the old love of Paris, sent her son Corythus to him as her messenger,
and how Paris slew him unwittingly; and of the curses of OEnone, and
the coming of the Argive host against Troy.
For long in Troia was there peace and mirth,
The pleasant hours still passing one by one;
And Helen joy'd at each fresh morning's birth,
And almost wept at setting of the sun,
For sorrow that the happy day was done;