Idylls and Lyrics of The Nile By H. D. Rawnsley |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. | XXVI AT THE TOMB OF THI
|
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXII. |
| LXIV. |
 | Idylls and Lyrics of The Nile |  |
56
XXVI AT THE TOMB OF THI
(SAKKARAH)
Down thro' the trough of sliding sand
We pass to that twelve-pillared hall,
Where one time met the friends of Thi.
We bring no present in our hand
Save rev'rent love to read the wall,
And wonder for the days gone by.
We pass to that twelve-pillared hall,
Where one time met the friends of Thi.
We bring no present in our hand
Save rev'rent love to read the wall,
And wonder for the days gone by.
No offering-slab is laid before
The incense-chink of the recess,
Where once the statue, painted stone,
Stood for five thousand years and more,
To take a blessing and to bless—
The place is empty, Thi is gone.
The incense-chink of the recess,
Where once the statue, painted stone,
Stood for five thousand years and more,
To take a blessing and to bless—
The place is empty, Thi is gone.
But we have seen him where he stands
At Gîzeh,—apron starched with pride,
His left foot forward as he went
Close-wigged to view the Temple lands,
His arms down-hanging at his side,
His face keen-eyed and eloquent.
At Gîzeh,—apron starched with pride,
His left foot forward as he went
Close-wigged to view the Temple lands,
His arms down-hanging at his side,
His face keen-eyed and eloquent.
57
Still privy-councillor of the King
Beside the portal, pictured great,
He leans upon his staff of might.
Gazelle o'er neck, and goose by wing
The servants bear him; each estate
Sends baskets-full of all delight.
Beside the portal, pictured great,
He leans upon his staff of might.
Gazelle o'er neck, and goose by wing
The servants bear him; each estate
Sends baskets-full of all delight.
Slave maidens dutiful and fair,
With jewels on each swelling breast,
Clad in soft raiment that unveils
But half conceals their beauty, bear
For Thi the food he loved the best—
The fowl in cage, the cakes in frails.
With jewels on each swelling breast,
Clad in soft raiment that unveils
But half conceals their beauty, bear
For Thi the food he loved the best—
The fowl in cage, the cakes in frails.
Here, with his children at his side,
We see the man who, lowly born,
Rose up from peasant-state to peer,
Who won a princess for his bride,
Ruled the far leagues of royal corn,
A prophet-priest of Abusîr.
We see the man who, lowly born,
Rose up from peasant-state to peer,
Who won a princess for his bride,
Ruled the far leagues of royal corn,
A prophet-priest of Abusîr.
She, who to him was ‘beauteous calm,’
With Thi and Thamut, best of boys,
Sits by to hear the harpers play,
And ‘mistress of his house,’ ‘the palm
Of pleasantness,’ she still enjoys
The music of that olden day.
With Thi and Thamut, best of boys,
Sits by to hear the harpers play,
And ‘mistress of his house,’ ‘the palm
Of pleasantness,’ she still enjoys
The music of that olden day.
58
Our lamps are lit, the double room
Is filled with sound of men and flocks,
Lowing of kine and bleat of goat.
The asses trample thro' the gloom,
The butcher ties or slays the ox,
The busy builder shapes the boat.
Is filled with sound of men and flocks,
Lowing of kine and bleat of goat.
The asses trample thro' the gloom,
The butcher ties or slays the ox,
The busy builder shapes the boat.
The Magistrate with face severe,
The Bailiff squat with reed and scroll,
These ply the rod or wield the pen.
Serfs stand before the overseer,
The labourer comes a living toll,
God's people were but chattels then.
The Bailiff squat with reed and scroll,
These ply the rod or wield the pen.
Serfs stand before the overseer,
The labourer comes a living toll,
God's people were but chattels then.
The reaper cuts the ears of wheat,
Away their load the asses carry,
A pannier slips, it all but falls!
There on the threshing floor, the feet
Of oxen tread the corn, nor tarry,
‘Trot on, trot on!’ the driver calls.
Away their load the asses carry,
A pannier slips, it all but falls!
There on the threshing floor, the feet
Of oxen tread the corn, nor tarry,
‘Trot on, trot on!’ the driver calls.
Strong pulling for the hornèd teams,
Strong speed for beast or man or boy,
Strong labour, strenuous laugh and fun.
Such is the old-world tale that gleams
From storied wall, pain mixed with joy
And gladness in their god the Sun.
Strong speed for beast or man or boy,
Strong labour, strenuous laugh and fun.
Such is the old-world tale that gleams
From storied wall, pain mixed with joy
And gladness in their god the Sun.
59
Yea joy in labour for their lord,—
Just friend and generous-hearted master,
They know his shadow-self has need,
They press the cattle through the ford,
They plough and sow and reap the faster,
To think Thi's soul shall surely feed.
Just friend and generous-hearted master,
They know his shadow-self has need,
They press the cattle through the ford,
They plough and sow and reap the faster,
To think Thi's soul shall surely feed.
Yet in those days of toil and care
Men felt a fever still within
For something more than daily food.
They flung the boomerang in air,
They cast their nets for fowl or fin,
And fought the monsters of the flood.
Men felt a fever still within
For something more than daily food.
They flung the boomerang in air,
They cast their nets for fowl or fin,
And fought the monsters of the flood.
Above their heads, with clamour harsh
The wild-fowl rise; and from the nest
A callow brood sends bitter cry,
For near the tyrant of the marsh,
The sacred jackal on his quest,
Glares at them with his hungry eye.
The wild-fowl rise; and from the nest
A callow brood sends bitter cry,
For near the tyrant of the marsh,
The sacred jackal on his quest,
Glares at them with his hungry eye.
Lo! in his light papyrus punt
Thi stands gigantic, unafraid,
To watch his spearmen do their deeds,
Or hook leviathan they hunt,—
The mighty plaything God has made,
The river-horse among the reeds.
Thi stands gigantic, unafraid,
To watch his spearmen do their deeds,
Or hook leviathan they hunt,—
The mighty plaything God has made,
The river-horse among the reeds.
60
With thrust of pole and stab of spears,
And shout of men the fight goes on—
Swift mind against brute bulk and slow;
Five thousand and five hundred years
Have passed, the battle is not won:—
The man above, the beast below.
And shout of men the fight goes on—
Swift mind against brute bulk and slow;
Five thousand and five hundred years
Have passed, the battle is not won:—
The man above, the beast below.
Lord of the secret Death unrolls
Rest in Amenti. Still is strife,—
Our earth not yet to peace hath come;
We have not realised our souls,
As you who for your spirit life
Made pleasant this ‘eternal home.’
Rest in Amenti. Still is strife,—
Our earth not yet to peace hath come;
We have not realised our souls,
As you who for your spirit life
Made pleasant this ‘eternal home.’
Yet Thi, you teach us how men miss
Their mortal being's plain intent
Who dream at death new sense is given.
You with your prayer to Anubis
Felt sure as to the tomb you went
Earth's heart of joy was joy in Heaven.
Their mortal being's plain intent
Who dream at death new sense is given.
You with your prayer to Anubis
Felt sure as to the tomb you went
Earth's heart of joy was joy in Heaven.
| Idylls and Lyrics of The Nile | |