Helen of Troy
LVIII.

Andrew Lan

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Not here they found OEnone: "Nay, not here,"

Said Paris, faint and low, "shall she be found;

Nay, bear me up the mountain, where the drear

Winds walk for ever on a haunted ground.

Methinks I hear her sighing in their sound;

Or some God calls me there, a dying man.

Perchance my latest journeying is bound

Back where the sorrow of my life began."

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