There was a terrace that looked eastward from the gardens.  Thither Nehushta bent her steps, slowly, as though in deep thought, and when she reached the smooth marble balustrade, she leaned over it and let her dark eyes rest on the quiet landscape.  The peace of the evening descended upon her; the birds of the day ceased singing with the growing darkness; and slowly, out of the plain, the yellow moon soared up and touched the river and the meadows with mystic light; while far off, in the rose-thickets of the gardens, the first notes of a single nightingale floated upon the scented breeze, swelling and trilling, quivering and falling again, in a glory of angelic song.  The faint air fanned her cheek, the odours of the box and the myrtle and the roses intoxicated her senses, and as the splendid shield of the rising moon cast its broad light into her dreaming eyes, her heart overflowed, and Nehushta the princess lifted up her voice and sang an ancient song of love, in the tongue of her people, to a soft minor melody, that sounded like a sigh from the southern desert.

 "Come unto me, my beloved, in the warmth of the darkness, come—­
    Rise, and hasten thy footsteps, to be with me at night-time, come!

  “I wait in the darkness for him, and the sand of the desert whirling
   Is blown at the door of my tent which is open toward the desert.

  “My ear in the darkness listeth for the sound of his coming nearer,
   Mine eyes watch for him and rest not, for I would not he found me
       sleeping.

  “For when my beloved cometh, he is like the beam of the morning;[2]
   Ev’n as the dawn in a strange land to the sight of a man journeying.

  “Yea, when my beloved cometh, as dew that descendeth from heaven,
   No man can hear when it falleth, but as rain it refresheth all
       things.

  “In his hand bringeth he lilies, in his right hand are many flowers,
   Roses hath he on his forehead, he is crowned with roses from Shinar.

  “The night-winds make sweet songs for him, even in the darkness soft
       music;
   Whithersoever he goeth, there his sweetness goeth before him."_

     [Footnote 2:  “Thou art to me as the beam of the east rising in
     a strange land.”—­Ossian.]

Her young voice died away in a soft murmuring cadence, and the nightingale alone poured out her heartful of lore to the ancient moon.  But as Nehushta rested immovable by the marble balustrade of the terrace, there was a rustle among the myrtles and a quick step on the pavement.  The dark maiden started at the sound, and a happy smile parted her lips.  But she did not turn to look; only her hand stole out behind her on the marble where she knew her lover’s would meet it.  There was in the movement all the certainty of conquest and yet all the tenderness of love.  The Persian trod quickly and laid his hand on hers, and bent to her, trying to meet her eyes:  for one moment still she gazed out straight before her, then turned and faced him suddenly, as though she had withheld her welcome as long as she could and then given it all at once.