Repose of a Holy Family

Under a palm-tree, by the green, old Nile,
Lull’d on his mother’s breast, the fair child lies,
With dove-like breathings, and a tender smile
Brooding above the slumber of his eyes;
While, through the stillness of the burning skies,
Lo! the dread works of Egypt’s buried kings,
Temple and pyramid, beyond him rise,
Regal and still as everlasting things.
Vain pomps! from him, with that pure, flowery cheek,
Soft shadow’d by his mother’s drooping head,
A new-born spirit, mighty, and yet meek,
O’er the whole world like vernal air shall spread;
And bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown,
Before the suffering and the lowly, down.