  Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of Alchemy that gives gold at will. Epicurean. That 'Emerald Green of the Pyramid'— Were I where it is laid, I'd ask no king for his heavy crown, As its hidden words were said. The pomp and the glitter of worldly pride Should fetter my moments not, And the natural thought of an open mind, Should govern alone my lot. Would I feast all day? revel all night? Laugh with a weary heart? Would I sleep away the breezy morn? And wake till the stars depart? Would I gain no knowledge, and search no deep For the wisdom that sages knew? Would I run to waste with a human mind— To its noble trust untrue? Oh! knew I the depth of that 'Emerald Green,' And knew I the spell of gold, I would never poison a fresh young heart With the taint of customs old. I would bind no wreath to my forehead free In whose shadow a thought would die, Nor drink from the cup of revelry, The ruin my gold would buy. But I'd break the fetters of care worn things, And be spirit and fancy free, My mind should go up where it longs to go, And the limitless wind outflee. I'd climb to the eyries of eagle men Till the stars became a scroll; And pour right on, like the even sea, In the strength of a governed soul. Ambition! Ambition! I've laughed to scorn Thy robe and thy gleaming sword; I would follow sooner a woman's eye, Or the spell of a gentle word; But come with the glory of human mind, And the light of the scholar's brow, And my heart shall be taught forgetfulness, And alone at thy altar bow. There was one dark eye—it hath passed away! There was one deep tone—'tis not! Could I see it now—could I hear it now, Ye were all too well forgot. My heart brought up, from its chambers deep, The sum of its earthly love; But it might not—could not—buy like Heaven, And she stole to her rest above. That first deep love I have taken back, In my rayless heart to hide; With the tear it brought for a burning seal, 'Twill there forever bide. I may stretch on now to a nobler ken, I may live in my thoughts of flame— The tie is broken that kept me back, And my spirit is on, for fame! But alas! I am dreaming as if I knew The spell of the tablet green; I forgot how like to a broken reed, Is the lot on which I lean. There is nothing true of my idle dream, But the wreck of my early love; And my mind is coined for my daily bread, And how can it soar above? |
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