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! 

Within her bower she watched the war,

The smitten harness ring afar;

Saw one that smote where all must flee;

He seemed to fair Pisidicê!

Before Achilles, Peleus' son,

A maiden fortress lightly won!

No more of land or faith recked she,

Her life of love, Pisidicê!

As one that had a boon to crave;

Where lay the dead without a grave,

Her gift, the secret postern's key.

Moaned to her love Pisidicê.

Rang down Methymna's burning street;

They drove the women to the fleet,

 Prev. P 41/64 next