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The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy;
Yet ere he die to Salem's streets shall come;
Where o'er the cherub-seated God full blazed the irradiate dome.
HENRY HART MILMAN.
Lines written on reading an argument to prove that the Irish were descended from the Jews.
YES, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling,
In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same cup of trembling,"Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.
Like thee doth our nation lie conquered and broken,
And "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."
Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning,
Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the forsaken,"
Her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over graves!
BUT WHO SHALL SEE?
Yet hadst thou thy vengeance—yet came there the morrow,
When that cup, which for others the proud golden city
Had brimmed full of bitterness, drenched her own lips; And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships.
When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over
But Who Shall See?
BUT who shall see the glorious day
When, throned on Zion's brow,
When pain shall cease, and every tear
Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn
Thy days of splendor shall return,
The fount of life shall then be quaffed
Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition.
ND thou hast walked about (how strange a story) In Thebes' 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 moonNot 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?
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the secrets of thy tradeThen 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.
Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat,
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass; Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat;
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass;
MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop-if that withered tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen―
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 has 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, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
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,
In living virtue-that when both must sever,
Cleopatra Embarking on the Cydnus.
After a Picture by Derby.
"The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold:
Purple the sail; and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
LUTES in the sunny air!
And harps in the porphyry halls!
With its heart breathed swells and falls!