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Yes, let me hail and welcome give
A SPEECH, both pithy and concise,
What speech, my friend, say, do you know,
I have a dear and witty friend
Who turns this phrase to every end;
Or when a bore his ear assails,
Is there remark on matters grave
It saves the trouble of a thought-
This beautiful "Exactly so."
It has another charm this phrase,
Nor need the conscience feel distress,
Each mortal loves to think he's right,
That his opinion, too, is bright;
Then, Christian, you may soothe your foe By chiming in "Exactly so."
Whoe'er these lines may chance peruse,
Of this more could my muse relate,
LADY F. HASTINGS.
Address to an Egyptian Mummy.
AND thou hast walk'd about, (how strange a
In Thebes's street three thousand years ago; When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy,— Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear its tune: Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, Mummy!
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features.
Tell us, for doubtless thou canst recollect,
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame: Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer?
Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden,
By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade; Then say what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd? Perhaps thou wert a priest, and hast been dealing In human blood, and horrors past revealing.
Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
I need not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop, if that wither'd tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world look'd when it was fresh and
And the great Deluge still had left it green; Or was it then so old, that History's pages Contain'd no record of its early ages!
Still silent, incommunicative elf!
Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows; But pr'ythee tell us something of thyself,Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house!
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumber'd, What hast thou seen, what strange adventures number'd?
Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations;
The Roman empire has begun and ended,
New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations,
And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder,
If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
What was thy name and station, age and race?
Statue of flesh-Immortal of the dead!
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
Why should this worthless tegument endure,