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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 Cephrenes 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 played?
Perhaps thou wert a priest;—if so, my struggles
Are vain-for priestcraft never owns its juggles!
Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,

Hath hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass— Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat

Or doffed 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 armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled?
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :-

Antiquity appears to have begun

Long after thy primeval race was run.

Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world looked 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
Contained no record of its early ages?

Still silent!-Incommunicative elf!

Art sworn to secrecy? Then keep thy vows!
But, prithee, 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 mutations; The Roman empire has begun and ended—

New worlds have risen-we have lost old nationsAnd countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.

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

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,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?

If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
The nature of thy private life unfold!

A heart hath throbbed beneath that leathern breast,

And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled :Have children climbed those knees, and kissed 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 undecayed 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?
Oh! let us keep the soul embalmed and pure
In living virtue-that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our fame consume,
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!

Thomas Moore.


(From "LALLA ROOKн.")

ONE morn a Peri at the gate

Of Eden stood disconsolate;

And as she listened to the Springs

Of Life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!
"How happy," exclaimed this child of air,
"Are the holy Spirits who wander there,

Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall;

Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, And the stars themselves have flowers for me, One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all!


Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, With its plane-tree isle reflected clear,

And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall; Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, And the golden floods that thitherward stray, Yet-oh! 'tis only the Blest can say


How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years,

One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

The glorious Angel, who was keeping
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listened
To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened
Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden's fountain, when it lies
On the blue flower, which-Brahmins say—
Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.

"Nymph of a fair but erring line!"
Gently he said " One hope is thine.
"Tis written in the Book of Fate,
The Peri yet may be forgiven

Who brings to this Eternal gate

The Gift that is most dear to Heaven !

Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin-
'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in !”

Rapidly as comets run

To th' embraces of the sun ;-
Fleeter than the starry brands
Flung at night from angel hands
At those dark and daring sprites
Who would climb th' empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And, lighted earthward by a glance

That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hov'ring o'er our world's expanse.

But whither shall the Spirit go

To find this gift for Heaven?—"I know
The wealth," she cries, of

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every urn In which unnumbered rubies burn, Beneath the pillars of Chilminar;

I know where the Isles of Perfume are,
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright Araby;
I know, too, where the Genii hid
The jewelled cup of their King Jamshid,
With Life's elixir sparkling high-

But gifts like these are not for the sky.
Where was there ever a gem that shone
Like the steps of Allah's wonderful Throne?
And the Drops of Life-oh! what would they be
In the boundless Deep of Eternity?"

While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd
The air of that sweet Indian land,

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