University of Virginia Library

In my dimly lighted study,
Mused I for æsthetic's rhyme,
As the bells in our cathedral
Pealed a melancholy chime.
Then a feeling, strangely weary,
Stole across my puzzled brain—
Why do muses from Parnassus
Ne'er inspire the soul again?
Turning from my littered table,
Gazed I in the burning grate—
Gazed I long, in drowsy musing,
Till an hour still and late;
Stranger feelings then came o'er me;
In a heav'nly land was I,
Half unconscious, seeming wafted
In a strange and silent sky;
Breathless, downward, I descended,
Oh, how strange it seemed to be.
I was in our ancient Meroe,
Far across the deep blue sea.
All was silent, strange, deserted,
Where our ancient people trod.
Had our land of early learning
Caused the mighty wrath of God?
For within the ruler's palace,
Where he'd moved with kingly might,
Gleamed his golden throne, long empty.
Here I weakened at the sight.
Bitter tears wept I beside it.
Where's our gleaming glory gone?
Where's the ruler's mighty legions?
Sobbed I till descending dawn.
In the ev'ning's growing darkness,
Near me by a narrow aisle,
I beheld a stately figure,
Grandly standing on the tile.
I arose that I might greet him;
Straightway giving me his hand,
Murmured he in voice of sadness:
“See thy ancient fatherland!
I'm thy muse, weak, wan and weary,
With a dusky, haggard face,
Write of me—I tell a story—
Write the sorrows of thy race:
Write their joys that lighten sorrows,
Joys that are descended down
From their kingdom's joyous glory,
To thy time's repulsing frown.
Your accursed, I'm accursed,
Till our legions march once more,
Till the Ethiopians gather
Back in union as of yore;
When our great men's works are numbered;
Back within our history's place,
When our struggling sons of sorrow
Know past glories of their race!”

Slowly from the palace walked we,
'Round the streets, dark, old, and still;
Pointed we to ancient grandeur;
We, of sorrow, mused our fill.
Then, he said: “You now hear ringing
Bells that warn all to depart;
When I'm gone thou must remember:
Write the impulse of thy heart.
Hear, Oh now, thy towers ringing,
Watch the city fade away!”
Bells were ringing, all was darkness;
Would the muse still with me stay?
No, alas, I saw he'd vanished,
'Twas a dream of fallen state;
'Twas the old cathedral's ringing—
I was by a dark, cold grate.