Proud, languid lily of the sacred Nile,
’T is strange to see thee on our Western wave,
Far from those sandy shores, that mile on mile,
Papyrus-plumed, stretch silent as the grave.

O’er dark, mysterious pool and sheltered bay,
And round deep dreaming isles thy leaves expand,
Where Alexandrian barges plough their way,
Full-freighted, to...