| |
| THEY had brought in such sheafs of hair, | |
| And flung them all about us there | |
| In the loud noonday’s heat and glare: | |
| Gold tresses, far too fine to wind, | |
| And brown, with copper curls entwined, | 5 |
| And black coils, black as all my mind. | |
| |
| In the low, stifling armory, | |
| Whence we could hear, but might not flee, | |
| The roar of that engirdling sea, | |
| Whose waves were helmet-crests of foes, | 10 |
| Winding the cords we sat, in rows, | |
| Beside a mound of stringless bows. | |
| |
| Since the first hill-scouts panted in, | |
| Before siege-fires and battle din | |
| Filled night and day, and filled within | 15 |
| Our hearts and brains with flame and sound, | |
| We had sat, huddled on the ground, | |
| Our tears hot on the cords we wound. | |
| |
| We knew, when the first tidings came, | |
| That not the gods from death or shame | 20 |
| Could save us, fighting clothed in flame. | |
| The mid-sea’s marshalled waves are few | |
| Beside the warriors, girt with blue, | |
| The gorged hill-passes then let through. | |
| |
| Their spears shook like ripe, standing corn, | 25 |
| Gold lakes that on the plains are born, | |
| And nod to greet the golden morn; | |
| After these years the earth yet reels, | |
| And after snows and showers feels | |
| The deluge of their chariot wheels. | 30 |
| |
| Against our walls their flood was dammed, | |
| Within which, till each porch was jammed, | |
| Farm-folk and fisher-folk were crammed; | |
| Heaped stones inside the gates were piled, | |
| While all above us, calm and mild, | 35 |
| In bitter scorn the heavens smiled. | |
| |
| Our men dwelt on the walls and towers, | |
| From over which, for endless hours, | |
| The hissing arrows flew in showers; | |
| The sing-stones, too, came crashing down, | 40 |
| As though the gods of far renown | |
| Hurled thunderbolts into the town. | |
| |
| Where the hung temples showed their lights, | |
| Some women prayed upon the heights; | |
| Some stole about throughout the nights,— | 45 |
| Who bore the warriors food by day,— | |
| Gleaning the arrows as they lay | |
| That they might hurtle back to slay. | |
| |
| And where the rooms were heaped with stores, | |
| Because the stringless bows were scores, | 50 |
| We were shut in with guarded doors; | |
| All day at hurried toil we kept, | |
| And when the darkness on us crept | |
| We lay, each in her place, and slept. | |
| |
| Quick as we worked, we could not make | 55 |
| Strings fast as bowmen came to take | |
| Fresh bows; and oh, the grinding ache | |
| Of hearts and fingers: maid and slave | |
| And princess, we toiled on to save | |
| Home that already was our grave. | 60 |
| |
| Six days we wound the cords with speed; | |
| Naught else from us had any heed, | |
| For bitter was our rage and need. | |
| At last, upon the seventh day, | |
| Into the fury of the fray | 65 |
| They called our very guard away. | |
| |
| No food was brough us. Faint with thirst, | |
| What wonder was it if, at first, | |
| Some wailed that the town gates were burst? | |
| If, later, to the last embraces | 70 |
| Of child or mother, from their places | |
| Some slunk away with ashen faces? | |
| |
| I cursed them through the door unbarred; | |
| I vowed I would not move a yard, | |
| Lest some one man of ours, pressed hard, | 75 |
| Might be left weaponless alone. | |
| Until I died or turned to stone, | |
| I would wind, were the hair mine own. | |
| |
| A sudden shiver shook my frame, | |
| I looked up with my face aflame; | 80 |
| But oh, no tongue has any name | |
| For the despair I saw enthroned | |
| In my love’s eyes, all purple-zoned! | |
| I smiled to greet him, and I groaned. | |
| |
| He buckled on a fresh cuirass,— | 85 |
| His own was but a tattered mass | |
| Of gory thongs. I saw him pass | |
| Out of the portal; with good-byes | |
| And blessings filled, and yearning sighs, | |
| For the last time I saw his eyes. | 90 |
| |
| Each moment, all my blood areel, | |
| I felt the thrust of deadly steel | |
| I knew his body soon must feel. | |
| My heart was choked with prayerful speech; | |
| The high, deaf gods were out of reach, | 95 |
| My eyes dry as a noonday beach. | |
| |
| More cowards left. Few now remained. | |
| Still at our task we strove and strained | |
| With bleeding hands, and iron-brained; | |
| And still my fingers all were fleet, | 100 |
| Though in my temples burned and beat | |
| The murmur of the stunning heat. | |
| |
| There rushed in for fresh arms just then | |
| Some of our allied,—small, dark men; | |
| It slowly dawned upon my ken | 105 |
| That one, who by a spear-heap kneeled, | |
| Fierce-browed and grimy from the field, | |
| Carried my brother’s painted shield. | |
| |
| My heart beat in long, tearing throbs; | |
| Sharp torch-lights stormed my eyes in mobs, | 110 |
| And my breath came in rasping sobs; | |
| The tears from both my cheeks I wrung; | |
| So wet my hands were that they clung | |
| Slipping along the cord I strung. | |
| |
| Mutely we toiled until my maid, | 115 |
| Her lips tense as the strands she laid, | |
| Grew wan; her deft, quick fingers strayed: | |
| Then she pitched forward with a groan, | |
| And lay, white, motionless, and prone. | |
| I wound on hastily, alone. | 120 |
| |
| Harsh and unevenly outside | |
| Shields clanged. Men called, and cursed, and cried; | |
| And when again the latch was tried | |
| My knife lay somewhere on the floor. | |
| Alas! I found it not before | 125 |
| Three armored foemen burst the door. | |
| |
