Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/444
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THE ANSWER OF THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY.
But then you would not have me throw discredit
On grave historians—or on him who sung
The Iliad—true it is I never read it,
But heard it read when I was very young;
An old blind minstrel, for a trifling profit,
Recited parts—I think the author of it.
On grave historians—or on him who sung
The Iliad—true it is I never read it,
But heard it read when I was very young;
An old blind minstrel, for a trifling profit,
Recited parts—I think the author of it.
All that I know about the town of Homer,
Is, that they scarce would own him in his day;
Were glad, too, when he proudly turned a roamer,
Because by this they saved their parish-pay;
His townsmen would have been ashamed to flout him,
Had they foreseen the fuss since made about him.
Is, that they scarce would own him in his day;
Were glad, too, when he proudly turned a roamer,
Because by this they saved their parish-pay;
His townsmen would have been ashamed to flout him,
Had they foreseen the fuss since made about him.
One blunder I can fairly set at rest,
He says that men were once more big and bony
Than now, which is a bouncer at the best,
I'll just refer you to our friend Belzoni,
Near seven feet high! in sooth a lofty figure!
Now look at me and tell me am I bigger!
He says that men were once more big and bony
Than now, which is a bouncer at the best,
I'll just refer you to our friend Belzoni,
Near seven feet high! in sooth a lofty figure!
Now look at me and tell me am I bigger!
Not half the size; but then I'm sadly dwindled;
Three thousand years, with that embalming glue,
Have made a serious difference, and have swindled
My face of all its beauty—there were few
Egyptian youths more gay,—behold the sequel,
Nay smile not, you and I may soon be equal!
Three thousand years, with that embalming glue,
Have made a serious difference, and have swindled
My face of all its beauty—there were few
Egyptian youths more gay,—behold the sequel,
Nay smile not, you and I may soon be equal!
For this lean hand did one day hurl the lance
With mortal aim—this light fantastic toe
Threaded the mystic mazes of the dance;
This heart hath throbbed at tales of love and woe,
These shreds of raven hair once set the fashion,
This withered form inspired the tender passion.
With mortal aim—this light fantastic toe
Threaded the mystic mazes of the dance;
This heart hath throbbed at tales of love and woe,
These shreds of raven hair once set the fashion,
This withered form inspired the tender passion.
In vain! the skilful hand, and feelings warm.
The foot that figured in the bright quadrille,
The palm of genius and the manly form,
All bowed at once to Death's mysterious will,
Who sealed me up where mummies sound are sleeping,
In cere-cloth and in tolerable keeping.
The foot that figured in the bright quadrille,
The palm of genius and the manly form,
All bowed at once to Death's mysterious will,
Who sealed me up where mummies sound are sleeping,
In cere-cloth and in tolerable keeping.
Where cows and monkeys squat in rich brocade,
And well-dressed crocodiles in printed cases,
Rats, bats, and owls, and cats in masquerade,
With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces,
Then, birds, brutes, reptiles, fish, all crammed together,
With ladies that might pass for well-tanned leather.
And well-dressed crocodiles in printed cases,
Rats, bats, and owls, and cats in masquerade,
With scarlet flounces, and with varnished faces,
Then, birds, brutes, reptiles, fish, all crammed together,
With ladies that might pass for well-tanned leather.