a-foam with dead,
Dead men, dead ships, and spars disasterful. 
Howbeit for us, our one unwounded hull
Out of that wrath was stolen or begged free
By some good spirit—­sure no man was he!—­
Who guided clear our helm; and on till now
Hath Saviour Fortune throned her on the prow. 
No surge to mar our mooring, and no floor
Of rock to tear us when we made for shore. 
Till, fled from that sea-hell, with the clear sun
Above us and all trust in fortune gone,
We drove like sheep about our brain the thoughts
Of that lost army, broken and scourged with knouts
Of evil.  And, methinks, if there is breath
In them, they talk of us as gone to death—­
How else?—­and so say we of them!  For thee,
Since Menelaues thy first care must be,
If by some word of Zeus, who wills not yet
To leave the old house for ever desolate,
Some ray of sunlight on a far-off sea
Lights him, yet green and living ... we may see
His ship some day in the harbour!—­’Twas the word
Of truth ye asked me for, and truth ye have heard!

  [Exit HERALD. The CHORUS take position for the Third Stasimon.

CHORUS.

(Surely there was mystic meaning in the name HELENA, meaning which was fulfilled when she fled to Troy.)

  Who was He who found for thee
  That name, truthful utterly—­
Was it One beyond our vision
Moving sure in pre-decision
  Of man’s doom his mystic lips?—­
  Calling thee, the Battle-wed,
  Thee, the Strife-encompassed,
HELEN?  Yea, in fate’s derision,
  Hell in cities, Hell in ships,
Hell in hearts of men they knew her,
  When the dim and delicate fold
  Of her curtains backward rolled,
And to sea, to sea, she threw her
  In the West Wind’s giant hold;
And with spear and sword behind her
  Came the hunters in a flood,
Down the oarblade’s viewless trail
Tracking, till in Simois’ vale
Through the leaves they crept to find her,
  A Wrath, a seed of blood.

(The Trojans welcomed her with triumph and praised Alexander till at last their song changed and they saw another meaning in Alexander’s name also.)

  So the Name to Ilion came
  On God’s thought-fulfilling flame,
She a vengeance and a token
Of the unfaith to bread broken,
  Of the hearth of God betrayed,
    Against them whose voices swelled
    Glorying in the prize they held
And the Spoiler’s vaunt outspoken
  And the song his brethren made
’Mid the bridal torches burning;
  Till, behold, the ancient City
Of King Priam turned, and turning
Took a new song for her learning,
  A song changed and full of pity,
  With the cry of a lost nation;
    And she changed the bridegroom’s name: 
  Called him Paris Ghastly-wed;
  For her sons were with the dead,
  And her life one lamentation,
    ’Mid blood and burning flame.