But she remembers thee as one TO THE POET WORDSWORTH. BY MRS. HEMANS. THINE is a strain to read among the hills, 162 TO THE POET WORDSWORTH. Or its calm spirit fitly may be taken To the calm breast, in some sweet garden's bowers, Where vernal winds each tree's low tones awaken, And bud and bell with changes mark the hours; There let thy thoughts be with me, while the day Sinks with a golden and serene decay. Or by some hearth where happy faces meet, When night hath hushed the woods, with all their birds, There, from some gentle voice, that lay were sweet As antique music, linked with household words; While in pleased murmurs woman's lip might move, And the raised eye in childhood shine in love! Or where the shadows of dark solemn yews Brood silently o'er some lone burial-ground, Thy verse hath power that brightly might diffuse A breath, a kindling, as of spring, around, From its own glow of hope, and courage high, And steadfast faith's victorious constancy. True bard and holy!-Thou art even as one Sees where the springs of living waters lie! Thou mov'st through nature's realm, and touched by thee, Clear healthful waves flow forth, to each glad wanderer free. ADDRESS TO THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. BY HORACE SMITH. AND thou hast walked about-how strange a story!- Speak, for thou long enough hast acted Dummy! Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect,- Of either Pyramid that bears his name? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden, By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade ;Then say, what secret melody was hidden In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played? Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my struggles Are vain,-for priestcraft never owns its juggles. 164 ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido' pass: I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, - Thou couldst develope, if that withered tongue Or was it then so old that History's pages Still silent! Incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But, prythee, tell us something of thyself,— Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, What hast thou seen - what strange adventures numbered? Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange muta tions; The Roman Empire has begun and ended; New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations; And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head 165 When the great Persian Conqueror, Cambyses, Marched armies o'er thy tomb, with thundering tread, O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart hath throbbed beneath that leathern breast, What was thy name, and station, age, and race? Statue of flesh !-Immortal of the dead! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, Why should this worthless tegument endure, O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue, that when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. |