As the nightingale’s song that is
full of a sweetness unspoken,
As a spirit unbarring the gates of the
skies for a token,
So is love! ay, the love that shall fall
when his pinion is broken.
As the tramp of the legions when trumpets
their challenge are sending,
As the shout of the Storm-god when lightnings
the black sky are rending,
So is power! ay, the power that shall
lie in the dust at its ending.
So short is our life; yet with space for
all things to forsake us,
A bitter delusion, a dream from which
nought can awake us,
Till Death’s dogging footsteps at
morn or at eve shall o’ertake us.
Oh, the world is fair at the dawning —
dawning — dawning, But the red sun sinks
in blood — the red sun sinks in blood.
I only wish that I could write down the music too.
‘Now, Curtis, now,’ I whispered, when
she began the second verse, and turned my back.
‘Nyleptha,’ he said — for my
nerves were so much on the stretch that I could hear
every word, low as it was spoken, even through Sorais’
divine notes — ’Nyleptha, I must speak
with thee this night, upon my life I must. Say
me not nay; oh, say me not nay!’
‘How can I speak with thee?’ she answered,
looking fixedly before her; ‘Queens are not
like other people. I am surrounded and watched.’
’Listen, Nyleptha, thus. I will be before
the statue of Rademas in the great hall at midnight.
I have the countersign and can pass in. Macumazahn
will be there to keep guard, and with him the Zulu.
Oh come, my Queen, deny me not.’
‘It is not seemly,’ she murmured, ‘and
tomorrow —’
Just then the music began to die in the last wail
of the refrain, and Sorais slowly turned her round.
‘I will be there,’ said Nyleptha, hurriedly;
’on thy life see that thou fail me not.’
It was night — dead night —
and the silence lay on the Frowning City like a cloud.
Secretly, as evildoers, Sir Henry Curtis, Umslopogaas,
and myself threaded our way through the passages towards
a by-entrance to the great Throne Chamber. Once
we were met by the fierce rattling challenge of the
sentry. I gave the countersign, and the man
grounded his spear and let us pass. Also we were
officers of the Queens’ bodyguard, and in that
capacity had a right to come and go unquestioned.
We gained the hall in safety. So empty and so
still was it, that even when we had passed the sound
of our footsteps yet echoed up the lofty walls, vibrating
faintly and still more faintly against the carven
roof, like ghosts of the footsteps of dead men haunting
the place that once they trod.
It was an eerie spot, and it oppressed me. The
moon was full, and threw great pencils and patches
of light through the high windowless openings in the
walls, that lay pure and beautiful upon the blackness
of the marble floor, like white flowers on a coffin.
One of these silver arrows fell upon the statue of
the sleeping Rademas, and of the angel form bent over
him, illumining it, and a small circle round it, with
a soft clear light, reminding me of that with which
Catholics illumine the altars of their cathedrals.
