II. 2.
Round their rude ark old Egypt’s sorcerers rise!
A timbrell’d anthem swells the gale,
And bids the God of Thunders hail;[[11]]
With lowings loud the captive God replies.
Clouds of incense woo thy smile,
Scaly monarch of the Nile![[12]]
But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee?[[13]]
Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea.
Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore,
Lock’d up in characters as dark as night?[[14]]
What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore,[[15]]
To which the parted soul oft wings her flight;
Again to visit her cold cell of clay,
Charm’d with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay?