And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges | Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Come over, come over to me. Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys, And bells have forgotten their old art of telling “Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be; But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught dis- Perhaps thou wert a priest, Cover: ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BEL- AND thou hast walked about, (how strange a In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in all its glory, And time had not begun to overthrow Speak for thou long enough hast acted dummy; tune; Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, - And the great deluge still had left it green; Or was it then so old that history's pages Contained no record of its early ages? Statue of flesh, immortal of the dead! Why should this worthless tegument endure, HORACE SMITH. All that I know about the town of Homer Is that they scarce would own him in his day, Had they foreseen the fuss since made about him. He With mortal aim; this light, fantastic toe 'Threaded the mystic mazes of the dance; This heart has throbbed at tales of love and woe; These shreds of raven hair once set the fashion; This withered form inspired the tender passion. In vain; the skilful hand and feelings warm, The foot that figured in the bright quadrille, The palm of genius and the manly form, All bowed at once to Death's mysterious will, Who sealed me up where mummies sound are sleeping, ANSWER OF THE MUMMY AT BELZO- In cerecloth and in tolerable keeping; Where cows and monkeys squat in rich brocade, With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces; Then birds, brutes, reptiles, fish, all crammed together, With ladies that might pass for well-tanned Where Rameses and Sabacon lie down, ber, When huge Belzoni came to scare their slumber.. Who'd think these rusty hams of mine were seated And ever and anon the Queen turned pale. Ay, gaslights! Mock me not, - we men of yore | Till thou wert carved and decorated thus, tion; Who hath not heard of Egypt's peerless lore, Her patient toil, acuteness of invention ? Survey the proofs, the pyramids are thriving, Old Memnon still looks young, and I'm surviving. A land in arts and sciences prolific, O block gigantic, building up her fame, Crowded with signs and letters hieroglyphic, Temples and obelisks her skill proclaim ! Yet though her art and toil unearthly seem, Those blocks were brought on railroads and by steam! How, when, and why our people came to rear The pyramid of Cheops, mighty pile?This, and the other secrets, thou shalt hear; I will unfold, if thou wilt stay awhile, The history of the Sphinx, and who began it, Our mystic works, and monsters made of granite. Well, then, in grievous times, when King Cephrenes, But ah! What's this! the shades of bards and kings Press on my lips their fingers! What they mean is, I am not to reveal these hidden things. Mortal, farewell! Till Science' self unbind them, Men must e'en take these secrets as they find them. ANONYMOUS. Thus to thy second quarry did they trust Thee and the Lord of all the nations round. Grim King of Silence! Monarch of the Dust! Embalmed, anointed, jewelled, sceptred, crowned, Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff, and stark, A leathern Pharaoh grinning in the dark. Thus ages rolled, but their dissolving breath Could only blacken that imprisoned thing Which wore a ghastly royalty in death, As if it struggled still to be a king; The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt poured ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SAR-The steel-clad horseman, -the barbarian horde, COPHAGUS Music and men of every sound and hue,— Priests, archers, eunuchs, concubines, and brutes,— Gongs, trumpets, cymbals, dulcimers, and lutes. Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away The ponderous rock that sealed the sacred tomb; Then did the slowly penetrating ray Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom, And lowered torches flashed against thy side As Asia's king thy blazoned trophies eyed. Plucked from his grave, with sacrilegious taunt, Dashing the diadem from his temple gaunt, The features of the royal corpse they scanned: They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand, And on those fields, where once his will was law, Left him for winds to waste and beasts to gnaw. Some pious Thebans, when the storm was past, Unclosed the sepulchre with cunning skill, And nature, aiding their devotion, cast Over its entrance a concealing rill. Then thy third darkness came, and thou didst sleep Twenty-three centuries in silence deep. But he from whom nor pyramid nor Sphinx Can hide its secrecies, Belzoni, came; From the tomb's mouth unloosed the granite links, Gave thee again to light and life and fame. And brought thee from the sands and desert forth To charm the pallid children of the North. Thou art in London, which, when thou wert new, Was, what Thebes is, a wilderness and waste, Where savage beasts more savage men pursue, A scene by nature cursed, - by man disgraced. Now 't is the world's metropolis- the high Queen of arms, learning, arts, and luxury. Here, where I hold my hand, 't is strange to think What other hands perchance preceded mine; Others have also stood beside thy brink, And vainly conned the moralizing line. Kings, sages, chiefs, that touched this stone, like me, Where are ye now?—where all must shortly be! All is mutation;-he within this stone Was once the greatest monarch of the hour:His bones are dust, - his very name unknown. Go,-learn from him the vanity of power: Seek not the frame's corruption to control, But build a lasting mansion for thy soul. HORACE SMITH. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, The dancing pair that simply sought renown, These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms, but all these charms are fled ! Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light Labor spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more : His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train And every pang that folly pays to pride. Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, - To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; The sad historian of the pensive plain. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise. And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; E'en children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares dis tressed; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, Near yonder copse, where once the garden As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild; Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his The village master taught his little school; place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, were won. A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to While words of learned length and thundering glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; Ile watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye. |