Part 44 (2/2)
When the time comes for me to cast off earthly robe, And enter--being Day--into the realms of light, The G.o.ds will say, we call Zizimi from his globe That we may have our brother nearer to our sight!
Glory is but my menial, Pride my own chained slave, Humbly standing when Zizimi is in his seat.
I scorn base man, and have sent thousands to the grave.
They are but as a rushen carpet to my feet.
Instead of human beings, eunuchs, blacks, or mutes, Be yours, oh, Sphinxes, with the glad names on your fronts!
The task, with voice attuned to emulate the flute's, To charm the king, whose chase is man, and wars his hunts.
”Some portion of your splendor back on me reflect, Sing out in praiseful chains of melodious links!
Oh, throne, which I with b.l.o.o.d.y spoils have so bedecked, Speak to your lord! Speak you, the first rose-crested Sphinx!”
Soon on the summons, once again was stillness broke, For the ten figures, in a voice which all else drowned, Parting their stony lips, alternatively spoke-- Spoke clearly, with a deeply penetrative sound.
THE FIRST SPHINX.
So lofty as to brush the heavens' dome, Upon the highest terrace of her tomb Is Queen Nitrocis, thinking all alone, Upon her line, long tenants of the throne, Terrors, scourges of the Greeks and Hebrews, Harsh and bloodthirsty, narrow in their views.
Against the pure scroll of the sky, a blot, Stands out her sepulchre, a fatal spot That seems a baneful breath around to spread.
The birds which chance to near it, drop down dead.
The queen is now attended on by shades, Which have replaced, in horrid guise, her maids.
No life is here--the law says such as bore A corpse alone may enter through yon door.
Before, behind, around the queen, her sight Encounters but the same blank void of night.
Above, the pilasters are like to bars, And, through their gaps, the dead look at the stars, While, till the dawn, around Nitrocis' bones, Spectres hold council, crouching on the stones.
THE SECOND SPHINX.
Howe'er great is pharaoh, the magi, king, Encompa.s.sed by an idolizing ring, None is so high as Tiglath Pileser.
Who, like the G.o.d before whom pales the star, Has temples, with a prophet for a priest, Who serves up daily sacrilegious feast.
His anger there are none who dare provoke, His very mildness is looked on as a yoke; And under his, more feared than other rules, He holds his people bound, like tamed bulls.
Asia is banded with his paths of war; He is more of a scourge than Attila.
He triumphs glorious--but, day by day, The earth falls at his feet, piecemeal away; And the bricks for his tomb's wall, one by one, Are being shaped--are baking in the sun.
THE THIRD SPHINX.
Equal to archangel, for one short while, Was Nimroud, builder of tall Babel's pile.
His sceptre reached across the s.p.a.ce between The sites where Sol to rise and set is seen.
Baal made him terrible to all alike, The greatest cow'ring when he rose to strike.
Unbelief had shown in ev'ry eye, Had any dared to say: ”Nimroud will die!”
He lived and ruled, but is--at this time, where?
Winds blow free o'er his realm--a desert bare!
THE FOURTH SPHINX.
There is a statue of King Chrem of old, Of unknown date and maker, but of gold.
How many grandest rulers in his day Chrem plucked down, there are now none can say.
Whether he ruled with gentle hand or rough, None know. He once was--no longer is--enough, Crowned Time, whose seat is on a ruined ma.s.s, Holds, and aye turns, a strange sand in his gla.s.s, A sand sc.r.a.ped from the mould, brushed from the shroud Of all pa.s.sed things, mean, great, lowly, or proud.
Thus meting with the ashes of the dead How hours of the living have quickly fled.
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