She gave no answer, but once more made pretence to read, and the while she watched me.
I took counsel with myself. How should I do the hateful deed? If I flung myself upon her now she would see me and scream and struggle. Nay, I must wait a chance.
“The auguries are favourable, then, Harmachis?” she said at length, though this she must have guessed.
“Yes, O Queen,” I answered.
“It is well,” and she cast the writing on the marble. “The ships shall sail. For, good or bad, I am weary of weighing chances.”
“This is a heavy matter, O Queen,” I said. “I had wished to show upon what circumstance I base my forecast.”
“Nay, not so, Harmachis; I have wearied of the ways of stars. Thou hast prophesied; that is enough for me; for, doubtless, being honest, thou hast written honestly. Therefore, save thou thy reasons and we’ll be merry. What shall we do? I could dance to thee—there are none who can dance so well!—but it would scarce be queenly. Nay, I have it. I will sing.” And, leaning forward, she raised herself, and, bending the harp towards her, struck some wandering chords. Then her low voice broke out in perfect and most sweet song.
And thus she sang:
“Night on the sea, and night upon the sky,
And music in our hearts, we floated there,
Lulled by the low sea voices, thou and I,
And the wind’s kisses in my cloudy hair:
And thou didst gaze on me and call me fair—
Enfolded by the starry robe of night—
And then thy singing thrilled upon the air,
Voice of the heart’s desire and Love’s delight.
‘Adrift, with starlit skies above,
With starlit seas below,
We move with all the suns that move,
With all the seas that flow;
For bond or free, Earth, Sky, and Sea,
Wheel with one circling will,
And thy heart drifteth on to me,
And only time stands still.
Between two shores of Death we drift,
Behind are things forgot:
Before the tide is driving swift
To lands beholden not.
Above, the sky is far and cold;
Below, the moaning sea
Sweeps o’er the loves that were of old,
But, oh, Love! kiss thou me.
Ah, lonely are the ocean ways,
And dangerous the deep,
And frail the fairy barque that strays
Above the seas asleep!
Ah, toil no more at sail nor oar,
We drift, or bond or free;
On yon far shore the breakers roar,
But, oh, Love! kiss thou me.’
