"Thou couldst develop—if that withered tongue
Could 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;
Or was it then so old that history's pages
Contained no record of its early ages?
"Since first thy form was in this box extended
We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations;
The Roman Empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen—we have lost old nations;
And countless kings have into dust been humbled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
"If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
[16] The nature of thy private life unfold:
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled;
Have children climbed those knees and kissed that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?"
Answer.
"Child of the later days! thy words have broken
A spell that long has bound these lungs of clay,
For since this smoke-dried tongue of mine hath spoken,
Three thousand tedious years have rolled away.
Unswathed at length, I 'stand at ease' before ye.
List, then. O list, while I unfold my story."
* * * * * * * * *
