« 前へ次へ »
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They marched all in silence, — they looked on the ground.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
O, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain,
When the shroud was unclosed, and no
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,
'T was the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:
"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief:
¦ On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the
And the desert revealed where his lady
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we 've fled together,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;
"And empty that shroud and that coffin
"And by my word! the bonny bird
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my So, though the waves are raging white,
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight:
For, sore dismayed, through storm and | But to that fane, most catholic and shade,
His child he did discover;
Which God hath planned;
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
The floor of nature's temple tessellate, What numerous emblems of instructive
Your forins create!
To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply; Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky.
There, as in solitude and shade I wander
Awed by the silence, reverently I ponder
Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
Ye bright mosaics! that with storied In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly
With which thou paintest Nature's
Not useless are ye, flowers! though made for pleasure;
Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night,
From every source your sanction bids
Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope?
Each fading calyx a memento mori,
Posthumous glories! angel-like collec
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in
Ye are to me a type of resurrection,
Were I, O God! in churchless lands re-
Far from all voice of teachers or di-
My soul would find, in flowers of thy
Priests, sermons, shrines!
AND thou hast walked about how
In Thebes's streets, three thousand
When the Memnonium was in all its
And time had not begun to over-
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, ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. A torch, at the great temple's dedica
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
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!
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled;
For thou wert dead, and buried, and em-
Ere Romulus and Remus had been
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
Or was it then so old that history's
for doubtless thou canst recol- Still silent!- Incommunicative elf!
But, prithee, tell us something of thy self,
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
The Roman Empire has begun and ended,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has
[1781 - 1849.]
A GHOST AT NOON.
THE day was dark, save when the beam
Lo! splendor, like a spirit, came,
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy While there I sat, and named her name
Who once sat there with me.
When the great Persian conqueror,
Marched armies o'er thy tomb with
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, And shook the pyramids with fear and
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 dusty cheek
Have children climbed those knees, and
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!