For the doom of his spirit is fixed, to and fro evermore is it swept,
Now numbered with ghosts underground, now back to the light hath it leapt,
To the beams of the sun among living men:—but why should I tell
The story of Aithalides that all men know full well?
Of him was Hypsipylê won to receive that sea-borne array {650}
As waned the day to the gloaming: yet not with the new-born day
Unmoored they the ship for the North-wind’s breathing to waft away.
Through the city the daughters of Lemnos into the folkmote pressed,
And there sat down, as Hypsipylê’s self sent forth her behest.
So when they were gathered in one great throng to the market-stead,