SAIS.

An awful statue, by a veil half-hid,

At Sais stands. One came, to whom was known

All lore committed to Etruscan stone,

And all sweet voices, that dull time has chid

To silence now, by antique Pyramid,

Skirting the desert, heard; and what the deep

May in its dimly-lighted chambers keep,

Where Genii groan beneath the seal-bound lid.

He dared to raise that yet unlifted veil

With hands not pure, but never might unfold

What there he saw—madness, the shadow, fell

On his few days, ere yet he went to dwell

With night’s eternal people, and his tale

Has thus remained, and will remain, untold.