‘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.’ “And ever as thou sangest I drew near, Then sudden silence heard our hearts that beat, For now there was an end of doubt and fear, Now passion filled my soul and led my feet; Then silent didst thou rise thy love to meet, Who, sinking on thy breast, knew naught but thee, And in the happy night I kissed thee, Sweet; Ah, Sweet! between the starlight and the sea.” The last echoes of her rich notes floated down the chamber, and slowly died away; but in my heart they rolled on and on. I have heard among the women-singers at Abouthis voices more perfect than the voice of Cleopatra, but never have I heard one so thrilling or so sweet with passion’s honey-notes. And indeed it was not the voice alone, it was the perfumed chamber in which was set all that could move the sense; it was the passion of the thought and words, and the surpassing grace and loveliness of that most royal woman who sang them. For, as she sang, I seemed to think that we twain were indeed floating alone with the night, upon the starlit summer sea. And when she ceased to touch the harp, and, rising, suddenly stretched out her arms towards me, and with the last low notes of song yet quivering upon her lips, let fall the wonder of her eyes upon my eyes, she almost drew me to her. But I remembered, and would not. “Hast thou, then, no word of thanks for my poor singing, Harmachis?” she said at length. “Yea, O Queen,” I answered, speaking very low, for my voice was choked; “but thy songs are not good for the sons of men to hear--of a truth they overwhelm me!” “Nay, Harmachis; there is no fear for thee,” she said laughing softly, “seeing that I know how far thy thoughts are set from woman’s beauty and the common weakness of thy sex. With cold iron we may safely toy.” I thought within myself that coldest iron can be brought to whitest heat if the fire be fierce enough. But I said nothing, and, though my hand trembled, I once more grasped the dagger’s hilt, and, wild with fear at my own weakness, set myself to find a means to slay her while yet my sense remained.