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Statue of flesh, - immortal of the dead! Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, - who quit'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 forever?
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!

HORACE SMITH.

ANSWER OF THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.

CHILD of the later days! thy words have broken A spell that long has bound these lungs of clay, For since this smoke-dried tongue of mine hath spoken

Three thousand tedious years have rolled away. Unswathed at length, I "stand at ease" before ye. List, then, O list, while I unfold my story.

Thebes was my birthplace, - an unrivaled city
With many gates, - but here I might declare
Some strange, plain truths, except that it were pity
To blow a poet's fabric into air;

O, I could read you quite a Theban lecture,
And give a deadly finish to conjecture.

But then you would not have me throw discredit
On grave historians, or on him who sung
The Iliad, true it is I never read it,

But heard it read, when I was very young.
An old blind minstrel for a trifling profit
Recited parts, I think the author of it.

-

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Where cows and monkeys squat in rich brocade, And well-dressed crocodiles in painted cases, Rats, bats, and owls, and cats in masquerade,

With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces; Then birds, brutes, reptiles, fish, all crammed together,

With ladies that might pass for well-tanned leather;

Where Rameses and Sabacon lie down,

And splendid Psammis in his hide of crust, Princes and heroes, - men of high renown,

Who in their day kicked up a mighty dust. Their swarthy mummies kicked up dust in number, When huge Belzoni came to scare their slumber.

Who'd think these rusty hams of mine were seated
At Dido's table, when the wondrous tale
Of "Juno's hatred" was so well repeated?

And ever and anon the Queen turned pale. Meanwhile the brilliant gaslights hung above her Threw a wild glare upon her shipwrecked lover.

Ay, gaslights! Mock me not,- we men of yore Were versed in all the knowledge you can men

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,

Of blocks 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!

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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,

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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, jeweled, sceptered,
crowned,

But ah!- What's this? the shades of bards Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff, and stark,
A leathern Pharaoh grinning in the dark.

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.

ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SARCOPH

AGUS

LATELY DEPOSITED IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.

THOU alabaster relic! while I hold

My hand upon thy sculptured margin thrown, Let me recall the scenes thou couldst unfold, Mightst thou relate the changes thou hast known,

For thou wert primitive in thy formation, Launched from the Almighty's hand at the Creation.

Yes, thou wert present when the stars and skies
And worlds unnumbered rolled into their places;
When God from Chaos bade the spheres arise,
And fixed the blazing sun upon its basis,
And with his finger on the bounds of space
Marked out each planet's everlasting race.

How many thousand ages from thy birth

Thou slept'st in darkness, it were vain to ask, Till Egypt's sons upheaved thee from the earth, And year by year pursued their patient task; Till thou wert carved and decorated thus, Worthy to be a king's sarcophagus.

What time Elijah to the skies ascended,
Or David reigned in holy Palestine,
Some ancient Theban monarch was extended
Beneath the lid of this emblazoned shrine,
And to that subterranean palace borne
Which toiling ages in the rock had worn.

Thebes from her hundred portals filled the plain
To see the car on which thou wert upheld:
What funeral pomps extended in thy train,
What banners waved, what mighty music
swelled,

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;
And each revolving century, like the last,
Just dropped its dust upon thy lid — and passed.

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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.

And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billets-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,

Kings, sages, chiefs, that touched this stone, like Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,

me,

And calls forth all the wonders of her face;

Where are ye now? - Where all must shortly be! Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,

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.

And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy sylphs surround their darling care,
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, while others plait the gown;
And Betty's praised for labors not her own.

ALEXANDER POPE.

THE TOILET.

HORACE SMITH.

FROM "THE RAPE OF THE LOCK."

AND now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores,
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers.
A heavenly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
The inferior priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here
The various offerings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,

THE PEDDLER'S PACK.

FROM "THE WINTER'S TALE."

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.
LAWN as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel:
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: come buy.

SHAKESPEARE.

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