r him; for it seemed to me that I heard
his voice summoning me to fly, through the din of the fight at Actium.
Thanks be to the Gods, as thou sayest, he is lost, and can no more be
found."

But I, listening, put forth my strength, and, by the arts I have, cast
the shadow of my Spirit upon the Spirit of Cleopatra so that she felt
the presence of the lost Harmachis.

"Nay, what is it?" she said. "By Serapis! I grow afraid! It seems to
me that I feel Harmachis here! His memory overwhelms me like a flood of
waters, and he these ten years dead! Oh! at such a time it is unholy!"

"Nay, O Queen," I answered, "if he be dead then he is everywhere, and
well at such a time--the time of thy own death--may his Spirit draw near
to welcome thine at its going."

"Speak not thus, Olympus. I would see Harmachis no more; the count
between us is too heavy, and in another world than this more evenly,
perchance should we be matched. Ah, the terror passes! I was but
unnerved. Well the fool's story hath served to wile away the heaviest of
our hours, the hour which ends in death. Sing to me, Charmion, sing, for
thy voice is very sweet, and I would soothe my soul to sleep. The memory
of that Harmachis has wrung me strangely! Sing, then, the last song I
shall hear from those tuneful lips of thine, the last of so many songs."

"It is a sad hour for song, O Queen!" said Charmion; but, nevertheless,
she took her harp and sang. And thus she sang, very soft and low, the
dirge of the sweet-tongued Syrian Meleager:

Tears for my lady dead,
Heliodore!
Salt tears and strange to shed,
Over and o'er;
Go tears and low lament
Fare from her tomb,
Wend where my lady went,
Down through the gloom--
Sighs for my lady dead,
Tears do I send,
Long love remembered,
Mistress and friend!
Sad are the songs we sing,
Tears that we shed,
Empty the gifts we bring--
Gifts to the dead!
Ah, for my flower, my Love,
Hades hath taken,
Ah, for the dust above,
Scattered and shaken!
Mother of blade and grass,
Earth, in thy breast
Lull her that gentlest was,
Gently to rest!

The music of her voice died away, and it was so sweet and sad that Iras
began to weep and the bright tears stood in Cleopatra's stormy eyes.
Only I wept not; my tears were dry.

"'Tis a heavy song of thine, Charmion," said the Queen. "Well, as thou
saidst, it is a sad h