She had lifted the lute and her fingers touched listlessly on the cords.
“Nay, I know not,” she said; “who knows? How did Pentaur sing of Love’s renewal, Pentaur the glorious minstrel of our father, Rameses Miamun?”
He laid the gold king on the board, and began listlessly to cast the dice. He threw the “Hathor” as it chanced, the lucky cast, two sixes, and a thought of better fortune came to him.
“How did the song run, Meriamun? It is many a year since I heard thee sing.”
She touched the lute lowly and sweetly, and then she sang. Her thoughts were of the Wanderer, but the King deemed that she thought of himself.
O joy of Love’s renewing,
Could Love be born again;
Relenting for thy rueing,
And pitying my pain:
O joy of Love’s awaking,
Could Love arise from sleep,
Forgiving our forsaking
The fields we would not reap!
Fleet, fleet we fly, pursuing
The Love that fled amain,
But will he list our wooing,
Or call we but in vain?
Ah! vain is all our wooing,
And all our prayers are vain,
Love listeth not our suing,
Love will not wake again.
“Will he not waken again?” said Pharaoh. “If two pray together, will Love refuse their prayer?”
“It might be so,” she said, “if two prayed together; for if they prayed, he would have heard already!”
“Meriamun,” said the Pharaoh eagerly, for he thought her heart was moved by pity and sorrow, “once thou didst win my crown at the Pieces, wilt thou play me for thy love?”
She thought for one moment, and then she said: