A waking eye, a prying mind,

A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbor, gone before
To that unknown and silent shore!
Shall we not meet as heretofore
Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet forewarning?

Moore

OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT

FT in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me:

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimmed and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken.

Thus in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends so linked together

I've seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather,

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed.

Thus in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

Horace Smith

ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY

AND thou hast walked about (how strange a

story!)

In Thebes's 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 moon,

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones and flesh and limbs and features.

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect

Of either pyramid that bears his name?

Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by

Homer?

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade,
Then 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 halfpenny in Homer's hat;
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass;
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,

A torch at the great temple's dedication.

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled;
For thou wert dead and buried and embalmed
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled:
Antiquity appears to have begun

Long after thy primeval race was run.

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen How the world looked when it was fresh and

young,

And the great deluge still had left it green;