"O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried. His prayer was granted. High as heaven behold Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, World-circling traffic roared through mart and street, His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined Set death at naught in rock-ribbed charnels deep. Seek Pharaoh's race to-day, and ye shall find Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep. "O World-God, give me Beauty!" cried the Greek. His prayer was granted. All the earth be came Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame, Peopled the world with imaged grace and light. The lyre was his, and his the breathing might Of the immortal marble, his the play "O World-God, give me Power!" the Roman cried. His prayer was granted. The vast world was chained A captive to the chariot of his pride. Code. Within, the burrowing worm had gnawed its home: A roofless ruin stands where once abode The imperial race of everlasting Rome. "O God-head, give me Truth!" the Hebrew cried. His prayer was granted. He became the slave Of the Idea, a pilgrim far and wide, none to save. The Pharaohs knew him, and when Greece beheld, His wisdom wore the hoary crown of Eld. Beauty he hath forsworn, and wealth and power. Seek him to-day, and find in every land. No fire consumes him, neither floods de vour; tongue. Go seek the sunshine race. Ye find to-day A broken column and a lute unstrung. hand. EMMA LAZARUS. RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. FROM "RIENZI." FRIENDS! I come not here to talk. Ye know too well I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye. Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Have ye brave sons? - Look in the next fierce brawl To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? — Look MARY RUSSELL MITFORD But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of | Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; LOCHIEL. rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array WIZARD. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; But man cannot cover what God would reveal; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! "T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors: Culloden is lost, and my country deplores, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? Ah no! for a darker departure is near; With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale LOCHIEL. - Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale; Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe; Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame! THOMAS CAMPBELL. |