The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1850-07-08

4 The MuMMIED TULIP.-At the time Of the
publication Of Tupper's Poems in this country,
several years since, we read, with deep interest,
the poem under TINS title The incident which
allied forth the was in itself, one calculated
o make an impression ON the most careless reader.
A bulb remains three thousand years protected
from decay by the cold hand of death, and then
restored to its mother earth, expands into life and
beauty. The train of thought too is worthy of the
beautiful theme. The Address to the Mummy, by
Horace Smith, published many years ago in the
New Monthly, though full Of talent, yet CRATES
against the feeling which the presence of the dead
always excites. No man jests a coffin. In
those Lines the beauty of fitness was wanting,
Not so in these lines of Tupper. They are a
solemn yet lofty strain, speaking of Death, but
breathing of immortality. He has done justice
to the subject-so sublime and fearful. They are
worthy epilogue to the "Urn Burial" They
are fit company for the "Thanatopsis" The
Lines have never passed from our memory; and,
on the opening of the Mummy in Boston, we tried
to find the volume which contained them, but there
is not copy for sale in town and, to lady, our
readers are indebted for the pleasure of perusng
them now.
ON A BULBOUS ROOT,
WHICH BLOssoMKD AFTER HAVING LAIN FOR ACES IN THI
HAND OF An EGYPTIAN MUMMY
o life, thy name is mystery-that couldst
Thus energize inert. be, yet not be.
Concentrating thy powers In one small point;
Conldst mai germ, IN seeming weakness % strong
Louldst give weed, dug from the common hsld,
Couldat ulli off to sleep ere Carthage was,
And wake it up when Carthage is no morel
Il may be- suns and stars that walked the heavens,
Whist thou wert in thy siumber, gentle flower,
Have sprung IRON chaos, bazd their and burst:
/ may be, that thop seest the world worn out
And loossl on meadows OF a paier greens
Flow'rs Of duskier hue, and all creation
| Down to degenerate man more and more dead,
| Than in those golden houTs, nearest TO bden
| When mother earth and thou and all were young
| And he that held thee-ths bituminous shape,
| This fossil shell once tenaned by life,
| This chrysaiis husk of the poor insect man.
| This leathem coat. this carcase Of a sou
What was thy story, o mine elder brother?
| / note thee now, swathed like Manese babe,
But thine tinetured gIaye clothes, fathoms l0ng
| On tbs shIunk breast the mystic beetle lies
Commencing thee TO Earth, and to the Sun
| Regeneratng all ; a curious scroll
Ful of strange written lore rests at thy side;
Ammen. Bnbastes, Thoth OSIRIS, Apis,
And Horus with the q curl. Eyphon and Phthah.
And ehaTm'd religious beads circle Thy throat.
And for the light youchssfed them they did we'll
Again in his own flesh TO see their sire;
aud their affection spared nor so the form
They loved in life might rest adorned in death.
But this dry hand-,vas it once terrible
When among warrior bands thou wentest forth
TO crush the rebel Ethiop ?-wast thou set
A askmaster toiing Israel
When Cheops or Cephrenes raised to Heaven
| Their giant sepulclres ?-oT did this hand,
| That lately held tiow'r, with murderOus grasp
Tear from the Hebrew mother her poor babe
To fling it to the crocodile ?-oF rather
| WeFt thou some gartenover, and this bulb
Perehanee most and fine, priced above gold
Gas in the mad worlds doiage yesterday
| A tuliproot could fetch princes Hnsom)-
Was to be buried with thee, as thy praise
Thy ROscrucian lamp, thire dOweed P
| Perchance, U kinder thought and better hope,
Some priest Of Isis shrlned this root with thee
As natures hieroglyphic, her half-guess
OF Ofglinimerlng faith, that soul will never die;
Whit emblem iker eloquent
| Ofimmortaity, whether the Sphinx,
! Scarab circed snake, wide-winged orb,
| The azure eoored arch, the sleepless eye,
| The pyramid iouT-sluare, or flowing river,
| Or all whatever else were symbols apt
In Egypts alphabet-as thou, dry root,
| So full of living promise ?-yes, see
| Natures e" resutgam" sculItured there in words
| That all of every cline may and read:
L see the better hope OF better times,
| Hope agains hope, wrapped in the dusky coats
| Of poor eek-I note glad tidings there
Il Of happier things: this undeeaying corpse
|. A little longer, yet little longer
| Must slumber on, but shall wake at last:
| A little longer, yet little longer
And at the trumpet's voice. shall this dry shape
Start up, instinct with life, the same though changed,
And put c0nuption's glorious garb:
| Perchance for second de th-perchance to shine,
| If aught of lsraels God he knew and ov'd
| Brighter than seraphs, and beyond the sun