 | A winter on the Nile |  |
221
TIDSWELL.
Where Aboo Simbel's giant temple stands,
And carved in rock four noble forms appear,
That thus have sat enthroned through many a year,
There lies just at their feet, 'mid golden sands,
A lonely tomb, the work of tender hands,
Which keeps the dust of one, a stranger here,
Who rests apart from all who hold him dear,
And weep his loss in the far English lands.
And carved in rock four noble forms appear,
That thus have sat enthroned through many a year,
There lies just at their feet, 'mid golden sands,
A lonely tomb, the work of tender hands,
Which keeps the dust of one, a stranger here,
Who rests apart from all who hold him dear,
And weep his loss in the far English lands.
Surely I deem that all who hither come,
Cast a sad look on that pathetic grave,
Which bears a name,—God knows how dear to some,—
“Tidswell,”—true gentleman, and soldier brave,
Who now sleeps well beneath the sunlit dome,
Close to the music of the Nile's dark wave.
Cast a sad look on that pathetic grave,
Which bears a name,—God knows how dear to some,—
“Tidswell,”—true gentleman, and soldier brave,
Who now sleeps well beneath the sunlit dome,
Close to the music of the Nile's dark wave.
| A winter on the Nile | |