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It speaks of former scenes of days gone by-
ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.
And thou hast walked about, (how strange a story!)
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,
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
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,
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh glass to glass;
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed,
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 greenOr 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 pr'ythee tell us something of thyself,
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house;
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered,
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 nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, Whilst 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,
If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast,
Statue of flesh-immortal of the dead!
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure
Although corruption may our frame consume,
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark,
Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!
In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, Our king and our country to save—— ›
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,
O! who would not rest with the brave?