NILOTIC DRINKING-SONG.

I.

JOU may water your bays, brother-poets, with lays

That brighten the cup from the stream you doat on,

By the Schuylkill's side, or Cochituate's tide, Or the crystal lymph of the mountain Croton: (We may pledge from these

In our summer ease,

Nor even Anacreon's shade revile us-)
But I, from the flood

Of his own brown blood,

Will drink to the glory of ancient Nilus!

II.

Cloud never gave birth, nor cradle the Earth,
To river so grand and fair as this is:

Not the waves that roll us the gold of Pactolus,
Nor cool Cephissus, nor classic Ilissus.
The lily may dip
Her ivory lip

To kiss the ripples of clear Eurotas;
But the Nile brings balm

From the myrrh and palm,

And the ripe, voluptuous lips of the lotus.

III.

The waves that ride on his mighty tide

Were poured from the urns of unvisited mountains;

And their sweets of the South mingle cool in the

mouth

With the freshness and sparkle of Northern foun

tains.

Again and again

The goblet we drain,

Diviner a stream never Nereid swam on:
For Isis and Orus

Have quaffed before us,

And Ganymede dipped it for Jupiter Ammon.

IV.

Its blessing he pours o'er his thirsty shores,
And floods the regions of Sleep and Silence,
When he makes oases in desert places,

And the plain is a sea, the hills are islands.
And had I the brave
Anacreon's stave,

And lips like the honeyed lips of Hylas,
I'd dip from his brink

My bacchanal drink,

And sing for the glory of ancient Nilus !

CAMADEVA.

HE sun, the moon, the mystic planets seven,

Shone with a purer and serener flame, And there was joy on Earth and joy in Heaven

When Camadeva came.

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The blossoms burst, like jewels of the air,
Putting the colors of the morn to shame;
Breathing their odorous secrets everywhere
When Camadeva came.

The birds, upon the tufted tamarind spray,
Sat side by side and cooed in amorous blame;
The lion sheathed his claws and left his prey
When Camadeva came.

The sea slept, pillowed on the happy shore;
The mountain-peaks were bathed in rosy flame;
The clouds went down the sky,—to mount no more
When Camadeva came.

The hearts of all men brightened like the morn; The poet's harp then first deserved its fame, For rapture sweeter than he sang was born When Camadeva came.

All breathing life a newer spirit quaffed,
A second life, a bliss beyond a name,
And Death, half-conquered, dropped his idle shaft
When Camadeva came.

Upon her hills, and silence stern and grand
Throughout her Desert's temple-burying sand.
Before her threshold, in their ancient place,
With closed lips, and fixed, majestic face,
Noteless of Time, her dumb colossi stand.
O, pass them not with light, irreverent tread;
Respect the dream that builds her fallen throne,
And soothes her to oblivion of her woes.

Hush! for she does but sleep; she is not dead:
Action and Toil have made the world their own,
But she hath built an altar to Repose.

Liftest to heaven thine alien snows,

Feeding forever the fountains that make thee
Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt!

II.

The years of the world are engraved on thy fore

head;

Time's morning blushed red on thy first-fallen

snows;

Yet, lost in the wilderness, nameless, unnoted,

Of Man unbeholden, thou wert not till now.

Knowledge alone is the being of Nature,
Giving a soul to her manifold features,

Lighting through paths of the primitive darkness
The footsteps of Truth and the vision of Song.
Knowledge has born thee anew to Creation,
And long-baffled Time at thy baptism rejoices.
Take, then, a name, and be filled with existence,
Yea, be exultant in sovereign glory,

While from the hand of the wandering poet
Drops the first garland of song at thy feet.

III.

Floating alone, on the flood of thy making,
Through Africa's mystery, silence, and fire,
Lo! in my palm, like the Eastern enchanter,
I dip from the waters a magical mirror,
And thou art revealed to my purified vision.
I see thee, supreme in the midst of thy co-mates,
Standing alone 'twixt the Earth and the Heavens,
Heir of the Sunset and Herald of Morn.

Zone above zone, to thy shoulders of granite,
The climates of Earth are displayed, as an index,
Giving the scope of the Book of Creation.
There, in the gorges that widen, descending
From cloud and from cold into summer eternal,
Gather the threads of the ice-gendered fountains, -
Gather to riotous torrents of crystal,

And, giving each shelvy recess where they dally
The blooms of the North and its evergreen turfage,
Leap to the land of the lion and lotus!
There, in the wondering airs of the Tropics
Shivers the Aspen, still dreaming of cold:

There stretches the Oak, from the loftiest ledges,