H. Rider Haggard,
Cleopatra — Chapter V
(1889)
“ Thine own love, Isis, waits The Warden of the Gates, She breathes the breath of Life on breast and hair, And in her breast and breath Behold! he waketh, Behold! at length he riseth out of rest; Touched with her holy hands, The Lord of all the Lands, He stirs, he rises from her breath, her breast! But thou, fell Typhon, fly, The judgment day drawn nigh, Fleet on thy track as flame speeds Horus from the sky.""Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold; Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling: 'Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold! ”
