Tracing sombre shadows o’er its stony walls.
Within the wombats wail
Tearing the scarabs from Prince Kamphé’s tomb.
His end was sudden ... strangely so;
Osiris stalks our land. Kamphé and little Ti (his daughter—wife)
Both dead within a week. Ah me, I fear
Some priestly treachery; but see! What crouching shape is this?... Peace, fool!”
“I did not speak.... Oh, Queen.”
“ENOUGH. Thou weariest me.”
“I go!”