Part 45 (1/2)

The sand runs, monarchs! the clepsydra weeps.

Wherefore? They see through future's gloomy deeps, Through the church wall, into the catacomb, And mark the change when thrones do graves become.

THE FIFTH SPHINX.

To swerve the earth seemed from its wonted path When marched the Four of Asia in their wrath, And when they were bound slaves to Cyrus' car, The rivers shrank back from their banks afar.

”Who can this be,” was Nineveh's appeal; ”Who dares to drag the G.o.ds at his car-wheel?”

The ground is still there that these wheel-rims tore-- The people and the armies are no more.

THE SIXTH SPHINX.

Never again Cambyses earth will tread.

He slept, and rotted, for his ghost had fled.

So long as sovereigns live, the subjects kneel, Crouching like spaniels at their royal heel; But when their might flies, they are shunned by all, Save worms, which--human-like--still to them crawl On Troy or Memphis, on Pyrrhus the Great, Or on Psammeticus, alike falls fate.

Those who in rightful purple are arrayed, The prideful vanquisher, like vanquished, fade.

Death grins as he the fallen man bestrides-- And less of faults than of his glories hides.

THE SEVENTH SPHINX.

The time is come for Belus' tomb to fall, Long has been ruined its high granite wall; And its cupola, sister of the cloud, Has now to lowest mire its tall head bowed.

The herdsman comes to it to choose the stones To build a hut, and overturns the bones, From which he has just scared a jackal pack, Waiting to gnaw them when he turns his back.

Upon this scene the night is doubly night, And the lone pa.s.ser vainly strains his sight, Musing: Was Belus not buried near this spot?

The royal resting-place is now forgot.

THE EIGHTH SPHINX.

The inmates of the Pyramids a.s.sume The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.

A Jailer who ne'er needs bolts, bars, or hasps, Is Death. With unawed hand a G.o.d he grasps, He thrusts, to stiffen, in a narrow case, Or cell, where struggling air-blasts constant moan; Walling them round with huge, damp, slimy stone; And (leaving mem'ry of bloodshed as drink, And thoughts of crime as food) he stops each c.h.i.n.k.

THE NINTH SPHINX.

Who would see Cleopatra on her bed?

Come in. The place is filled with fog like lead, Which clammily has settled on the frame Of her who was a burning, dazzling flame To all mankind--who durst not lift their gaze, And meet the brightness of her beauty's rays.

Her teeth were pearls, her breath a rare perfume.

Men died with love on entering her room.

Poised 'twixt the world and her--acme of joys!

Antony took her of the double choice.

The ice-cold heart that pa.s.sion seldom warms, Would find heat torrid in that queen's soft arms.

She won without a single woman's wile, Illumining the earth with peerless smile.

Come in!--but m.u.f.fle closely up your face, No grateful scents have ta'en sweet odors' place.

THE TENTH SPHINX.

What did the greatest king that e'er earth bore, Sennacherib? No matter--he's no more!

What were the words Sardanapalus said?

Who cares to hear--that ruler long is dead.

The Soudan, turning pale, stared at the TEN aghast.

”Before to-morrow's night,” he said, ”in dust to rest, These walls with croaking images shall be downcast; I will not have fiends speak when angels are addressed.”

But while Zim at the Sphinxes clenched his hand and shook, The cup in which it seems the rich wine sweetly breathes, The cup with jewels sparkling, met his lowered look, Dwelling on the rim which the rippling wine enwreathes.