Classic Poem

Thou that on me and all thou canst espy
Dost glare with baleful and malignant eye,
That since thy coming has beset me still
With wizard arts to work my household ill,
Till morns successive new misfortunes bring —
Abate thy spite, unreasonable Thing!
Accept thy lot: from dull resentment cease;
And sit contented on my mantelpiece!

I know the cause: I know thou wouldst prefer
The peace of that Egyptian sepulchre
Wherefrom thou wast incontinently hurled
Into the tumults of an alien world; —
What 's done is done; thou canst not always have
The calm and darkness of that distant grave:
Brief is our span, philosophers have said:
Life waits for all — you can't be always dead.
There where they set thee in the silent ring
Of carven slaves who watched their buried king,
There where thou didst for age on age repose,
While empires fell and other empires rose,
Strangers have come: Research hath cancelled quite
Thy long, long lease of immemorial night:
The unhallowed lamp of artificial day
Illumes the darkness where thy monarch lay:
Far, far from home thy lord embalmed lies,
A K-nyon's treasure or a P-trie's prize:
The grave is rifled and the shrine is bare —
Nor slave nor Pharaoh can inhabit there.
Relax thy look of concentrated gloom!
It was not I that took thee from the tomb;
The mounds of Memphis and of Meroi
Know countless robbers, but they know not me;
Not mine to mar with sacrilegious spade
Sakkâra's sands or Gizeh's haunted shade:
Nay, hear the truth: the facts I will declare;
Thou wast at Cairo and I found thee there, —
I found thee there 'mid trophies of the grave,
Exposed for sale like any other slave,
For sale exposed 'mid mere unpurchased lots —
Suspected scarabs and imperfect pots; —
There (though I might by kinder fortune led
Have bought a scarab or a pot instead)
I, not divining thy ingratitude,
Thy beastly temper, thy vindictive mood,
I paid the price that thou wast valued at,
('Twas ten piastres, and too much at that;
Alas! what ills from deeds of mercy come!)
I bought thy freedom and I took thee home.

Change then thy spells: or thou shalt straightway go
(Bear witness, Isis! that the fact is so)
Mid Ashmole's hoards to play a humbler part
As paltry rubbish (which, in truth, thou art);
There, while Professors of a mightier charm
Mock and contemn thy petty powers to harm,
There shalt thou lie on some neglected shelf
And learn the value of thy worthless self!