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Rh I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw—or northward
 * in Christiania or Stockholm—or in Siberian
 * Irkutsk—or in some street in Iceland;

I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them
 * again.

I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries, I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the
 * poisoned splint, the fetish, and the obi.

I see African and Asiatic towns, I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo,
 * Monrovia,

I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi,
 * Calcutta, Yedo,

I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and
 * Ashantee-man in their huts,

I see the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo, I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva, and
 * those of Herat,

I see Teheran—I see Muscat and Medina, and the
 * intervening sands—I see the caravans toiling
 * onward;

I see Egypt and the Egyptians—I see the pyramids
 * and obelisks,

I look on chiselled histories, songs, philosophies, cut
 * in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite blocks,

I see at Memphis mummy-pits, containing mummies,
 * embalmed, swathed in linen cloth, lying there
 * many centuries,

I look on the fall'n Theban, the large-ball'd eyes, the
 * side-drooping neck, the hands folded across the
 * breast.

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