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ADDRESS TO THE ALABASTER SARCOPHAGUS. 223
As armies, priests, and crowds, bewail'd in chorus
Thus to thy second quarry did they trust
Thee and the Lord of all the nations round.
Grim King of Silence! Monarch of the dust!
Here did he lie in state, cold, stiff, and stark,
Thus ages roll'd—but their dissolving breath
The Persian conqueror o'er Egypt pour'd
Then did the fierce Cambyses tear away
The ponderous rock that seal'd the sacred tomb; Then did the slowly penetrating ray
Redeem thee from long centuries of gloom, And lower'd torches flash'd against thy side As Asia's king thy blazon'd trophies eyed.
Pluck'd from his grave, with sacrilegious taunt,
They tore the sceptre from his graspless hand,
Some pious Thebans, when the storm was past,
Over its entrance a concealing rill.
Then thy third darkness came, and thou didst sleep Twenty-three centuries in silence deep.
But he from whom nor pyramid nor sphinx
Can hide its secrecies, Belzoni, came;
From the tomb's mouth unloosed the granite links,
Thou art in London, which, when thou wert new,
Here, where I hold my hand, 'tis strange to think
And vainly conn'd the moralizing line.
Kings, sages, chiefs, that touch'd this stone, like me, Where are ye now ?—where all must shortly be !
All is mutation ;-he within this stone
Was once the greatest monarch of the hour:-
THE OBLIGING ASSASSIN.
FROM THE FRENCH.
ONCE sleeping in an Inn at Dover,
When a pale heteroclite figure,
With dusty shoes, stalk'd in and spoke:
"You see what 'tis I want-make haste!
Trembling all over with the notion
I huddled on my clothes, and snatch'd
Round me a winding-sheet, or shroud:
What horrors to my fancy crowd!
In this alarming plight compell'd
And when I winced, and made grimace,
Drops from my face began to flow,
I clench'd my teeth and pump'd my breath.
Moved by the terror I betray'd,
Whose very aspect made me sicker:
That all my pangs should thus be sped,
Th' assassin took deliberate aim.-
He tried a different method quite,
As fate still saved me from his fangs,
In order to increase my pangs,
He twisted, pull'd and tore my hair.
I gave a sigh-th' assassin prone
To let no prize his clutches pass,
At this transported more and more,
Guess my surprise-my joy to see,
Had kindly powder'd, shaved, and dress'd me!
ON LIPS AND KISSING.
"But who those ruddy lips can miss,
Which blessed still themselves do kiss."
How various, delicate, and delightful, are the functions of the lips! I purpose not to treat them anatomically, or I might expatiate on the exquisite flexibility of those muscles, which, by the incalculable modulations they accomplish, supply different languages to all the nations of the earth, and hardly ever fatigue the speaker, though they so often prove wearisome to the auditor. Nor shall I dwell upon the opposite impressions which their exercise is calculated to excite, from the ruby mouth of a Corinna, to the lean-lipped Xantippe, deafening her hen-pecked mate, or the gruff voice of the turnkey who wakes you out of a sound sleep, to tell you it is seven o'clock, and you must get up directly to be hanged. But I shall proceed at once to external beauty, although it must be admitted, before I enter into the mouth of my subject, that there is no fixed standard of perfection for this feature, either in form or colour. Poor Mungo Park, after having turned many African women sick, and frightened others into fits, by his unnatural whiteness, was once assured by a kind-hearted woolly-headed gentleman,