In such a heart, nature is reflected as in a magic mirror, on whose surface the Beautiful shines in three-fold beauty.

There the eye can reach far away over stream, and meadow, and hill, and take in the whole circle of the earth; there the morning and evening-red shine, not like roses and rubies, but like the very cheeks of the Goddess of Beauty; there the stars circle on, not in silence, but with the mighty voices of the pure eternal harmonies of heaven; there the child smiles like an infant-god, and the bud unfolds to magic flowers; finally, there thankfulness grows broader and devotion grows deeper, and we throw ourselves into the arms of a God, who--as I imagine his glory--is a God to whom the sublime nine great Gods pray as miserable and helpless suppliants." The tomtom which announced the end of the hour interrupted him.
Pentaur ceased speaking with a deep sigh, and for a minute not a scholar moved.
At last the poet laid the papyrus roll out of his hand, wiped the sweat from his hot brow, and walked slowly towards the gate of the court, which led into the sacred grove of the temple.

He had hardly crossed the threshold when he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.
He looked round.

Behind him stood Ameni.

"You fascinated your hearers, my friend," said the high-priest, coldly; "it is a pity that only the Harp was wanting." Ameni's words fell on the agitated spirit of the poet like ice on the breast of a man in fever.