only brain that is not mad.
Hark! The pulse of measured rowing,
And the silver clarions blowing,
From the distant darkness, break
Into this illumined lake.
Tis Sesostris, lord of nations,
Victor of three continents,
Visiting the celebrations,
Priests, and pomps, and regiments.
Kings, from Indus, and Araxes,
Ister, and the Boreal axes,
Horsed his chariot to the waves,
Then embarked, his galley-slaves.
Glittering stands the giant royal,
Four tall sons are at his back;
Twain, with their own corpses loyal,
Bridged the flames Pelusiac.
As he passeth, myriads bless him,
Glorious Monarch all confess him,
Sternly upright, to condone
No injustice, save his own.
He, well-pleased, his sceptre swingeth,
While his four sons strike the gong;
Till the sparkling water ringeth
Joy and laughter, joke and song.
Ah, but while loud merry-making
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