Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Hermes Trismegistus

Still through Egypt's desert places        &nbsp Flows the lordly Nile, From its banks the great stone faces        &nbsp Gaze with patient smile. Still the pyramids imperious        &nbsp Pierce the cloudless skies, And the Sphinx stares with mysterious,        &nbsp Solemn, stony eyes. But where are the old Egyptian        &nbsp Demi-gods and kings? Nothing left but an inscription        &nbsp Graven on stones and rings. Where are Helios and Hephaestus,        &nbsp Gods of eldest eld? Where is Hermes Trismegistus,        &nbsp Who their secrets held? Where are now the many hundred        &nbsp Thousand books he wrote? By the Thaumaturgists plundered,        &nbsp Lost in lands remote; In oblivion sunk forever,        &nbsp As when o'er the land Blows a storm-wind, in the river        &nbsp Sinks the scattered sand. Something unsubstantial, ghostly,        &nbsp Seems this Theurgist, In deep meditation mostly        &nbsp Wrapped, as in a mist. Vague, phantasmal, and unreal        &nbsp To our thought he seems, Walking in a world ideal,        &nbsp In a land of dreams. Was he one, or many, merging        &nbsp Name and fame in one, Like a stream, to which, converging        &nbsp Many streamlets run? Till, with gathered power proceeding,        &nbsp Ampler sweep it takes, Downward the sweet waters leading        &nbsp From unnumbered lakes. By the Nile I see him wandering,        &nbsp Pausing now and then, On the mystic union pondering        &nbsp Between gods and men; Half believing, wholly feeling,        &nbsp With supreme delight, How the gods, themselves concealing,        &nbsp Lift men to their height. Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated,        &nbsp In the thoroughfare Breathing, as if consecrated,        &nbsp A diviner air; And amid discordant noises,        &nbsp In the jostling throng, Hearing far, celestial voices        &nbsp Of Olympian song. Who shall call his dreams fallacious?        &nbsp Who has searched or sought All the unexplored and spacious        &nbsp Universe of thought? Who, in his own skill confiding,        &nbsp Shall with rule and line Mark the border-land dividing        &nbsp Human and divine? Trismegistus! three times greatest!        &nbsp How thy name sublime Has descended to this latest        &nbsp Progeny of time! Happy they whose written pages        &nbsp Perish with their lives, If amid the crumbling ages        &nbsp Still their name survives! Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately        &nbsp Found I in the vast, Weed-encumbered sombre, stately,        &nbsp Grave-yard of the Past; And a presence moved before me        &nbsp On that gloomy shore, As a waft of wind, that o'er me        &nbsp Breathed, and was no more.