MIZRAIM AND LUD.

The fat of the fields husks the voice of the morn, while

Demeter is weighing her sheaves;

The lotus has honied its lips for the kiss, “and the turtle in mockery grieves.”

What is that, where the Orient gathers her gold, and the eye wanders back to the sea?

What cloud on the horizon's breach can be seen? What wakens the vulture's rude glee?

Oppression, when reversed, is double weight;

The Slave pours lead into the lash he bore;

And, as the Master adds recruited hate

To blows, that he has learned to feel before,

The soul its letters of forgiveness learns

From only one great Master, in all time;

Revenge is human, and forever burns

Upon the trackway of retreating crime.

The text and testwork of their lives was lost;

And when the King was slain, and they o'erthrown,

His people paid their tyranny with cost.

Only the Prophet, with his magic stone,

Could purchase their withdrawal; they must leave

( They were the early jewels of the sun )

And Uri pledged their fortunes to retrieve,

If they would journey, where the day begun,

And seek the closer presence of their god,

In paths where human feet had never trod.

They must divide with Egypt; but go out

Well laden for the journey; should they dare

To turn, the heavy hand of Mizraim would not spare.

AEgyptus! thou above thy gates hath writ

So many times the monosylbic “when.”

We, weary of conjecture; round us flit

The phantoms of the past; and we again

Pass in review thy pages, black with mold;

Intemporate within a crumbling earth,

Against the char of empires thou dost hold

The charms that emulate immortal birth.

We write mutation on the brow of Time;

Thou art the changeless one of all the world —

Thou hast no brotherhood in any clime;

All mortal barbets have in vain been hurled.

“Time conquers all things?” Thou giv'st back the lie;

Above its ruins, thou dost stand, serene —

Eternity!— Must thou, perforce, then die?

What tragedy hast thou, indeed, not seen?

Must thou, too, look on death? thou wilt not dim;

But in impassive slumber, thou wilt fall

As sinks the sun, beneath the horizon's rim,

And answer only the Archangel's call.

We leave thee loathely, for our souls are wed

To thy enchanted gardenhood of lore.

“The morning stars sang joy” above thy bed,

The nations, in their cerements, shall pass thy door,

And earth be wrapped in ashes ere thy brow shall bear the fatal legend, “Nevermore.”