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| THERE was fear and desolation over swarthy Egypt’s land, | |
| From the holy city of the sun to hot Syené’s sand; | |
| The sistrum and the cymbal slept, the merry dance no more | |
| Trampled the evening river-buds by Nile’s embroidered shore, | |
| For the daughter of the king must die, the dark magician said, | 5 |
| Before the red sun sank to rest that day in ocean’s bed. | |
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| And all that day the temple-smoke loaded the heavy air, | |
| But they prayed to one who heedeth none, nor heareth earnest prayer. | |
| That day the gonfalons were down, the silver lamps untrimmed, | |
| Sad at their oars the rowers sat, silent the Nile-boat skimmed, | 10 |
| And through the land there went a wail of bitterest agony, | |
| From the iron hills of Nubia to the islands of the sea. | |
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| There in that very hall where once her laugh had loudest been, | |
| Where but that morning she had worn the wreath of Beauty’s Queen, | |
| She lay a lost and lovely thing—the wreath was on her brow, | 15 |
| Alas! the lotus might not match its chilling paleness now; | |
| And ever as that golden light sank lower in the sky, | |
| Her breath came fainter, and the beam seemed fading in her eye. | |
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| Her coal-black hair was tangled, and the sigh of parting day | |
| Stirred tremblingly its silky folds as on her breast they lay; | 20 |
| How heavily her rounded arm lay buried by her side! | |
| How droopingly her lashes seemed those star-bright eyes to hide! | |
| And once there played upon her lips a smile like summer air, | |
| As though Death came with gentle face, and she mocked her idle fear. | |
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| Low o’er the dying maiden’s form the king and father bows, | 25 |
| Stern anguish holds the place of pride upon the monarch’s brows. | |
| “My daughter, in the world thou leav’st so dark without thy smile, | |
| Hast thou one care a father’s love, a king’s word, may beguile,— | |
| Hast thou one last bright wish, ’t is thine, by Isis’ throne on high, | |
| If Egypt’s blood can win it thee, or Egypt’s treasure buy.” | 30 |
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| How anxiously he waits her words; upon the painted wall | |
| In long gold lines the dying lights between the columns fall; | |
| It lends her sinking limbs a glow, her pallid cheek a blush, | |
| And on her lifted lashes throws a fitful, lingering flush, | |
| And on her parting lips it plays: O, how they crowd to hear | 35 |
| The words that will be iron chains to bind them to her prayer. | |
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| “Father, dear father, it is hard to die so very young. | |
| Summer was coming, and I thought to see the flowers sprung. | |
| Must it be always dark like this? I cannot see thy face— | |
| I am dying, hold me, father, in thy kind and close embrace; | 40 |
| O, let them sometimes bear me where the merry sunbeams lie, | |
| I know thou wilt, farewell, farewell! ’t is easier now to die!” | |
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| Small need of bearded leeches there; not all Arabia’s store | |
| Of precious balm could purchase her one ray of sunlight more; | |
| Was it strange that tears were glistening where tears should never be, | 45 |
| When Death had smitten down to dust the beautiful and free? | |
| Was it strange that warriors should raise a woman’s earnest cry | |
| For help and hope to Heaven’s throne, when such as she must die? | |
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| And ever when the shining sun has brought the summer round, | |
| And the Nile rises fast and full along the thirsty ground, | 50 |
| They bear her from her silent home to where the gay sunlight | |
| May linger on the hollow eyes that once were starry bright, | |
| And strew sweet flowers upon her breast, while gray-haired matrons tell | |
| Of the high Egyptian maiden-queen that loved the light so well. | |
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