Which she perceiving, pride refreshed her heart, Hope wreathed her mouth with smiles, and she exclaimed: “Neither the gods afflict you, nor the nymphs. Return me him who won my heart, return Him whom my bosom pants for, as the steeds In the sun’s chariot for the western wave, The gods will prosper thee, and Tamar prove How nymphs the torments that they cause assuage. Promise me this! indeed I think thou hast, But ’tis so pleasing, promise it once more.” “Once more I promise,” cried the gladdened king, “By my right hand and by myself I swear, And ocean’s gods and heaven’s gods I adjure, Thou shalt be Tamar’s, Tamar shalt be thine.” Then she, regarding him long fixed, replied: “I have thy promise, take thou my advice. Gebir, this land of Egypt is a land Of incantation, demons rule these waves; These are against thee, these thy works destroy. Where thou hast built thy palace, and hast left The seven pillars to remain in front, Sacrifice there, and all these rites observe. Go, but go early, ere the gladsome Hours, Strew saffron in the path of rising Morn, Ere the bee buzzing o’er flowers fresh disclosed Examine where he may the best alight Nor scatter off the bloom, ere cold-lipped herds Crop the pale herbage round each other’s bed, Lead seven bulls, well pastured and well formed, Their neck unblemished and their horns unringed, And at each pillar sacrifice thou one. Around each base rub thrice the black’ning blood, And burn the curling shavings of the hoof; And of the forehead locks thou also burn: The yellow galls, with equal care preserved, Pour at the seventh statue from the north.” He listened, and on her his eyes intent Perceived her not, and she had disappeared— So deep he pondered her important words. And now had morn arisen and he performed Almost the whole enjoined him: he had reached The seventh statue, poured the yellow galls, The forelock from his left he had released And burnt the curling shavings of the hoof Moistened with myrrh; when suddenly a flame Spired from the fragrant smoke, nor sooner spired Down sank the brazen fabric at his feet. He started back, gazed, nor could aught but gaze, And cold dread stiffened up his hair flower-twined; Then with a long and tacit step, one arm Behind, and every finger wide outspread, He looked and tottered on a black abyss. He thought he sometimes heard a distant voice Breathe through the cavern’s mouth, and further on Faint murmurs now, now hollow groans reply. Therefore suspended he his crook above, Dropped it, and heard it rolling step by step: He entered, and a mingled sound arose Like one (when shaken from some temple’s roof By zealous hand, they and their fretted nest) Of birds that wintering watch in Memnon’s tomb, And tell the halcyons when spring first returns. THIRD BOOK.