The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince :: :: University of Virginia Library

Pensive and sad, with weary steps I paced
The Nile's old realm of grandeur in decay:
The hoary sands of Egypt's wondrous waste,
Bare to the brazen splendours of the day.
Much did I marvel, in my toilsome course,
How Time had overcome, with noiseless force,
The mighty works of her meridian hour,
The vast material proofs of her stupendous power.

Methought I saw the Spoiler, proud and lone,
Unsling his fearful scythe, so strong and keen,
And sit him down upon that mystic stone,
The couchant Sphinx, of mild and solemn mien;
Methought he looked, with aspect stern and cold,
Towards voiceless Thebes, and mournful Memphis old,
Then turned away, as with a conqueror's frown,
From the Titanian walls which he had trampled down.

His silent sister, dark Oblivion, drest
In many-folded robes of gloomy pride,
Half sleeping and half waking, leaned at rest
On the great pyramid's gigantic side;
Lay making riddles of a thousand things
That wore the slumbrous shadow of her wings,
And, spite of human energies and schemes,
Changing all glories past to unsubstantial dreams.

To dubious History, shrinking in a cloud
Which dim Tradition flung athwart her face,
With earnest question I exclaimed aloud—
“Explain the marvels of this desert place!
Who willed that these colossal shapes should be?
Who builded up the sombre mystery?
Answer, grey Chronicler! give up thy trust;
Why are they desolate now, and crumbling into dust!”

Straightway a sound, as of a baffled wind
In mountain passes, smote my startled ear;
As if some wakened spirit wailed, and pined
For speech wherewith to make the secret clear;
Forgotten stories in forgotten tongues,
Old fitful legends, fragmentary songs,
Came mingling, moaning o'er the dreary land,—
I listened with mute awe, but nought could understand.

Once more I mused amid the whirl and roar
Of mighty London—'mid the human waves
Whose restless tide, from centre unto shore,
In countless currents rolls, and rolling, raves;
London, where some adventurous vessels sail
Safely, and tack with every veering gale;
While some, by adverse Fortune blown and tossed,
Fall into shattered wreck, and are for ever lost:

London, the world of gay and graceful life,
Of lavish Wealth, and silken-seated Ease;
The place of harsh deformity and strife,
Where Misery sits, “with children round her knees;”
London, where Loyalty upholds a throne,
And virtuous Penury starves and dies—unknown!
London, where friendless Genius toils and smarts,—
The paradise of thieves, the home of noblest hearts.

I looked upon her temples and her halls,
Her river foaming with a thousand keels;
Her dens, where hopeless Wickedness appals,
Where Passion revels, and where Reason reels;
Her myriad-branching streets; her spacious bowers,
Where flaunting Fashion spends its idle hours;
Her schools and jails; her pleasure-haunts and “hells,”
Where Guilt and Sorrow groan, where Folly shakes his bells.

I saw her merchant-palaces; her rooms
Where lettered lore invites the better will;
Her gorgeous theatres; her dangerous glooms,
Peopled with fallen women, reckless still;
Her Mint and Money-change, her crowded marts;
Her domes of Science, treasuries of Arts;
Her stores, where good or evil is supplied
To all who choose to come; and as I saw, I sighed.

Thus spake my soul:—“Far Future, I command
Thy truthful answer to my question now!—
Must this great city, and this greater land,
Flourish or fall,—be purified, or bow?
Must they, like Egypt, sink by slow decay,
And their transcendent glories pass away?
Down thy abyss I send my inquiring cry!”
Alas! the depth was dumb,—it deigned me no reply!