Page:The Poems of Henry Abbey.djvu/18

2 To Isis and Osiris rise The prayers and smoke of sacrifice. 'Mid rites of priests and pomp of kings Again the seated Memnon sings. We watch the palms along the shore, And dream of what is here no more.

The gliding Cleopatran Nile, With glossy windings, mile on mile, Suggests the asp: in coils compact It hisses—at the cataract. Thence on again we sail, and strand Upon the yellow Nubian sand, Near Aboo Simbel's rock-hewn fane, Which smiles at time with calm disdain.

Who cut the stone joy none can tell; He did his work, like Nature, well. At one with Nature, godlike, these Bland faces of great Rameses. 'T is seemly that the noble mind Somewhat of permanence may find, Whereon, with patience, may be wrought A clear expression of its thought.

The artist labors while he may, But finds at best too brief the day; And, tho' his works outlast the time And nation that they make sublime, He feels and sees that Nature knows Nothing of time in what she does, But has a leisure infinite Wherein to do her work aright.

The Nile of virtue overflows The fruitful lands through which it goes. It little cares for smile or slight, But in its deeds takes sole delight,