TO A PAIR OF EGYPTIAN SLIPPERS

TINY slippers of gold and green,

Tied with a mouldering golden cord!
What pretty feet they must have been
When Cæsar Augustus was Egypt's lord!
Somebody graceful and fair you were!
Not many girls could dance in these!
When did your shoemaker make you, dear,
Such a nice pair of Egyptian "threcs"?

Where were you measured? In Saïs, or On,
Memphis, or Thebes, or Pelusium?
Fitting them neatly your brown toes upon,
Lacing them deftly with finger and thumb,
I seem to see you!-so long ago,

Twenty-one centuries, less or more!

And here are your sandals: yet none of us know
What name, or fortune, or face you bore.

Your lips would have laughed, with a rosy scorn,
If the merchant, or slave-girl, had mockingly said,
"The feet will pass, but the shoes they have worn
Two thousand years onward Time's road shall tread,
And still be footgear as good as new!"

To think that calf-skin, gilded and stitched,
Should Rome and the Pharaohs outlive- and you
Be gone, like a dream, from the world you bewitched!

Not that we mourn you! 'Twere too absurd!
You have been such a very long while away!
Your dry spiced dust would not value one word
Of the soft regrets that my verse could say.
Sorrow and Pleasure, and Love and Hate,

If you ever felt them, have vaporized hence
To this odor-so subtle and delicate—

Of myrrh, and cassia, and frankincense.

Of course they embalmed you! Yet not so sweet
Were aloes and nard, as the youthful glow
Which Amenti stole when the small dark feet
Wearied of treading our world below.

To a Pair of Egyptian Slippers 1763

Look! it was flood-time in valley of Nile,

Or a very wet day in the Delta, dear!

When your slippers tripped lightly their latest mile--

The mud on the soles renders that fact clear.

You knew Cleopatra, no doubt! You saw
Antony's galleys from Actium come.
But there! if questions could answers draw
From lips so many a long age dumb,
I would not tease you with history,

Nor vex your heart for the men that were;
The one point to learn that would fascinate me
Is, where and what are you to-day, my dear!
You died, believing in Horus and Pasht,
Isis, Osiris, and priestly lore;

And found, of course, such theories smashed
By actual fact on the heavenly shore.
What next did you do? Did you transmigrate?
Have we seen you since, all modern and fresh?
Your charming soul-so I calculate-

Mislaid its mummy, and sought new flesh.
Were you she whom I met at dinner last week,
With eyes and hair of the Ptolemy black,
Who still of this find in Fayoum would speak,
And to Pharaohs and scarabs still carry us back?
A scent of lotus about her hung,

And she had such a far-away wistful air

As of somebody born when the Earth was young;
And she wore of gilt slippers a lovely pair.
Perchance you were married? These might have been
Part of your trousseau-the wedding shoes;
And you laid them aside with the garments green,
And painted clay Gods which a bride would use;
And, may be, to-day, by Nile's bright waters
Damsels of Egypt in gowns of blue—
Great-great-great-very great-grand-daughters
Owe their shapely insteps to you!

But vainly I beat at the bars of the Past,
Little green slippers with golden strings!

For all you can tell is that leather will last
When loves, and delightings, and beautiful things
Have vanished, forgotten-No! not quite that!
I catch some gleam of the grace you wore
When you finished with Life's daily pit-a-pat,
And left your shoes at Death's bedroom door.

You were born in the Egypt which did not doubt;
You were never sad with our new-fashioned sorrows:
You were sure, when your play-days on Earth ran out,
Of play-times to come, as we of our morrows!
Oh, wise little Maid of the Delta! I lay

Your shoes in your mummy-chest back again,
And wish that one game we might merrily play
At "Hunt the Slippers"-to see it all plain.
Edwin Arnold [1832-1904]

WITHOUT AND WITHIN

My coachman, in the moonlight there,
Looks through the side-light of the door;
I hear him with his brethren swear,
As I could do,--but only more.

Flattening his nose against the pane,
He envies me my brilliant lot,
Breathes on his aching fists in vain,
And dooms me to a place more hot.

He sees me in to supper go,

A silken wonder by my side,

Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row
Of flounces, for the door too wide.

He thinks how happy is my arm

'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load;

And wishes me some dreadful harm,

Hearing the merry corks explode.

Meanwhile I inly curse the bore
Of hunting still the same old coon,

And envy him, outside the door,
In golden quiets of the moon.

"She was a Beauty

The winter wind is not so cold

As the bright smile he sees me win, Nor the host's oldest wine so old

As our poor gabble sour and thin.

I envy him the ungyved prance

With which his freezing feet he warms, And drag my lady's-chains and dance The galley-slave of dreary forms.

Oh, could he have my share of din,
And I his quiet!-past a doubt
"Twould still be one man bored within,
And just another bored without.

Nay, when, once paid my mortal fee,
Some idler on my headstone grim
Traces the moss-blurred name, will he
Think me the happier, or I him?

1765

James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]

"SHE WAS A BEAUTY"

SHE was a beauty in the days
When Madison was President,
And quite coquettish in her ways,—
On conquests of the heart intent.

Grandpapa, on his right knee bent, Wooed her in stiff, old-fashioned phrase,― She was a beauty in the days

When Madison was President.

And when your roses where hers went
Shall go, my Rose, who date from Hayes,
I hope you'll wear her sweet content
Of whom tradition lightly says:

She was a beauty in the days
'When Madison was President.

Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]

NELL GWYNNE'S LOOKING-GLASS

GLASS antique, 'twixt thee and Nell

Draw we here a parallel.

She, like thee, was forced to bear

All reflections, foul or fair.

Thou art deep and bright within,
Depths as bright belonged to Gwynne;
Thou art very frail as well,

Frail as flesh is, so was Nell.

Thou, her glass, art silver-lined,

She too, had a silver mind:
Thine is fresh till this far day,
Hers till death ne'er wore away:

Thou dost to thy surface win
Wandering glances, so did Gwynne;
Eyes on thee love long to dwell,
So men's eyes would do on Nell.

Life-like forms in thee are sought,
Such the forms the actress wrought;

Truth unfailing rests in you,

Nell, whate'er she was, was true.

Clear as virtue, dull as sin,

Thou art oft, as oft was Gwynne;
Breathe on thee, and drops will swell:

Bright tears dimmed the eyes of Nell.

Thine's a frame to charm the sight,
Framed was she to give delight;
Waxen forms here truly show

Charles above and Nell below;

But between them, chin with chin,
Stuart stands as low as Gwynne,
Paired, yet parted,-meant to tell
Charles was opposite to Nell.

Round the glass wherein her face.
Smiled so soft, her "arms" we trace;

Thou, her mirror, hast the pair,

Lion here, and leopard there.