Learning with Poetry
Ozymandias
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), 1818
Ozymandias: Greek name for Ramses II, pharaoh of Egypt for 67 years during the 13th century BCE. His colossal statue lies prostrate in the sands of Luxor. Napoleon’s soldiers measured it (56 feet long, ear 3 1/2 feet long, weight 1000 tons). Its inscription, according to the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus, was “I am Ozymandias, King of Kings; if anyone wishes to know what I am and where I lie, let him surpass me in some of my exploits.”
Mocked: imitated
The “I” speaker has heard a story brought back from the French invasion of Egypt and relates it to the listener. The statue of Ozymandias was huge, but it is now broken and half buried in the boundless desert sands. The sculptor clearly understood the Pharaoh’s character and heart, and his skill remains to show the Pharaoh’s “wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command.” The inscription is written for others who might hope to be just as mighty a king as Ozymandias was: “Look on my works . . . and despair!” But what is that “despair”? This is the greatest king that ever lived and “nothing . . . remains” of any of his works; only “the lone and level sands” remain. So the mighty have fallen and will always fall. Those who would be mighty should despair–despair not over being as great as Ozymandias, but despair over the actual lasting value of pride and power and wealth and arrogance. All is shattered, decayed, wrecked, buried. Only the artist’s insight is left.
Phyllis Ballata