Cleopatra, being an account of the fall and vengeance of Harmachis, the royal Egyptian, as set forth by his own hand . e came with outstretched arms, awful tosee, suddenly his end found him, and with a cry he sank downupon the ground, the red blood streaming from his lips. I ranto him and lifted him ; and as he died, he babbled : 1 He was my son, a bright-eyed lovely boy, and full of promise as the Spring ; and now—and now oh, would that he were dead ! Then came a pause and the breath rattled in his throat. 1 Harmachis, he gasped, art there ? 1 Yea, father. Harmachis, atone !—atone ! Vengeance
Cleopatra, being an account of the fall and vengeance of Harmachis, the royal Egyptian, as set forth by his own hand . e came with outstretched arms, awful tosee, suddenly his end found him, and with a cry he sank downupon the ground, the red blood streaming from his lips. I ranto him and lifted him ; and as he died, he babbled : 1 He was my son, a bright-eyed lovely boy, and full of promise as the Spring ; and now—and now oh, would that he were dead ! Then came a pause and the breath rattled in his throat. 1 Harmachis, he gasped, art there ? 1 Yea, father. Harmachis, atone !—atone ! Vengeance can still bewreaked—forgiveness may still be won. Theres gold ; Ivehidden it—Atoua—she can tell thee—ah, this pain! Fare-well ! And he struggled faintly in my arms and was dead. Thus, then, did I and my holy father, the Prince Amen-emhat, meet together for the last time in the flesh, and forthe last time part. CLEOPATRA 257 CHAPTER II. OF THE LAST MISERY OF HAEMACHIS J OF THE CALLING DOWNOF THE HOLY ISIS BY THE WOBD OF FEAR ; OF THE PRO-MISE of ibis; OF THE COMING OF ATOUA, AND OF THEWORDS OF ATOC \.. CBOUCHED upon the floor gazingat the dead body of my father,who had lived to curse me, theutterly accursed, while the dark-ness crept and gathered round us,till at length the dead and I werealone in the black silence. Oh,how tell the misery of that hour!Imagination cannot dream it, norwords paint it forth. Once more in my;1 ;^V wretchedness I bethought me of death. A knife was at my girdle, with which I might cutthe thread of sorrow and set my spirit free. Free? ay,free to fly and face the last vengeance of the Holy Gods!Alas ! and alas ! I did not dare to die. Better the earth withall its woes than the quick approach of those miimaginedterrors that, hovering in dim Amenti, wait the advent of thefallen. I grovelled on the ground and wept tears of agony forthe lost unchanging past—wept till I could weep no more; S 258 CLEOPATRA but no answer came from the silence—n
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