Poems Chiefly Written in Retirement, By John Thelwall; With Memoirs of the Life of the Author. Second Edition |
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THE FALL OF EGYPT;
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THE FALL OF EGYPT;
Or, Extinction of the Ptolomies.
AN ODE.
EGYPT is fall'n. Behold! behold
The full accomplishment of woes!
Wide-wasting Ruin, uncontroul'd,
The refuge of the Gods o'erthrows.
From the swoln wrath of Heav'n has burst
Of all the worst of ills the worst.
Hope—even Hope herself, is fled—
The hope, that ever sweet Repose
O'er the land again should spread
Her balm-distilling wing, our griefs to close,
Or Memphis lift, again, her consecrated head.
Mad Ambition's awless hand
Hurls around the flaming brand;
And, reekless, o'er the groaning ground,
Fell Desolation stalks around.
The full accomplishment of woes!
Wide-wasting Ruin, uncontroul'd,
The refuge of the Gods o'erthrows.
From the swoln wrath of Heav'n has burst
Of all the worst of ills the worst.
Hope—even Hope herself, is fled—
The hope, that ever sweet Repose
O'er the land again should spread
Her balm-distilling wing, our griefs to close,
Or Memphis lift, again, her consecrated head.
Mad Ambition's awless hand
Hurls around the flaming brand;
And, reekless, o'er the groaning ground,
Fell Desolation stalks around.
173
O! sacred Nilus! awful stream!
Thou father of prolific floods!—
Whose head adoring mortals deem
Lost in the regions of the Gods!
And shall thy torrents subject glide
To yellow Tiber's sandy tide?
Back, back, to their mysterious source,
Your refluent floods, indignant, call!
Ye Rocks! restrain their downward course;
And you, ye headlong Cataracts! cease to fall:
Back to your fountains flee, and change your thundering course.
O'er sandy desarts, drear and dead,
Your fertilizing waters spread:—
There, there, in unknown deluge, burst,
And satiate their eternal thirst.
Thou father of prolific floods!—
Whose head adoring mortals deem
Lost in the regions of the Gods!
And shall thy torrents subject glide
To yellow Tiber's sandy tide?
Back, back, to their mysterious source,
Your refluent floods, indignant, call!
Ye Rocks! restrain their downward course;
And you, ye headlong Cataracts! cease to fall:
Back to your fountains flee, and change your thundering course.
O'er sandy desarts, drear and dead,
Your fertilizing waters spread:—
There, there, in unknown deluge, burst,
And satiate their eternal thirst.
Soon, o'er those trackless realms of death,
The living green shall, wondering, rise;
Where never flow'd the quick'ning breath,
Shall choral Riot cleave the skies;
While some new pamper'd race (like ours)
The bounties of thy Urn devours,
Till, drunk with Plenty's baneful store,
Enfeebling Luxury, at last,
To some new spoiler gives them o'er,
Opprest with woes prepar'd by blessings past;
And thy new turrets bow, as Memphis bow'd before.
Meantime let prostrate Egypt lie
A barren conquest, waste, and dry;
And channels parch'd, and plains adust,
Repay the Victor's greedy lust.
The living green shall, wondering, rise;
Where never flow'd the quick'ning breath,
Shall choral Riot cleave the skies;
While some new pamper'd race (like ours)
The bounties of thy Urn devours,
Till, drunk with Plenty's baneful store,
Enfeebling Luxury, at last,
To some new spoiler gives them o'er,
Opprest with woes prepar'd by blessings past;
And thy new turrets bow, as Memphis bow'd before.
Meantime let prostrate Egypt lie
A barren conquest, waste, and dry;
And channels parch'd, and plains adust,
Repay the Victor's greedy lust.
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But see—The vision'd Vengeance glares!
I pierce the mystic womb of Fate,
Where Time, the embrion doom prepares,
That soon shall whelm the tyrant state.
Destruction hovers o'er the walls.
She falls!—“The victim Victor falls!”
Alike, to such predestin'd fate
Shall each successive Empire press:
Hurl'd—hurl'd to misery's lowest slate
With weight of their o'er-prosperous wantonness:
By Triumph's self subdu'd, and crush'd by Fortune's weight.
For such are Pride's eternal bars,
That Greatness self its greatness mars;
And, driv'n, by favouring gales, uncheck'd,
On rocks of its own might 'tis wreck'd.
I pierce the mystic womb of Fate,
Where Time, the embrion doom prepares,
That soon shall whelm the tyrant state.
Destruction hovers o'er the walls.
She falls!—“The victim Victor falls!”
Alike, to such predestin'd fate
Shall each successive Empire press:
Hurl'd—hurl'd to misery's lowest slate
With weight of their o'er-prosperous wantonness:
By Triumph's self subdu'd, and crush'd by Fortune's weight.
For such are Pride's eternal bars,
That Greatness self its greatness mars;
And, driv'n, by favouring gales, uncheck'd,
On rocks of its own might 'tis wreck'd.
For the first rough outline of this Ode, see the final Chorus, in Daniel's “Tragedy of Cleopatra.”
I ought, also, to have acknowledged, that, the fourth, sixth, and seventh Stanzas, of the “Invocation to Health,” were principally suggested, by a beautiful specimen of ancient alliterative metre, quoted in the third Volume of “Percy's Reliques.”
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