Which won me more than all the best
Outshining beauties of the rest.
And her alone my eyes could see,
Enchaiu'd by this sweet mystery ;
And her alone I vatch'd, as round
She glided o'er that marble ground,
Stirring not more th' unconscious air
Than if a Spirit were moving there.
Till suddenly, wide open flew
The Temple's folding gates, and threw
A splendor from within, a flood
Of glory, where these maidens stood.
While, with that light—as if the same
Rich source gave birth to both-there cams
A swell of harmony, as grand
As o'er was born of voice and hand,
Filling the gorgeous aisles around
With luxury of light and sound.

Where'er I sought to pass, their wands

Motion'd me back, while many a file Of sacred nymphs—but ah, not they Whom my eyes look'd for-throng'd the way Perplex'd, 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 canght

A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, Or wreath of lotus, vhich, I thought,

Like those she wore at distance shone.

But no, 'twas vain-hour after hour,

Till my heart's throbbing tarn’d to pain, And my strain'd eyesight lost its power,

I sought her thus, but all in vain. At length, hot-wilder'd-in despair, I rush'd into the cool night-air, And, hurrying, (though with many a look Back to the busy Temple,) took My way along the moonlight shore, And sprung into my boat once more.

Then was it, by the flash that blazed

Full o'er her features-oh 'twas then, As startingly her eyes she raised,

But quick let fall their lids again,
I saw-not Psyche's self, when first

Upon the threshold of the skies
She paused, while heaven's glory burst

Newly upon her downcast eyes,
Could look more beautiful, or blush

With holier shame, than did this maid, Whom now I saw, in all that gush

Of splendor from the aisles, display'd, Never—though well thou know'st how much

I've felt the sway of Beauty's starNever did her bright influence touch

My soul into its depths so far; And had that vision linger'd there

One minute more, I should have flown,
Forgetful who I was and where,

And, at her feet in worship thrown,
Proffer'd my soul through life her own.

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,'
With shrines and pyramids o'erspread-
Where many an ancient kingly head

Slumbers, immortalized in stone; And where, through marble grots beneath,

The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, Nor wanting aught of life but breath,

Lio 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. There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves The neighborhood of death, in groves Of Asphodel lies hid, and weares His bushing spell among the leavesNor ever noise disturbs the air,

Save the low, humming, mournful sound Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer

For the fresh Dead entomb'd around.

But, scarcely had that burst of light
And music broke on ear and sight,
Than up the aisle the bird took wing,

As if on heavenly mission sent,
While after him, with graceful spring,

Like some unearthly creatures, meant
To live in that mix'd element

Of light and song, the young maids went;
And she, who in my heart had thrown
A spark to burn for life, was flown.

'Twas tow'rd this place of death—in mood

Made up of thoughts, half bright, half darkI now across the shining flood

Unconscious turn'd my light-wing'd bark.

In vain I tried to follow ;-bands

Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle:

1 Necropolis, or the City of the Dend, to the south of Memphis.

Cold, dead, and black’ning, 'mid the gloom

Of those eternal sepulchres.

a

The form of that young maid, in all

Its beauty, was before me still ; And oft I thought, if thus to call

Her image to my mind at will, If but the memory of that one Bright look of hers, forever gone, Was to my heart worth all the rest Of woman-kind, beheld, possess'dWhat would it be, if wholly mine, Within these arms, as in a shrine, Hallow'd by Love, I saw her shineAn idol, worshipp'd by the light Of her own beauties, day and nightIf 'twas a blessing but to see And lose again, what would this be?

Scarce had I turn'd my eyes away

From that dark death-place, at the thought, When by the sound of dashing spray

From a light oar my ear was caught, While past me, through the moonlight, sail'd

A little gilded bark that bore
Two female figures, closely veil'd

And mantled, towards that funeral shore.
They landed—and the boat again
Put off across the watery plain.

Shall I confess—to thee I may

That never yet hath come the chanco Of a new music, a new ray

From woman's voice, from woman's glance, Which-let it find me how it might,

In joy or grief–I did not bless, And wander after, as a light

Leading to undreamt happiness. And chiefly now, when hopes so vain Were stirring in my heart and brain, When Fancy had allured my soul

Into a chase, as vague and far As would be his, who fix'd his goal

In the horizon, or some starAny bewilderment, that brought More near to earth my high-flown thought The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, Less high and heavenly, but more sure, Came welcome-and was then to me What the first flowery islo must be To vagrant birds blown out to sea.

The silence of the lonely tombs

And temples round, where naught was heard But the high palm-tree's tufted plumes,

Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird,
Form'd a deep contrast to the scene
Of revel, where I late had been ;
To those gay sounds, that still came o'er,
Faintly, from many a distant shore,
And th' unnumber'd lights, that shono
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon.

Quick to the shore I urged my bark,

And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed Between the lofty tombs, could mark

Those figures, as with hasty tread They glided on-till in the shade

Of a small pyramíd, which through Some boughs of palm its peak display'd,

They vanish'd instant from my view.

My oars were lifted, and my boat

Lay rock'd upon the rippling stream; While my vague thoughts, alike afloat,

Drifted through many an idle dream, With all of which, wild and unfix'd As was their aim, that vision mix'd, That bright nymph of the Temple—now, With the same innocence of brow She wore within the lighted faneNow kindling, through each pulse and vein, With passion of such deep-felt fire As Gods might glory to inspire ;And now-oh Darkness of the tomb,

That must eclipse even light like hers!

I hurried to the spot--no trace
Of life was in that lonely place ;
And, had the creed I hold by taught
Of other worlds, I might have thought
Somo mocking spirits had from thence
Come in this guise to cheat my sense.

At length, exploring darkly round
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found
An iron portal-opening high

"Twixt peak and base-and, with a prayer

To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye

Alone beheld me, sprung in there. Downward the narrow stairway led Through many a duct obscure and dread,

A labyrinth for mystery made, With wanderings onward, backward, round, And gathering still, where'er it wound,

But deeper density of shado

For there was yet one wonder there,

That held me as by witch’ry bound. The lamp, that through the chamber shed Its vivid beam, was at the head Of her who on that altar slept ;

And near it stood, when first I came Bending her brow, as if she kept

Sad watch upon its silent flameA female form, as yet so placed

Between the lamp's strong glow and me, That I but saw, in outline traced,

The shadow of her symmetry. Yet did my heart-I scarce knew whyEven at that shadow'd shape beat high. Nor was it long, ere full in sight The figure turn'd; and by the light That touch'd her features, as she bent Over the crystal monument, I saw 'twas she—the same—the same

That lately stood before me, bright'ning The holy spot, where she but came

And went again, like summer lightning!

Scarce had I ask'd myself, “ Can aught

“ That man delights in sojourn here ?"When, suddenly, far off, I caught

A glimpse of light, remote, but clearWhose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour

From some alcove or cell, that ended The long, steep, marblo corridor,

Through which I now, all hope, descended. Never did Spartan to his bride With warier foot at midnight glide. It seem'd as echo's self were dead In this dark place, so mute my tread. Reaching, at length, that light, I saw

Oh listen to the scene, now raised
Before my eyes then guess the awe,

The still, rapt awe with which I gazed.
'Twas a small chapel, lined around
With the fair, spangling marble, found
In many a ruin'd shrine that stands
Half seen above the Libyan sands.
The walls were richly sculptured o'er,
And character'd with that dark lore,
Of times before the Flood, whose key
Was lost in th'“ Universal Sea."--
While on the roof was pictured bright

The Theban beetle, as he shines,

When the Nile's mighty flow declines,
And forth the creature springs to light,
With life regenerate in his wings:
Emblem of vain imaginings!
Of a new world, when this is gone,
In which the spirit still lives on!

Upon the crystal, o'er the breast
Of her who took that silent rest,
There was a cross of silver lying-

Another type of that blest home,
Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying

Build for us in a world to come :-
This silver cross the maiden raised
To her pure lips :-then, having gazed
Some minutes on that tranquil face,
Sleeping in all death's mournful grace,
Upward she turn’d her brow serene,

As if, intent on heaven, those eyes
Saw then nor roof nor cloud between

Their own pure orbits and the skies; And, though her lips no motion made,

And that fix'd look was all her speech, I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd

Deeper within than words could reach.

Direct beneath this type, reclined

On a black granite altar, lay
A female form, in crystal shrined,

And looking fresh as if the ray

Of soul had fled but yesterday. While in relief, of silv'ry hue,

Graved on the altar's front were seen A branch of lotus, broken in two,

As that fair creature's life had been, And a small bird that from its spray Was winging, like her soul, away.

Strange power of Innocence, to turn

To its own hue whate'er comes near, And make even vagrant Passion burn

With purer warmth within its sphere ! She who, but one short hour before, Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er My heart and brain-whom gladly, even

From that bright Temple, in the face Of those proud ministers of heaven,

I would have borne, in wild embrace. And risk'd all punishment, divine And human, but to make her mice ;She, she was now before me, thr:wn

By fate itself into my arms

But brief the glimpse I now could spare,

To the wild, mystic wonders round;

Though the red sun for hours hath burn'd,

And now, in his mid course, hath met The peak of that eternal pile

He pauses still at noon to bless, Standing beneath his downward smile,

Like a great Spirit, shadowless ! Nor yet she comes-while here, alone,

Saunt'ring through this death-peopled place,
Where no heart beats except my own,
Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown,

By turns I watch, and rest, and trace
These lines, that are to waft to thee
My last night's wondrous history.

Dost thou remember, in that slo

Of our own Sea, where thou and I Linger'd so long, so happy a while,

Till all the summer flowers went byHow gay it was, when sunset brought

To the cool Well our favorite maids Some we had won, and some we sought

To dance within the fragrant shades, And, till the stars went down attune Their Fountain Hymns' to the young moon?

There standing, beautiful, alone,

With naught to guard her, but her charms. Yet did I, then-did even a breath

From my parch'd lips, too parch'd to move, Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death

Held converse through undying love ? No-smile and taunt me as thou wilt

Though but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seem'd it like a wrong, a guilt,

To win by stealth so pure a sight: And rather than a look profane

Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, Or voice or whisper broke the chain

That link'd her spirit with the skies, I would have gladly, in that place, From which I watch'd her heavenward face, Let my heart break, without one beat That could disturb a prayer so sweet. Gently, as if on every tread,

My life, my more than life, depended,
Back through the corridor that led

To this bless'd scene I now ascended,
And with slow seeking, and some pain,
And many a winding tried in vain,
Emerged to upper air again.
The sun had freshly risen, and down

The marble hills of Araby,
Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown,

His beams into that living sea.
There seem'd a glory in his light,

Newly put on—as if for pride
Of the high homage paid this night

To his own Isis, his young bride,
Now fading feminine away
In her proud Lord's superior ray.
My mind's first impulse was to ay

At once from this entangling net-
New scenes to range, new loves to try,
Or, in mirth, wine, and luxury

Of every sense, that night forget. But vain the effort-spell-bound still, I linger’d, without power or will

To turn my eyes froin that dark door, Which now enclosed her 'mong the dead

Oft fancying, through the boughs, that o'er The sunny pile their flickering shed, 'Twas her light form again I saw

Starting to earth-still pure and bright,
But wakening, as I hoped, less awe,

Thus seen by morning's natural light,
Than in that strange, dim cell at night.

That time, too-oh, 'tis like a dream

When from Scamander's holy tide I sprung as Genius of the Stream,

And bore away that blooming bride, Who thither came, to yield her charms

(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) Into the cold Scamander's arms,

But met, and welcomed mine, instead Wondering, as on my neck she fell, How river-gods could love so well! Who would have thought that he, who roved

Like the first bees of summer then,
Rifling each sweet, nor ever loved

But the free bearts, that loved again,
Readily as the reed replies
To the least breath that round it sighs—
Is the same dreamer who, last night,
Stood awed and breathless at the sight
Of one Egyptian giri; and now
Wanders among these tombs, with brow
Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just,
Himself, had risen from out their dust!

Yet so it is and the same thirst

For something high and pure, above This withering world, which, from the first,

Made me drink deep of woman's love