The lofty gods, in counsel high enthroned

Survey’d the earth, all splendors brightly shown,

Yet soon the Fates, discord by their wings,

Stirred mortal hearts, and tempted gods and kings,

From Helicon! O Muse, my words attend,

To these attempts, Calliope lend thy hand.

 

To Peleus’ feast the kings of man were sent,

All heav’nly queens, their companions went.

With mirth and laughter warming every life,

Save Eris, regent of discordant strife,

Uncalled, unwelcomed, rose the vengeful sprite,

Yet still she’d come to vex the feast’s delight.

Cast ‘fore the heavens she, an apple bright,

Its surface gleam’d with letters gold and light.

To three queens standing in a dread array,

“To fairest one,” so the script did say.

Yet who could judge amongst these forms divine?

No god dare walketh then that fateful line.

Thus Jove descends with all his cunning grace,

Called Paris, shepherd-prince of finest race,

Before him, Juno, Pallas, Venus stood,

Each goddess off’ring him what she thought most good.

 

First Juno spoke, (the queen of realms on high,

Where empyreal thrones beneath her sceptre lie.)

“Behold, this power, man of dust and stone,

All mortal realms are mine, and mine alone.

All kings and empires tremble at my name,

And where I walk, the world must do the same.

Thine admittance of this deserved praise—

I bring your fortunes high, your standard raise

To reign as king, in might unmatched and great,

With empire vast, and flowing crown of state,

What pow’r, what treasure could be greater than this?

No sane man would dare reject my gift.”

 

She ceased, and Pallas come with wisdom’s fire,

Her eyes aflame like steel, thus spoke higher:

The goddess of the most keenest mind,

Spoke this, voice calm and fierce combin’d.

“O Paris, hear, mortal though you be—

I offer wisdom, sole power of the free

Though empires fall and kings may be forgot,

The name of those who think will perish not.

Choose me, and all the depths of knowledge rare

(Great arts of war and truths beyond compare)

Shall be thine own, thy sword and shining shield,

For none can match the power that this yields.

Through wisdom birth: immortal minds endure,

Choose wise, O Man, thus take the path that’s sure.”

 

Then Venus spoke, her voice as soft as song,

Her words like silk, as smooth as love is strong:

“Paris, thy heart knows well its true desire,

I offer thee what burns in every fire.

Love, my child, is greater than a throne,

More sweet than wisdom that’s sought but never known,

If you would claim the fairest in the land,

The queen of Sparta, soft of heart and hand,

Choose me, and she shall lie within your arms—

All nights her beauty, yours, and her charms.

For what is a crown without a love to share?

What use is knowledge if it’s not to care?

For what is power, wealth, or wisdom cold,

Compared to love, the sweetest gift of old?

I offer thee the fairest prize of all

The love of Helen, whom no man may call

Her equal, for her beauty is supreme,

Her heart, her hand, her smile, her every dream,

Shall be thine own! If you but choose me now.

For this I say to thee—Love conquers all.”

 

Paris, entranced, did listen to their pleas,

And knew at last what choice would bring him peace.

The prize he held, the judgement that he’d won,

Then in his heart, three choices narrow’d to one.

“To Venus goes the prize. Oh, hear my wish!”

Thus spake the words that sent a thousand ships.