[30] From the 1809 edition of Freneau's poems. This piece does not appear in the editions of 1786 and 1788. It ran as a serial for several weeks in the _National Gazette_, beginning May 17, 1792, and it was immediately reprinted by Bache in his _Aurora_. I can find no earlier trace of it. It was printed, together with "The Country Printer," in 1794 by Hoff and Derrick, Philadelphia, as a 16-page pamphlet, under the title, "The Village Merchant," and it was given a place in the 1795 edition, dated "Anno 1768." In the 1809 edition it was first divided into sections with sub-titles. [31] The epilogue was first added in 1795. _Debemur morti nos nostraque!_ THE PYRAMIDS OF EGYPT[32] A Dialogue. Written in 1770. _Scene._--Egypt. _Persons._--Traveller, Genius, Time. _Traveller_ Where are those famed piles of human grandeur, Those sphinxes, pyramids, and Pompey's pillar, That bid defiance to the arm of Time-- Tell me, dear Genius: for I long to see them. _Genius_ At Alexandria rises Pompey's pillar, Whose birth is but of yesterday, compar'd With those prodigious fabricks that you see O'er yonder distant plain--upon whose breast Old Nile hath never roll'd his swelling streams, The only plain so privileg'd in Egypt. These pyramids may well excite your wonder, They are of most remote antiquity, Almost co-eval with those cloud-crown'd hills That westward from them rise--'twas the same age That saw old Babel's tower aspiring high, When first the sage Egyptian architects These ancient turrets to the heavens rais'd;-- But Babel's tower is gone, and these remain! _Traveller_ Old Rome I thought unrivall'd in her years, At least the remnants that we find of Rome, But these, you tell me, are of older date. _Genius_ Talk not of Rome!--before they lopt a bush From the seven hills where Rome, earth's empress, stood, These pyramids were old--their birth day is Beyond tradition's reach, or history. _Traveller_ Then let us haste toward those piles of wonder That scorn to bend beneath this weight of years-- Lo! to my view, the aweful mansions rise The pride of art, the sleeping place of death! Are these the four prodigious monuments That so astonish every generation-- Let us examine this, the first and greatest-- A secret horror chills my breast, dear Genius, To touch these monuments that are so ancient, The fearful property of ghosts and death!-- Yet of such mighty bulk that I presume A race of giants were the architects.-- Since these proud fabricks to the heavens were rais'd How many generations have decay'd, How many monarchies to ruin pass'd! How many empires had their rise and fall! While these remain--and promise to remain As long as yonder sun shall gild their summits, Or moon or stars their wonted circles run. _Genius_