["He (the late ISMAIL PASHA) did not conceal his opinion that
Egypt should be left to the Egyptians, but admitted that a
strong Government was indispensable. He thought that in any
circumstances a great deal would depend upon the character
of the Khedive. ISMAIL believed that if the Khedive were a
competent and energetic ruler, a satisfactory state of
affairs might be established in Egypt within a very short
time."--_"Times" Vienna Correspondent._]
Could PENTAOUR, the Copt poet-laureate, scribe, bard and friend of
the King,
Sing now, as aforetime to RAMESES, how, and of what should he sing?
Of Nile given up to the Giaour, its increase made o'er to the Jew
Modern PHARAOH would gladly let go with his bonds and his power of
screw?
Of RA superseded by APIS, of RAMESES bluffed by JOHN BULL,
Of the pride of the pashas o'erthrown, of the cup of the fellaheen
full?
Should he sing of the anger of ABBAS, the fretful and furious boy,
Who with tantrums, and toys, and intrigues, would the counsels of
CROMER destroy?
Nay, for he sang of heroes and men, of the might of victorious gods,
And not of a petulant child with the charge of his champions at
odds,
Or of journalists juggling with words, or financiers jobbing with
bonds.
Young ABBAS fares forth to the Sphinx, to the secular Sphinx, that
responds
To none save the fate-ordered questioner. Look at that stony set
face,
Which the passing of many an empire, the waning of many a race
Hath seen in its stare o'er the sand-wastes! It PENTAOUR beheld in
its pride;
And now the boy ABBAS, in eager-eyed question, creeps close to the
side
Of the age-battered Oracle! Hist! All the desert is still as the
sky.
_Do_ the voices of forty fled centuries sound on the breeze that
breathes by?
Bear they meanings the Frank would acclaim, or the latter-day
Hebrew approve?
Those Voices are hard to interpret, that Sphinx is not easy to move.
It would speak with the music of MEMNON, in ABBAS's ears, did it say
The Frank shall return whence he came, and the Briton betake him
away.
Yet ISMAIL the shrewd, the unscrupulous, knew what young ABBAS
must learn,
That a Government strong to subsist, which no blast of intrigue
can o'erturn,
Is not shapen of shifting Nile sands, broken reeds, which, like
Egypt of old,
But pierce through the hand that shall rest on them. ABBAS the boy
may be bold,
With a thoughtless boy-boldness, but is he the Khedive keen ISMAIL
foresaw,
Of character 'stablished on justice, of force firmly founded on law?
Poor boy, eager-eyed, half exultant, he lifts, half inquiry half
plaint,
His Voice of Appeal to the Sphinx. On the air of the desert how
faint
Sound his words, "_Is_ it Egypt, O Sphinx, for Egyptians?" There
comes no reply,
But straight o'er the sands, as of old, staring forth to the weird
desert sky,
Unmoved, unresponsive, indifferent, gazes that stony face still,
Incarnation of calm most colossal, cold patience, immovable will,
Looking far beyond time, far above human hope, mere midge-fret of
the day,
Into--what? There's no mortal who knows, and the Sphinx, if it
know, doth not say.
'Tis silent--with silence that means not consent to the youth's
wild appeal;
Still, still the set face which is stone gazes forth on a sky
which is steel!
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