The guests gazed in silence at the spellbound king, and at the poet; at last Rameses bowed his head,

Pentaur rose to his feet, and the bright color flew to his face as close to him he perceived Bent-Anat.

“You fought at Kadesh?” asked the king.  “As thou sayest,” replied Pentaur.

“You are well spoken of as a poet,” said Rameses, “and we desire to hear the wonderful tale of my preservation celebrated in song.  If you will attempt it, let a lute be brought and sing.”

The poet bowed.  “My gifts are modest,” he said, “but I will endeavor to sing of the glorious deed, in the presence of the hero who achieved it, with the aid of the Gods.”

Rameses gave a signal, and Ameni caused a large golden harp to be brought in for his disciple.  Pentaur lightly touched the strings, leaned his head against the top of the tall bow of the harp, for some time lest in meditation; then he drew himself up boldly, and struck the chords, bringing out a strong and warlike music in broad heroic rhythm.

Then he began the narrative:  how Rameses had pitched his camp before Kadesh, how he ordered his troops, and how he had taken the field against the Cheta, and their Asiatic allies.  Louder and stronger rose his tones when he reached the turning-point of the battle, and began to celebrate the rescue of the king; and the Pharaoh listened with eager attention as Pentaur sang:—­[A literal translation of the ancient Egyptian poem called “The Epos of Pentaur”]

     “Then the king stood forth, and, radiant with courage,
     He looked like the Sun-god armed and eager for battle. 
     The noble steeds that bore him into the struggle
     ‘Victory to Thebes’ was the name of one, and the other
     Was called ’contented Nura’—­were foaled in the stables
     Of him we call ‘the elect,’ ‘the beloved of Amon,’
     ‘Lord of truth,’ the chosen vicar of Ra.

     Up sprang the king and threw himself on the foe,
     The swaying ranks of the contemptible Cheta. 
     He stood alone-alone, and no man with him. 
     As thus the king stood forth all eyes were upon him,
     And soon he was enmeshed by men and horses,
     And by the enemy’s chariots:  two thousand five hundred. 
     The foe behind hemmed him in and enclosed him. 
     Dense the array of the contemptible Cheta,
     Dense the swarm of warriors out of Arad,
     Dense the Mysian host, the Pisidian legions. 
     Every chariot carried three bold warriors,
     All his foes, and all allied like brothers.

     “Not a prince is with me, not a captain,
     Not an archer, none to guide my horses! 
     Fled the riders! fled my troops and horse
     By my side not one is now left standing.” 
     Thus the king, and raised his voice in prayer. 
     “Great father Amon, I have known Thee well. 
     And can the father thus forget his son?