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! FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST. RETURNING from what other seas Dost thou renew thy murmuring, Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of these To tell, the shores where float and cling My love, my hope, my memories? Say does my lady wake to note The gold light into silver die? Or do thy waves make lullaby, While dreams of hers, like angels, float Through star-sown spaces of the sky? Ah, would such angels came to me That dreams of mine might speak with hers, Nor wake the slumber of the sea With words as low as winds that be Awake among the gossamers! LOVE THE VAMPIRE. Ο ΕΡΩΤΑΣ ’Σ ΤΟΝ ΤΑΦΟ. THE level sands and grey, Stretch leagues and leagues away, Down to the border line of sky and foam, A spark of sunset burns, The grey tide-water turns, Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home! Here, without pyre or bier, Light Love was buried here, Alas, his grave was wide and deep enough, Thrice, with averted head, We cast dust on the dead, And left him to his rest. An end of Love. “No stone to roll away, No seal of snow or clay, Only soft dust above his wearied eyes, But though the sudden sound Of Doom should shake the ground, And graves give up their ghosts, he will not rise!”