“Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile, Who sway’st the sceptre of the Pharian isle, And sevenfold falls of disemboguing Nile, Relieve, in this our last distress,” she said, “A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid. Thou, goddess, thou wert present to my sight; Reveal’d I saw thee by thy own fair light; I saw thee, in my dream, as now I see, With all thy marks of awful majesty, The glorious train that compass’d thee around, And heard the hollow timbrels’ holy sound. Thy words I noted, which I still retain, Let not thy sacred oracles be vain. That Iphis lives, that I myself am free From shame and punishment, I owe to thee. On thy protection all our hopes depend; Thy counsel saved us, let thy power defend.”

Her tears pursued her words, and, while she spoke, The goddess nodded, and her altar shook; The temple doors, as with a blast of wind, Were heard to clap; the lunar horns, that bind The brows of Isis, cast a blaze around, The trembling timbrel made a murm’ring sound.