Wallace Bruce - Paris to Helen lyrics

Imperial beauty, born for Ilium's blight; Sweet, winsome Helen, paragon of earth; Would that our flocks were still on Ida's height, And princely halls unemptied of their mirth! Alas! proud Troy is tottering to her fall; Our promised joys are steeped in bitter pain; Kinsmen and Greek in deep derision call, And every eye speaks loathing and disdain. Dear bribe of Venus! why were we beguiled By Cyprian words to walk in devious ways, And leave our names as synonymes reviled Forevermore through unforgiving days? O fruitless pa**ion, won at honor's cost! Faith, courage, glory—all forever lost.