I saw through thronged streets unmolested flying
Th' inviolate white dove of Palestine;
I looked on Tyrian towers, by soundless waters lying,
Whence Tyrians first were masters of the brine.
The flooding Nile I knew;
What time hot Sirius glows,
And Egypt's thirsty field the covering deluge knows;
But whence the wonder flows,
O Father Nile! no mortal e'er did view.
Along thy bank not any prayer is made
To Jove for fruitful showers.
On thee they call! Or in sepulchral shade,
The life-reviving, sky-descended powers
Of bright _Osiris_ hail,--
While, wildly chanting, the barbaric choir,
With timbrels and strange fire,
Their Memphian bull bewail.

Osiris did the plough bestow,
And first with iron urged the yielding ground.
He taught mankind good seed to throw
In furrows all untried;
He plucked fair fruits the nameless trees did hide:
He first the young vine to its trellis bound,
And with his sounding sickle keen
Shore off the tendrils green.

For him the bursting clusters sweet
Were in the wine-press trod;
Song followed soon, a prompting of the god,