 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
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CHARADE.
Oh! what a glorious city!—behold
Its obelisks, pyramids, sphinx-guarded fanes,
You gaze on Bubastis in Egypt of old,
And hark! to those sacred melodious strains!
The dulcimer, harp, shawm, and tabret combine
With the choral rejoicings and anthems that burst
From yon temples august and magnificent shrine,
Where prostrated crowds are adoring my First.
How strange the conflicting caprices and whims
Of blind superstition! some ages are fled,
And the object which living was worshipp'd with hymns,
And graced with an apotheosis when dead,
In Europe is marked for proscription and ban,
As leagued with the foul and unsanctified crew
Who ply the black art that's forbidden to man,
And with spirits of darkness dark courses pursue.
Its obelisks, pyramids, sphinx-guarded fanes,
You gaze on Bubastis in Egypt of old,
And hark! to those sacred melodious strains!
The dulcimer, harp, shawm, and tabret combine
With the choral rejoicings and anthems that burst
From yon temples august and magnificent shrine,
Where prostrated crowds are adoring my First.
How strange the conflicting caprices and whims
Of blind superstition! some ages are fled,
And the object which living was worshipp'd with hymns,
And graced with an apotheosis when dead,
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As leagued with the foul and unsanctified crew
Who ply the black art that's forbidden to man,
And with spirits of darkness dark courses pursue.
And where is my changeable Second display'd?
In the belle and the bird, in the damsel and crone,
In the foul and the fair, in the mistress and maid,
In the dabbler in mud, in the queen on her throne.
Who can reckon its changes of form and abode?
Arch'd and square, low and dirty, distorted and strait,
It is seen in the ditch, on the dunghill, the road,
In the huts of the poor, in the halls of the great.
It is pure flesh and blood, when from Nature's own hand:
Made by man, its diversified substance is found
In the fish of the deep, in the beasts of the land,
In the trees of the field, in the ore underground.
If sometimes 'tis worn unembellish'd and plain,
By the wives or the daughters of niggardly churls,
At others 'tis deck'd with a glittering train
Of diamonds and amethysts, rubies and pearls.
In the belle and the bird, in the damsel and crone,
In the foul and the fair, in the mistress and maid,
In the dabbler in mud, in the queen on her throne.
Who can reckon its changes of form and abode?
Arch'd and square, low and dirty, distorted and strait,
It is seen in the ditch, on the dunghill, the road,
In the huts of the poor, in the halls of the great.
It is pure flesh and blood, when from Nature's own hand:
Made by man, its diversified substance is found
In the fish of the deep, in the beasts of the land,
In the trees of the field, in the ore underground.
If sometimes 'tis worn unembellish'd and plain,
By the wives or the daughters of niggardly churls,
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Of diamonds and amethysts, rubies and pearls.
In my populous Third what a withering change
From the busy Bubastis my first gave to sight:
No sunbeam, no moon gilds its desolate range;
All is silence profound and perpetual night.
It has numberless houses, and each one contains
A single inhabitant ever asleep,
No footfall is heard in its streets and its lanes,
In the midst of a crowd there is solitude deep
Here lovers whose union has long been denied,
Often meet, but no love-breathing whisper is heard;
Here bitterest foemen are placed side by side,
But their warfare is over: there's peace in my Third!
From the busy Bubastis my first gave to sight:
No sunbeam, no moon gilds its desolate range;
All is silence profound and perpetual night.
It has numberless houses, and each one contains
A single inhabitant ever asleep,
No footfall is heard in its streets and its lanes,
In the midst of a crowd there is solitude deep
Here lovers whose union has long been denied,
Often meet, but no love-breathing whisper is heard;
Here bitterest foemen are placed side by side,
But their warfare is over: there's peace in my Third!
[Catacomb.]
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |