In vain I tried to follow;--bands
Of reverend chanters filled the aisle:
Where'er I sought to pass, their wands
Motioned me back, while many a file
Of sacred nymphs--but ah, not they
Whom my eyes looked for thronged the way.
Perplext, impatient, mid this crowd
Of faces, lights--the o'erwhelming cloud
Of incense round me, and my blood
Full of its new-born fire--I stood,
Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I caught
A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone,
Or wreath of lotus, which I thought
Like those she wore at distance shone.
But no, 'twas vain--hour after hour,
Till my heart's throbbing turned to pain,
And my strained eyesight lost its power,
I sought her thus, but all in vain.
At length, hot--wildered--in despair,
I rushed into the cool night-air,
And hurrying (tho' with many a look
Back to the busy Temple) took
My way along the moonlight shore,
And sprung into my boat once more.
There is a Lake that to the north
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth,
Upon whose silent shore the Dead
Have a proud city of their own,[2]
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread--
Where many an ancient kingly head
Slumbers, immortalized in stone;
And where thro' marble grots beneath
The lifeless, ranged like sacred things,
Nor wanting aught of life but breath,
Lie in their painted coverings,
And on each new successive race
That visit their dim haunts below
Look with the same unwithering face
They wore three thousand years ago.
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