University of Virginia Library

Three days, of old, endured the sacrifice,
From year to year; a mighty festival
Observed since Belus reigned in blood and scorn,
When every heart indulged its own device—
All foul like this, but this far worse than all:
Mad with her last night's triumphs, at its dawn
The Sorceress clamour'd for her guests—and twice
Earth, Hell, Air, Ocean, listened to the call—
The drunken harlot riots on her throne;
In flocks her lovers speed from earth and sky;
Chaldæa's idols feast with victory—
“Three days,” she called aloud, and almost two are gone.

Above this empire of our treacherous clay,
Where man had all things subject once, and still
Maintains by craft his old supremacy—
Usurping what he lost where'er he may:
With hands that never rest sits One to weigh
The time God gives his creatures as he will,
Years, months, days, hours, or moments. Close beside
To watch their uses while they pass away,
And seal in each the sum of good or ill,
With eyes that never sleep or close, abide
Man's grieved accusers to futurity—
These meekly just their dreadful task fulfil,
And these shall speak in truth of all that die.

O that his sight could reach so far! his pride
At last discern! his heart awake! that awe
Might melt in time his cold obduracy,
When cities swoln with insolence, deride
Whatever God delights in, and abhor
The few that serve him undefiled—that now
These swarms which settle round the house of Bel—
These multitudes of multitudes which hide
Court, area, steps, bridge, terrace, all below—
Thick as Egyptian locusts when they fell
A plague to cover and consume; but white,
With sacrificial vestures beautified,
As Oreb's manna, or Bethulia's snow:
Millions which breathe, think, reason, plan, confer;
Feel hope, love, pleasure, could they lift their sight
So high, or hear time's pitying angel say:
“This and another night for mirth—but woe!
“Long warned in vain—thou worse than Nineveh!
“Woe Tyranness ere the second morning's light!
“There yet is given for sport or prayer—a day—
“To finish, to begin, or leave undone—
“Once more the sun will set on Babylon;
“Those heedless millions then must pass away;
“‘Three days,’ thine heralds cried, and almost two are gone!”

Why are her courts so silent? Why so calm
That sea beneath of worshippers—where each
Gleams like a wave which ripples toward the beach,
Lost and dissolved ere marked? That human swarm,
Why are its murmurings hushed so soon? The breeze
Is moving o'er their heads, the sun is setting,
All eyes are raised, but still no human speech—
A million faces gaze one way toward Heaven;
Before Bel's tower are bent a million knees;
A million hearts with one great thought are beating—
High on the steps, the platforms, porticos,
To every lesser God are victims given;
Dread Nature's emblems, types of winds and seas,
Earth, and prolific fire—whatever grows,
Breathes, lives, or generates life—in shapes obscene,
Brought from their groves to shame the light of even,
And compassed by their priests as deities!

Before the temple gate stand thickly these:
Chaldæa's mightier gods are dimly seen
Far off, within—for on their altars yet
No fire is kindled, and the pillar'd maze
—Ill-lit by lamps that ever burn between—
Looks roofless, limitless, while day decays.
Bel's sceptred image once in Dura set,
The whole world's worship still, with regal mien
Asserts his ancient sovereignty—of gold
And towering o'er his moulten guests. Like pines
In height they rise—first Benoth, crowned as Queen,
With crescent diadem—Moloch next—and near
Adrammalech—Salembas—Nebo old—
And Syrian Nisroch, fettered midst their shrines,
Ill-reconciled, and winged for flight. In many a fold
Its scaly length the aspiring serpent twines:
The ever-present dove seems brooding here—
Reptiles and fish Phœnician idols hold—
A hundred monstrous shapes, and all of lust or fear.

But deeply breathe the listening worshippers:
Belshazzar stands in darkness by his throne—
The subject kings below as shades appear;
Crowds press on crowds, but not a whisper stirs!
Earth waits the signal of its God returning;
His steeds have passed the mountain tops, and none
Who move upon its even face can see
More than the fading traces of his wheels;
But some are in mid-air who watch them burning
A moment yet—a little moment he
Extends his radiance to that height alone;
He sinks, he disappears, the trumpet's peals
Wind down from stage to stage—the psaltery,
Lute, sackbut, cornet, dulcimer, reply;
All kinds of music, soft or shrill, descending
Awake the silent votary whence he kneels:
And now the censers smoke—the altars blaze—
The roof is starred with cressets like a sky—
With gifts the priests before their shrines are bending;
The brightened idols seem to smile and gaze:
Ten thousand voices mix their melody;
Ten times ten thousand more reply again;
Each swells the choir, for all are skilled in praise:
Beyond the gates, the steps, the bridge extending,—
General as winds or seas ascends the strain.

STROPHE.

Already hast thou waved thine hand, O Bel!
Thy children hear thee, mighty Lord! A guest
He comes who rules their thankful tribes alone—
At his rebuke the rebel Median fell!
Dread effluence of thy majesty exprest,
Belshazzar scatters lightnings like thine own:
Earth's subject gods shall worship while we tell
Thy wrath when envious kings assailed his throne—
Thy glory, ever blessing, ever blest!

ANTISTROPHE.

The year is full—the Serpent weds the Dove!
Tarry to-night with us, to-morrow rise
In brighter radiance from the couch of love;
All human sighs are hushed but pleasure's sighs!
Who shall unbar thy gates, and strew the skies
With earliest flowers before thee? Love, revealed
At morn among the fading stars above,
Ere yet thy steeds go forth, or twilight flies
With tender footsteps from the dewy field,
And silence follows startled from the grove.

EPODE.

The vallies when they wake, and while the breeze
Sweeps with its fragrant wing night's mists away,
Receive from thee their fruitfulness—the trees
Are crowned with beauty, and the waters move
With warmth and life—

STROPHE.

The Priests of Benoth.

O circled by the stars! when tired and still
All things beside seem slumbering—even the gale
Partakes with night in Nature's peacefulness!
Their distant voices sing of thee, O Queen!
Enthroned amidst their multitudes—the vale
Cooled by thy breath revives—the lighted hill
Or forest glade, and fragrant bank between,
Through thee seems sanctified! She comes to bless!
The Dove is hovering near—at length our hymns prevail!

ANTISTROPHE.

Older than ocean thou! thy full front gazes
From Heaven delighted on his depths serene;
Drawn by its smile of love, the giant raises
Near as he may, thine image on his wave.
Those tender horns their potent dews distil,
Crescent or waning, o'er the herbage green
Mysterious virtues—strong, if good, to save—
If evil, dreadful in their kinds for ill.

EPODE.

The Priests of Adrammalech.

We see thee in the tempest—hear thee call
When the earth rocks, Adrammalech! that chain
Which binds the frenzied air—the struggling main—
Involving all things, and sustaining all,
From star to star—from depth to depth again—
Shakes stricken by thy might: and when thine eye
Pierces the forest shade, or echoing hall,
O! who shall hide him from thy wrath? His cry
Is lost in thunders rolling o'er the slain,
Or louder threatenings round the ordained to die!

STROPHE.

The Priests of Moloch.

O visible in death! the mountain pine
Shows with its blasted strength, thy passing by;
Our groves, O Moloch! reddened with the stain
Of infant blood—and this before thy shrine:
The Median heaps unburied on the plain—
May all avert thy steps—thy couch is in the sky!

ANTISTROPHE.

The Priests of Bel.

These rule with pride unmerciful! their fire
Is not of Heaven, nor kindled from the well
Whose streams are life, and whence the almighty Sire
Primæval, endless, uncreated Bel—
Filled all he made, and sanctified the whole!
Mild patrons of mankind! ye radiant five
That watch the earth by turns, and nightly roll
Your westward wheels for ever—Sheshach, thou
The shepherd's hope, and greatest still in Hell,
Relentless Nebo! by his power ye live,—

CHORUS.

He framed our breathing flesh, and reasoning soul!
He gave the stars their glory! on the brow
Of every god, through all their hosts, a crown
In brightness less, in nature like his own!

So they their sacrificial feasts began
With songs to Bel: but elsewhere wonder bred
Divided thoughts and blank perplexity—
From house to house the breathless Elder ran,
Distasteful counsel meeting. Wisdom's cry
If heard, was ill-discerned, by louder dread
O'erborn—he hastes and asks, but cannot stay—
That impious Sorceress haunts the grieved old man!
Already part is certain that she said:
The larger half fulfilled within a day
Shows that the rest is not far off. At length
From One he looks for help to whom he gave
—Poor as he was—what fortune could not give—
Nor time—nor partial nature—more than strength,
Dominion, riches, honour—though they wreathe
Crowns of no fickle hues to grace our clay,
But follow from the cradle to the grave—
True knowledge of his truth through whom we live,
Whose word received is Life—despised is Death—
And both for ever—teaching where to pray;
In what to hope.

Toward him who sowed aright,
So well was that good ground prepared—the seed
Brought fruits of thankfulness. By nature blind,
The Spirit regenerate gloried in its light,
Zealous to persevere untired: with speed
Quickened of urgent love, he never looked behind.

Wealth Astath had, yet valued not—the smile
Of power—his princely equals homage—praise
Which lingering holds us last; a proselyte
And given to God: though foremost in the file
Of peace or war, his wiser soul inclined
Toward them whose strength was in their prayers—the ways
Of God their boast, their glory to beguile
With patience grief. A separate people they,
Like vessels set apart of costlier kind
To keep some purer spirit unmixed—till One,
(As early as the stains which still defile,
Man's hope foretold)—should wash all guilt away,
And plead accepted at his Father's throne.

To him the Elder went: his child meanwhile
Whose portion seemed the sum of evil or good,
As hope or fear were strongest—more than Queen,
Or less and lower than misery yet has been—
Had found, at last, an hour for solitude;
Left by her virgin fellows and their guide,
The first with hearts brimful. To learn, to teach,
To press injunctions and retract, they speed
Perplexed by preparations for the Bride,
So numerous in so short a space, yet each
Momentous too! they promise at the gate—
Despatch, with shorter absence than they need,
Let loose till eve.

She paced the silent hall,
Restless both when she rose, and where she sat;
Replaced her harp now first unmusical,
Wishing for those again she wished away so late.
At length she yields to that which conquers all—
Tumultuous thoughts and painful lassitude
Subside in sleep—while hope, remembrance, dread,
Remitted for a time but not subdued,
Their transient flushes o'er her paleness shed.
One hand with rosy palm sustains her head,
Beneath its braids and glossy ringlets prest;
Earthward the other lapses. More than death
By far—since terror cannot reach the dead—
Is sleep like this? Death heedless to molest,
Smites hard, then passes on—he stuns and leaves
But mocks us not—he bears no festal wreath
To hide the worms that round his temples creep:
His claims are just—he neither wrongs nor grieves,
Nor can he come but once. The couch beneath
Shakes with our panting heart and hard-drawn breath;
In dreams we die and live, rejoice and weep,
Are wronged, despised, abandoned—sometimes blest,
This never long! But death perchance is sleep—
And life death's dream—if so, tired maid lie still!
The shortest error then were least and best:
Thy slumbers may be gone too soon! They came
Where nothing yet hath staid an hour if ill:
This is thy native roof—remorse or blame
Abides not here, but o'er that stainless breast—
Like clouds which leave no trace and never rest—
Dark thoughts pass swiftly unapproved by will,
Absolved from guilt, and far remote from shame.

Sleep long deferred will come, at last, with pain:
The anxious toil in sleep, the wretched mourn—
To every heart that grieves its pangs return;
Smiles fade before him—tears begin again.
In his stained glass seem all things changed but care:
Bright glows, at first, the laughing image there—
And heightened in that mirror bliss descries
Its wanton roses fresher than of yore—
Love sees and hears with more than ears or eyes—
The past gives back its captives to Despair—
They touch, converse, and gaze—who yet must meet no more.
But soon the sultry breath they breathe, the sighs
Which transport heaves so fast, and pours so near,
Dim those fair hues surpassing truth before—
New shapes, that still confess no change, arise;
Or else distort and foul the same appear.
Mysterious Sleep! where life resigns so much,
Yet quickens what it keeps—reduced, comprest,
But not impaired—and half its faculties,
The safer half, employed in flattering such
We best might spare!

A late and treacherous guest
So visits he that Virgin now! The sigh
Which parts thus hardly from her stifled breast
Betokens grief or pain: and lo! a tear
Escapes beneath its long-lashed lid o'erflowing
—Far as her parted lips—the languid cheek,
Still undispersed, a pearl on ivory.
Nor wakes she yet; the sounds which fill her ear
Are changed at once by Sleep to help his lie—
That sportive train, with pleased impatience glowing,
Each carrying gifts, and all on fire to speak—
A moment hushed attend the abortive cry,
The choaking gasp suppressed of agony,
The smothered plaint yet loud and louder growing,
At last, the call for help, and waking shriek.

“O Mirria! this was more than sleep,” she said;
“Cruel to stay so late!—'twere better die
“Than see such sights as those again! The dead
“I saw, each crowned and seated on his throne—
“Like kings indeed they looked, but yet in misery.”
Then closely clasped the matron's neck, that pressing
A bosom uninflamed, unterrified,
She might assuage the anguish of her own.
As mothers soothe with gentlest words alone
At first, if grief befall their young, caressing,
Till louder sobs are hushed, and fears subside,
Yet will be heard in turn whene'er they may:
So Mirria gave that trembler leave to groan,
And closely held her speechless where she lay—
Then mixed rebuke provoking strength through pride—
Gazed in her face to smile its tears away,
Replaced her on the couch, and straight replied:
“O Queen, look up! can dreams afflict thee thus?
“Left safe at eve, with arms before her gate,
“Shall less than shadows scare Belshazzar's Bride?
“The dead, though crowned as kings, have fled from us—
“We came not empty back, nor tarried late.”

She spake, and next the Maid: “If this were sleep,
“Do Thou instruct who speakest in dreams!—for good
“Art Thou!—what truths they token to me—keep
“My thoughts, thus warned, from sin—with patience wait
“Till I can learn Thy will!—Such sleep as this
“Comes not to bring us rest. In dreams I stood—
“Since I did dream—upon that garden's height
“Whose mossy glades flower-strewn, and pathways steep,
“Were trod indeed last night with Nitocris.
“The solitary spirit felt its bliss
“At leisure thus a second time to gaze:
“On high the Sun shone opposite, but red,
“Reduced in size, despoiled of all its rays,
“With light diminished more than half. The Plain,
“The City, and the River round me spread—
“Seen dimly through that thick and dusky haze:
“A sound uprose behind me, such as rain
“Rustling midst gusts of wind; I turned my head,
“And on the point next Heaven, with shoulders plumed,
“Above me where I stood, had one alighted
“Whose starry brow, irradiate by the blaze
“Of beams which dazzled not, shone self-illumed,
“And brighter than the Sun thus veiled. Serene
“But sorrowful, it seemed—I saw delighted,
“For fear had not come yet. A summer cloud,
“Crossed by the rainbow ere its colours fade,
“Appeared his wings outstretched: the pine-tree green
“With tenderer verdure freshened in their shade—
“If shade—and from the gusty impulse bowed
“Its summit, while they closed

“Nor pine nor palm
“Reached to the sapphire zone about his waist:
“His right hand held a trumpet, which he raised
“And blew so long, so mournfully, and loud,
“That ere the blast was ended—while his arm
“Kept level with his lips—the yet unknown taste
“Of grief like death began: my spirit amazed
“Ebbed fast, warm tears ran down my cheeks—that sound
“Dissolved all strength in sorrow. But his face
“Was lifted toward the stained and crimson Sun,
“And mine with his. One spot waxed large in haste;
“Descending, darkening, through the sultry space
“Blood-red between, it spread its shadow round:
“And never yet has time, if counted, run
“So swiftly as that second Angel's pace—
“For now behold! another glorious form,
“More dreadful than the first, draws near, whose wings
“Encompass half the city in their flight
“With such distempered hues and dimness chill
“As change the saddened eve from bright and warm,
“Presaging floods with thunder. Blasts he brings
“Which shake the groves, and wither where they light.
“He stoops upon the Tower of Bel: but still
“The Sun behind his head glows opposite,
“Eclipsed to him who called and me.

“Amain,
“Shook by his feet from off that smoking hill
“Clay-built, huge fragments rolled: a double chain
“Which reached the house-roofs under, and a sword
“Filled either grasp; then looking where we stood,
“He spake the language of my father's land.
“I must not utter here one holiest word—
“What else he said was thus: ‘Both just and good
“‘Are all his thoughts!—above these worlds I stand
“‘To do his will!’ He ended, and the sound
“Like thunders lapsing till they pass away,
“Surceased far off. As loud the first replied:
“‘Haste thou!—it is His message—bind and slay—
“‘Her time is gone!’ Then swiftly toward the ground
“He leaped whose hands were armed. I could not trace
“His path beneath me, though I wished and tried,
“Through that dun haze redoubled now—far round
“Earth, furnace-like, steamed upwards.

“Next, aside
“Toward him of late so near I turned my face,
“And saw his brightness fading through the trees,
“As sunset skies, far off: but in his place
“A mighty Palace stood with portals closed,
“—So lightly change our visions as they please,
“Exempt from wonder often too. Aloof
“I paused at first; and saw the living tide
“Which set so strong that way, nor chains nor bars
“Sustained the rushing influx—what opposed
“Was burst at once—crowds passed, and with them I.

“The walls were built of jasper, and the roof,
“Serene and distant, seemed another sky
“With clouds of incense floating: lamps like stars
“In number—suns in brightness—lit their fasts:
“A hundred pillars, and a hundred thrones
“I saw, with those that sat upon them. Stones
“Had life and human beauty—moulten beasts
“Had life, though iron or brass. Behind them fell
“Earth's tribes, and worshipped—princes, captains, priests,
“The chief of every people bowed before:
“All kindreds toiled in praises to their own,
“All nations to their own—and all to Bel.
“Of graven gold above the rest he shone
“In giant stature eminent; and wore
“A crown upon his head, with sparkling beams
“Set thick, like gems on fire. The pleasant smell
“Of nard and cassia filled his halls—in streams
“The wine flowed round his sacrifices. Most
“Enchained mine eyes, yet why I know not well,
“Vessels of divers forms—fair chalices,
“And cups with imitated flowers embost—
“Lamps, vases, censers, wrought in gold:—all these
“Seemed rare past human art or regal cost:
“Hence drank the guests admiringly. Their sports
“Grew louder round the altars—largely ran
“Both mirth and wine—Belshazzar mocked his foes;
“A thousand princes feasted in his courts.

“From choirs unseen the distant strains began
“Of war o'erthrown and glory in repose—
“Scarce heard, or with suspended breath at first—
“So softly woke the lute, the harp, the lyre,
“And meek-toned dulcimer—so sweet and still
“To voices warbling in alternate song:
“Till as they floated onwards, nearer burst
“The mighty chorus round us—higher yet higher
“Midst horns and cymbals rang the clarions shrill—
“‘The Heavens are thine!—thou dost subdue the strong—
“‘Thou dost confound the impious while they rail—
“‘Almighty Bel!’—‘The Earth is thine! thy will
“‘Prevails o'er all beneath! To thee we sing,
“‘O thou! that scatterest armies with thy spear!
“‘This world belongs to thee—Belshazzar, hail!’—
“‘Ailona! Queen! the vacant throne stands here!
“‘Let envious Haza burn—Beari wail—
“‘Ailona! Bride! receive the gifts we bring—
“‘Virgin, arise, ascend!’—With that, the king
“Stretched forth his hand, and while the Temple shook
“With all its multitudes—so loud their cry
“‘Ailona! Queen!’—he placed me where we sat
“In power like Gods, and in a house like Heaven!

“The nearest guests were crowned; but pale their look,
“Scornful, severe, with ghastly majesty,
“Methought like death—they moved, they spake, they ate—
“From those fair vessels wine to each was given,
“And this they drank, though dead. Named oft hard by
“First Nimrod armed, Semiramis, and Pul
“Below, with more between. The seats were full
“Save one—and that far off. My heart yet throbs—
“For lo! again short change to misery!
“Their crimson vests and moonlike mitres fade—
“The music sounds no more—the guests look back—
“Those kings too gaze, but silently—and sobs
“Suppressed I hear, with plaints from lips afraid.
“Idols, so fair of late, grow swart and black:
“Some, whence they stood before, leap down: mine eyes
“Can scarce discern the image from its priest,
“Thus life and death are mingled—dead things rise,
“While living shrink to shadows as they fall!
“Yea, pictured figures move upon the wall;
“Those vessels melt or vanish from the feast;
“Sighs mix with laughter, prayers with blasphemies,
“And darkness fills the illimitable Hall.
“I turned to speak—Belshazzar's throne stood near,
“But he the last of all those kings was seated,
“As pale as they: I rose, and strove to stand,
“The Temple floor heaved under me—in fear
“I called for help—a hand was on my hand;
“Its pressure pains me still—and in mine ear
“With hoarser tones Bel's Prophetess repeated
“Words which she learnt of me, and twice hath spoken—
“‘Strike, Father, strike!’”
Groaning she ended here,
To ease the o'er-freighted heart aloud once more,
And hide her face declined upon her knees:
Grief leaves its vessel whole, which else were broken,
Exhaled in scalding sighs from raw remembrances.
With silent lips, and eyes upon the floor,
Her virgin followers dew their cheeks with tears,
For young themselves and prone to love are these.
That cautious Matron strives not with her fears
Confronting mightier nature, but aloof
From what she aims at, thus: “The peaceful rest,
“Awhile perchance the wretched; but the blest
“Never, till bliss decays. A darker shade
“Falls when the sun shines brightest—to the roof
“An infant's image reaches, if his face
“O'erlooks the hearth below. That hand which prest
“So hard, was mine—my voice awoke thee, Maid!
“Too happy for repose on such a place
“Sits giddily aloft Belshazzar's Queen.
“In sleep the extremes approach of joy and woe—
“As hours engraved upon the dial, show
“Its first and last—how near, with none between.”

Thus she; in turn the Virgin's lips reply:
“Yet holiest wisdom speaks through dreams: we know
“There are who can interpret sleep, and some
“Prove perfect in its symbols—these descry
“Death's advent by his shadow, though unlike
“The shape, seen far before. But things to come
“Perchance are pictured plainer where the eye
“Is weak and dim, as mine!” The Matron smiled,
Yet more it seemed in pity than disdain,
Then spake: “If so, the knowledge were unwise,
“Afflicting whom it could not help; for who
“Would flee, though warned, from shades—by fear beguiled—
“To meet the ills he shunned so soon again,
“Or hope that flight may hide him from the skies?
“He needs be swift indeed whom shades pursue!
“That ancient sire so ill at ease last night,
“Will read through tears the visions of his child,
“And see their terrors darken as they rise,
“Grow great apace and multiply. His sight
“Foreran the dream, he prophesied of strife,
“The trump thou spakest of sounded at his word!
“So skilled a seer will prove his prescience right—
“Doth wisdom teach to hide us in the wild;
“Or stand as watchmen on the tower of life,
“And look around for mischief and the sword?”

Thus she, but long in vain—half grave, half gay,
Mingling her mirth with wisdom—and the tale
Of erring foresight with some lapse absurd
Whence fear is plucked midst laughter—long in vain
Ere chased by smiles those sorrows pass away,
The breast grows calm, and youth's fresh hopes prevail.
Yet words so apt and kind can rarely fail!
A charm is on her lips to lessen pain—
The facile laugh—the hint 'twixt truth and play—
Suggestions lightly urged and straight supprest,
Which leave the listener's scruples free again—
Well-practised art to join the harmless jest
With looks of awe and earnestness. The Maid
Had ever thought that truth was stern and plain—
Hard and ungracious wisdom—till her guest
Soothing with gentlest speech all doubts to rest,
Had ruled the will she flattered and obeyed.