IX.
Or does foot not fall
In deserted hall,
Choked with wrecks that ne’er won their haven,
By the ebb trailed o’er
Thy untrampled floor,
Which their sunken wealth has paven?
X.
Oh, appear! appear!
Not as when thy spear
Ruled as far as the broad Egean,
But in Love’s own might,
And in Freedom’s right,
Till the nations uplift their Pæan,
XI.
Who now watch and weep,
And their vigil keep,
Till they faint for expectation;
Till their dim eyes shape
Temple tower and cape
From the cloud and the exhalation.
SAIS.
An awful statue, by a veil half-hid,
At Sais stands. One came, to whom was known
All lore committed to Etruscan stone,
And all sweet voices, that dull time has chid
To silence now, by antique Pyramid,
Skirting the desert, heard; and what the deep
May in its dimly-lighted chambers keep,
Where Genii groan beneath the seal-bound lid.
He dared to raise that yet unlifted veil
With hands not pure, but never might unfold
What there he saw—madness, the shadow, fell
On his few days, ere yet he went to dwell
With night’s eternal people, and his tale
Has thus remained, and will remain, untold.