hand--hear me; and, to the day of utter doom, bear me witness that I
write the truth.



Even while I write, beyond the fertile fields, the Nile is running red,
as though with blood. Before me the sunlight beats upon the far Arabian
hills, and falls upon the piles of Abouthis. Still the priests make
orison within the temples at Abouthis that know me no more; still
the sacrifice is offered, and the stony roofs echo back the people's
prayers. Still from this lone cell within my prison-tower, I, the Word
of Shame, watch thy fluttering banners, Abouthis, flaunting from thy
pylon walls, and hear the chants as the long procession winds from
sanctuary to sanctuary.

Abouthis, lost Abouthis! my heart goes out toward thee! For the day
comes when the desert sands shall fill thy secret places! Thy Gods are
doomed, O Abouthis! New Faiths shall make a mock of all thy Holies, and
Centurion shall call upon Centurion across thy fortress-walls. I weep--I
weep tears of blood: for mine is the sin that brought about these evils
and mine for ever is their shame.

Behold, it is written hereafter.



Here in Abouthis I was born, I, Harmachis, and my father, the justified
in Osiris, was High Priest of the Temple of Sethi. And on that same day
of my birth Cleopatra, the Queen of Egypt, was born also. I passed my
youth in yonder fields watching the baser people at their labours and