Pelters of Pyramids

A Shoal of idlers, from a merchant craft Anchored off Alexandria, went ashore, And mounting asses in their headlong glee, Round Pompey’s Pillar rode with hoots and taunts, As men oft say, “What art thou more than we?” Next in a boat they floated up the Nile, Singing and drinking, swearing senseless oaths, Shouting, and laughing most derisively At all majestic scenes. A bank they reached, And clambering up, played gambols among tombs; And in portentous ruins (through whose depths, The mighty twilight of departed Gods, Both sun and moon glanced furtive, as in awe) They hid, and whooped, and spat on sacred things. At length, beneath the blazing sun they lounge Near a great Pyramid. Awhile they stood, With stupid stare, until resentment grew, In the recoil of meanness from the vast; And gathering stones, they with coarse oaths and jibes (As they would say, “What art thou more than we?”) Pelted the Pyramid! But soon these men, Hot and exhausted, sat them down to drink— Wrangled, smoked, spat, and laughed, and drowsily Cursed the bald Pyramid, and fell asleep. Night came:—a little sand went drifting by— And morn again was in the soft blue heavens. The broad slopes of the shining Pyramid Looked down in their austere simplicity Upon the glistening silence of the sands Whereon no trace of mortal dust was seen.