 | The Voyage of Ithobal |  |
(NESTA is heard singing)
Under Astarte's moon,
At the soft night's silvery noon
Sleepeth my city of Neith,
The city of Pharaoh slumbereth;
The palms are like columns black
With the dark-blue heaven at their back,
And the shadows of porch and wall
On the porphyry pavements fall
Like purple carpets of silence. No lack
Of joy in the white-walled street
Where townsman and kinsman meet:
And the houses are busy with what they say
Of the marvellous, glorious, goodly array
When Ithobal stood before the Throne
And for seven days opened a world unknown.
This marvellous tale of the Far-away
And the secrets of Gods all shown.
In his palace Lord Pharaoh is glad
For the splendour of this gain had.
In their huts the people are proud
For the fame of this deed, long and loud,
Which shall make them renowned alway.
At the soft night's silvery noon
Sleepeth my city of Neith,
The city of Pharaoh slumbereth;
The palms are like columns black
With the dark-blue heaven at their back,
And the shadows of porch and wall
On the porphyry pavements fall
Like purple carpets of silence. No lack
Of joy in the white-walled street
Where townsman and kinsman meet:
And the houses are busy with what they say
Of the marvellous, glorious, goodly array
When Ithobal stood before the Throne
And for seven days opened a world unknown.
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And the secrets of Gods all shown.
In his palace Lord Pharaoh is glad
For the splendour of this gain had.
In their huts the people are proud
For the fame of this deed, long and loud,
Which shall make them renowned alway.
In harbour the galleys lie
Safe under the spangled sky;
Each weary sea-worn keel
No longer doth fret, or feel
The smiting wave and the mournful sigh
Of the tempest which gathers to wreck.
Steady and smooth is each deck;
The tired sails sleep, and the painted eye
On each red prow is at rest.
For all is come to the best
And no more dangers to search and spy.
The oars themselves seemed to keep
A pleasure and peace in their sleep
As the moonbeams shine on the glistening oar-ports nigh.
Safe under the spangled sky;
Each weary sea-worn keel
No longer doth fret, or feel
The smiting wave and the mournful sigh
Of the tempest which gathers to wreck.
Steady and smooth is each deck;
The tired sails sleep, and the painted eye
On each red prow is at rest.
For all is come to the best
And no more dangers to search and spy.
The oars themselves seemed to keep
A pleasure and peace in their sleep
As the moonbeams shine on the glistening oar-ports nigh.
And I, happy Nesta, the while
Sit in the sight of Nile,
In the marble temple of Amen-ru:
For I am the priestess, and what I do
With the lands and temple and town
Is done henceforth with mine own.
And Ithobal's head is on my lap;
The Gods have given good hap;
I am here with my Lover and Lord and King,
And our tale to the sistrum I sing;
There shall never be nobler told or shown;
For now are the Strange Seas known.
Sit in the sight of Nile,
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For I am the priestess, and what I do
With the lands and temple and town
Is done henceforth with mine own.
And Ithobal's head is on my lap;
The Gods have given good hap;
I am here with my Lover and Lord and King,
And our tale to the sistrum I sing;
There shall never be nobler told or shown;
For now are the Strange Seas known.
| The Voyage of Ithobal | |