PISIDICÊ.

The daughter of the Lesbian king

Within her bower she watched the war,

Far off she heard the arrows ring,

The smitten harness ring afar;

And, fighting from the foremost car,

Saw one that smote where all must flee;

More fair than the Immortals are

He seemed to fair Pisidicê!

She saw, she loved him, and her heart

Before Achilles, Peleus’ son,

Threw all its guarded gates apart,

A maiden fortress lightly won!

And, ere that day of fight was done,

No more of land or faith recked she,

But joyed in her new life begun,—

Her life of love, Pisidicê!

She took a gift into her hand,

As one that had a boon to crave;

She stole across the ruined land

Where lay the dead without a grave,

And to Achilles’ hand she gave

Her gift, the secret postern's key.

“To-morrow let me be thy slave!”

Moaned to her love Pisidicê.

Ere dawn the Argives’ clarion call

Rang down Methymna's burning street;

They slew the sleeping warriors all,

They drove the women to the fleet,

Save one, that to Achilles’ feet

Clung, but, in sudden wrath, cried he:

“For her no doom but death is meet.”

And there men stoned Pisidicê.

In havens of that haunted coast,

Amid the myrtles of the shore,

The moon sees many a maiden ghost,—

Love's outcast now and evermore.

The silence hears the shades deplore

Their hour of dear-bought love; but thee

The waves lull,‘ neath thine olives hoar,

To dreamless rest, Pisidicê!