Pythia Ix, 31-44

He reared the white-armed child Cyrene, Who loved neither the alternating motion of the loom, Nor the superintendence of feasts, With the pleasures of companions; But, with javelins of steel And the sword contending, To slay wild beasts; Affording surely much And tranquil peace to her father's herds; Spending little sleep Upon her eyelids, As her sweet bedfellow, creeping on at dawn.