flame burst from it. And all the while Meriamun
stood by as one who dreams.

Now the great pyre was a mass of flame, and the golden armour of the
Wanderer shone through the flame, and the black bow twisted and crumbled
in the heat. Then of a sudden Meriamun gave a great cry, and tearing the
snake girdle from her middle hurled it on the flames.

"From fire thou camest, thou Ancient Evil," she said in a dead tongue;
"to fire get thee back again, false counsellor."

But Rei the Priest called aloud in the same tongue:

"An ill deed thou hast done, O Queen, for thou hast taken the Snake to
thy bosom, and where the Snake passes there thou must follow."

Even as he spoke the face of Meriamun grew fixed, and she was drawn
slowly towards the fire, as though by invisible hands. Now she stood on
its very brink, and now with one loud wail she plunged into it and cast
herself at length on the body of the Wanderer.

And as she lay there on the body, behold the Snake awoke in the fire. It
awoke, it grew, it twined itself about the body of Meriamun and the body
of the Wanderer, and lifting its head, it laughed.

Then the fire fell in, and the Wanderer and Meriamun the Queen, and the
Snake that wrapped them round, vanished in the heart of the flames.

For awhile the Golden Helen stood still, looking on the dying fire. Then
she let her veil fall, and turning, wandered forth into the desert and
the night, singing as she passed.

And so she goes, wandering, wandering, till Odysseus comes again.

Now this is the tale that I, Rei the Priest, have been bidden to set
forth before I lay me down to sleep in my splendid tomb that I have made
ready by Thebes. Let every man read it as he will, and every woman as
the Gods have given her wit.

PALINODE

Thou that of old didst blind Stesichorus, If e'er, sweet Helen, such a
thing befell, We pray thee of thy grace, be good to us, Though little
in our tale accordeth well With that thine ancient minstrel had to tell,
Who saw, with sightless eyes grown luminous, These Ilian sorrows, and
who heard the swell Of ocean round the world ring thunderous, And thy
voice break when knightly Hector fell!

And thou who all these many years hast borne To see the great webs of
the weaving torn By puny hands of dull, o'er-learned men, Homer, forgive
us that thy hero's star Once more above sea waves and waves of war, Must
rise, must triumph, and must set again!

End of the Project Gutenbe