POETRY.
ROME AND EGYPT.
THRONED on thy seven hills, Queen of the World, A cloud of incense rises to the sky, Laden with homage of thy worshippers— Saints, kings and sages, scholars of all time, Who flock to kiss thy relics or thy stones, And vibrate to thy splendid memories. Yet doth one pilgrim, wandering from the East, Turn wearily from this great banquet spread— Sculpture and painting, gardens, palaces, Tempting the brain and sense with rare delight—
And sees upon the desert's utmost verge A ridge of sand lie open to the sky.
There sweep the winds dust-laden to the sea, There rules the midday sun without a check, And there the moon her flood of silver pours. Like Titan sentinels of elder kings, The Pyramids stand guard above the Nile, Unfathomably ancient, tranquil, vast. They ask of man no tribute to their might, But fling their challenge to the desert bills, And commune nightly with the kindred stars.
CAROLINE GROSVENOR.
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