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ADDRESS TO THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY

IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.

BY HORACE SMITII.

And thou hast walk'd about—how strange a story !

In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago! When the Memnonium was in all its glory,

And Time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous !

Speak, for thou long enough hast acted Dummy!

Thou hast a tongue-come-let us hear its tune! Thou’rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy!

Revisiting the glimpses of the Moon; Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. Tell us—for doubtless thou canst recollect,

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? Was Cheops, or Cephrénes architect

Of either Pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? 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 play'd ? Perhaps thou wert a Priest—if so, my struggles Are vain,- for priestcraft never owns its juggles,

168 ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,

Hath hob-a-nobb’d with Pharaoh, glass to glass; Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat;

Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass :
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.

I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm’d,

Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled ?
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm’d,

Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :-
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develope, if that wither'd tongue

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world look'd when it was fresh and young,

And the great Deluge still had left it green ! Or was it then so old that History's pages Contain'd no record of its early ages ?

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 slumber'd, What hast thou seen what strange adventures

number'd ?

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.

169 Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head

When the great Persian Conqueror, Cambyses, March'd armies o'er thy tomb, with thundering tread,

O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?
If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,

The nature of thy private life unfold :-
A heart hath throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,

And tears adown that dusty cheek have roll’d. Have children climb'd those knees, and kiss'd that

face? What was thy name, and station, age, and race? Statue of flesh!- Immortal of the dead !

Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,

And standest undecay'd within our presence, Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its

warning.
Why should this worthless tegument endure,

If its undying guest be lost for ever?
O let us keep the soul embalm’d and pure

In living virtue, that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
The immortal spirit in the skies may

bloom.

LYRE.

I

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

BY PERCY BYSHE SHELLEY.

The fountains mingle with the river,

And the river with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a strange emotion : Nothing in the world is single ;

All things, by a law divine, In one another's being mingle,

Why not I with thine ?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another! No leaf or flower would be forgiven,

If it disdain'd to kiss its brother. And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea :What are all these kissings worth,

If thou kiss not me?

STANZAS.

BY T. HOOD.

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I REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window, where the sun
Came peeping in, at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

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I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily cups-
Those flowers made of light ;
The lilacs, where the robins built,
And where my brother set
The labernum, on his birthday,–
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air would rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
-My spirit flew in feathers, then,
That is so heavy now,
And the summer pool could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!
I remember, I remember
The fir trees, dark and high;
I used to think their slender spires
Were close against the sky!
It was a childish ignorance,-
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven,
Than when I was a boy!

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