Before the fight to Ilium was brought,
And mad Achilles fearless Hector fought,
A lovely child was born to lasting fame,
Divinely made, and Helen was her name.
And all the Trojan ramparts soundly stood,
Upon the Beautiful, the True and Good,
Three pillars to uphold our mortal lease,
And all of Troy lived happily in peace.
But, O, for peace, this Helen was betrothed,
To Menelaus, whom the heaven’s loathed,
And, far too soon, there came that fated day,
When Menelaus carried her away.
And though she vowed to learn to love her groom,
Her love for Sparta’s king would never bloom,
And Helen’s eyes were swollen shut with grief,
And in her room she languished for relief.
Now Paris, dreaming, tossed at night in bed
And Venus placed an image in his head,
And going to Aeneas in the morning,
Resolved to ravage Sparta without warning.
Now young Aeneas led this expedition
To warring Greece, far across the ocean,
And when his beaked ship split the Spartan shore,
He cut a passage, Helen to restore.
In the dark, Aeneas scaled the wall,
And through the window of the wedding hall
He found her kneeling, weeping and distraught,
And Menelaus snoring in his cot.
He whispers and the lady so declares,
Her sorrowed soul for lack of love despairs,
The sweetest bloom upon the fairest rose,
And so they fly, before the rooster crows.
At dawn, the King find Helen’s chamber void,
And on the sea, the Trojan ships deployed,
With many Trojans laboring the oar,
And so the Greeks prepare their ships for war.
Now into Troy, she rides to joyous calls,
And into Paris’ open arms she falls,
That never was a time in Troy more bright,
For every heart was good, and all was right.
Now Paris governs, Helen by his side,
And Troy is raised in ample love supplied,
And all of Troy advanced, by Beauty aided,
In harmony, with Truth and Goodness braided.
Now Helen’s heart is lit by virtue’s flame,
And every hearth is chiseled just the same,
One common good to mason right from wrong,
And so the Trojan walls grew high and strong.
But Hera sat upon her blackened cloud,
With all her minions, jealous, false and proud,
And pondering the goodness built in Troy,
She eyes the Trojan nation to destroy.
Cried Hera, thus, “All women will betray us,
If Helen’s not returned to Menelaus,”
And from the moorings of Delirium,
She prods the Greeks to war on Ilium.
And so there came those long Achaean ships,
Drawn by Hera’s bloody fingertips,
And all of Troy was leveled to the ground,
With not one stone left standing to be found.
But falling would our freedom fortify,
For Beauty, Truth and Goodness never die,
And brave Aeneas bore the torch to Rome,
And this eternal city is our home.