y slumber on silken couches;
the gods will it not that he should die." So he took him to his home,
and the child grew up with ruddy cheek and nimble feet, brave and
hardy, so that none might be matched with him for strength and beauty.
The fierce wolves came not near the flocks while Paris kept guard near
the fold, the robber lurked not near the homestead when Paris sat by
the hearth. So all sang of his strength and his great deeds, and they
called him Alexandros, the helper of men.

Many years he tended the flocks on woody Ida, but Priam, his father,
dwelt in Ilion, and thought not to see his face again, and he said
within himself, "Surely my child is long since dead, and no feast has
been given to the gods that Paris may dwell in peace in the dark
kingdom of Hades." Then he charged his servants to fetch him a bull
from the herd, which might be given to the man who should conquer in
the games, and they chose out one which Paris loved above all others
that he drove out to pasture. So he followed the servants of Priam in
grief and anger, and he stood forth and strove with his brethren in
the games, and in all of them Paris was the conqueror. Then one of his
brothers was moved with wrath, and lifted up his sword against him,
but Paris fled to the altar of Zeus, and the voice of Cassandra, his
sister, was heard saying, "O blind of eye and heart, see ye not that
this is Paris, whom ye sent to sleep the sleep of death on woody Ida?"

But Paris would not dwell in the sacred Ilion, for he loved not those
who sought to slay him while he was yet a helpless child, and again he
tended the flocks on the wide plains and up the rough hillsides.
Strong he was of limb and stout of heart, and his face shone with a
marvelous beauty, so that they who saw it thought him fair as the
bright heroes. There, as he wandered in the woody dells of Ida, he saw
and wooed the beautiful Oenone, the child of the river-god, Kebren.
Many a time he sat with the maiden by the side of the stream, and the
sound of their voices was mingled with the soft murmur of the waters.
He talked to her of love, and Oenone looked up with a wondrous joy
into his beautiful face, when the morning dew glistened white upon the
grass and when the evening star looked out upon the pale sky.

So was Paris wedded to Oenone, and the heart of the maiden was full of
happiness, for none was braver or more gentle--none so stout of heart,
so lithe of limb, so tender and loving as Pari