University of Virginia Library

Who journeying when the days grow shorter, stops
At sunset to review his path, with face
Turned back from some steep eminence, may see
The autumnal landscape chilled by mists, its plains
All lost and hamlets hidden; but yet the tops
Of hills or city spires distinct—their base
Alone confounded in that hazy sea
Isle-strewn and white beneath him: Memory strains
Her vision thus o'er human things, to trace
Their past proportions through the veil which drops
Round realms and empires. Some have ceased to be
Substance and shade—not even the name remains
Of that which seemed so great when near—the rest
Are, most part, ill-discerned—both age and place
Unsettled on the chart of Time: a few
Distinct, rise higher. Her bright and glorious crest
Greece lifts above the twilight round her—free,
With many a laureate wreath of art or war,
And plumed by all the muses. Egypt's hue
Is dark, her wrinkled visage sad, the scar
Of patient servitude on neck and knee—
A feeble giantess whose mystic vest
Is lettered thick with beast, bird, fish, or star—
The signs which none may read. Our dubious view
Flits vaguely o'er a hundred near her—two
Stand broad and large before us: Rome alone
Fills the mid space pre-eminent—behind,
Far off, with head as high, old Babylon.

Each was in turn the tyranness of mankind;
One age by age to such dread stature grew,
Strengthening with time, long flourished, long declined;
A thousand years beheld her on the throne:
The other stooped at once; but yet her name
Is that great mystery in which we find
Power, lewdness, sorcery, malice, and the pride
Of envious hate 'gainst Heaven: half rests unknown,
All else is sin—we use it as the same
With veiled uncleanness, knowledge misapplied,
And atheist arrogance. Behold her climbed
Where human hope on that unsteady height
Must stop or fall—her monarch deified,
Earth's riches all before her—Joy hath timed
The hour, and summoned glory comes to-night.

Alone, above his guests, the king reclines:
Belshazzar's palace halls are filled with light—
For day ends early here. On steps upraised
Are two coequal thrones—the right hand his,
The left still void. An ivory table shines
Rimmed with the sardine stone and chrysolite
Set thick, between. One seat is void, where gazed
Till now, the thankful eye on Nitocris:
She fills no second place, nor yet repines
To yield the first. Beneath, but nearest this,
Each with the regal circle on his brow,
Maragdas, Aribœus, Artemas,
And Sardian Crœsus. Wives or concubines
—Differing but little here, since queens forego
Their ancient birth-right for the least, and pass
Unblamed to greater honour—ranged in lines
Of rival beauty press the seats below;
Beari first with Haza. Either side
Hath sights, alas! of cruelty and woe—
Bareheaded kings and manacled with gold,
But robed and seated royally.

So wide
Those palace halls, that many a glittering row
Of Babylonian matrons purple-stoled,
Extending rank by rank, with Judges old,
Chiefs, Princes, Captains, Counsellors—the pride
Of war or peace—Belshazzar's thousand Lords,
Flower-crowned, as fresh from victory, recline
At large, with room to spare. Their sparkling boards
Seem heaped to satiate luxury. The fair
Of other lands, the young, the delicate
In cups of crystal pour Damascan wine,
And slave-like kneel presenting it—for there
Beauty alone hath leave to worship state,
Itself ennobled by its ministry.

With these, behold a presence from the sky!
Full in the midst Bel's golden altars shine;
He rises o'er their cloudy frankincense—
While Cathura, Arioch, Urr, Belsyphirine
—Meet servants such for such a Deity—
Surround the odious type of lust, and thence
Deal out his blessings as they please, nor spare
God's holiest attributes. Impute not, Lord!
—Since one alone is good, and only thine
Wherever else ascribed or claimed, they are—
This distant echo of their blasphemies,
Impute it not as sin! while lips abhorred
Call him supreme, almighty, righteous, wise,
We learn the more to fear thee!

In their halls
Midway stands Bel, Belshazzar's guest—aloft,
Part armed, the rest in effigies of peace,
Long lines appear of kings on marble walls
And sculptured cornices. There Nimrod oft
Recurs throughout with star above his head;
That mighty hunter named by fabling Greece
Orion since. Next Belus crowned with rays
Through clouds his chariot guiding. On a bed
Reclines Semiramis—around her plays
The fluttering dove—in level plain outspread
Her left hand bears up Nineveh—her right,
Where turns with smiles of love the harlot's gaze,
Far mightier Babylon. In chains are led
His captives who surpasses these, the third
And last great founder: more than both in might
He holds the builder's compasses and fills
A plain with towers. But he whose works they are
Forbore to time him grazing with the herd
Driven out from men, or fleeing toward the hills
Far off for shelter from his kind.

On high
Midst lamps distinct shine these, while choirs are heard
Alternate sweet and strong: the cooler air
Wafts fragrance from Bel's altar: lightly thrills
The heart prepared for love by melody,
Secure awhile through reverence from excess
In these yet early hours—alike from care
Remote, and flushed intemperance. Early yet
The hours, and one throne still stands vacant—kings
Learn patience here till priests consent to bless—
Some happier star must rise, or envious set;
Misfortune rides upon the dragon's wings;
Wait till Astarte climb the roof above
And draw its feeble shadows less and less,
Then ere she turn them, bring the Bride—there is
A time when malice may not reach to love,
Now all things dread their opposites! The net
Is round her feet—unhappy virgin press
More close both ears and eyes! pride bids thee come,
And glory points the downward path toward bliss:
Within, she hears repinings of distress—
A nearer cry forbids her to forget!
Henceforth farewell the charities of home—
A dreadful pause 'twixt peace and grandeur this!
She could endure it best where tears may fall
Unseen, sighs pass uninterrupted, where
The heart breathes freest—in solitude.

That Sire
Abhors the threshold of his ancient hall,
Though purple hangings veil its rafters bare,
And lamps of silver burn with scented fire.
Tent-like, within o'ercanopied, the space
Disposed for luxury—both floor and wall
Unseen: but ill-contrived if meant to please,
Since change itself affrights him thus. Some snare
Perchance is hidden beneath the playful grace
Of those young forms around her—and he sees
Ambiguous meanings in the matron's face,
Most when she smiles. “Oil-like her speeches are,
“Polluting that clear stream whose waters shone
“With health, before, and purity! Why these?
“Are Gentile women wiser than our own?
“The fruit is ever as the seed!” Severe,
His words dishearten duty, and distrust
So vain, makes caution profitless, if fear
Should seek its guidance else.

But now alone—
The last time solitary now—since eve
She sits for whom he trembles thus: it is
The hour that pride grows meek and anger just,
When they which love must part—nor would she leave
To alien eyes unveiled its sanctities.
Great change, indeed, and reconciled with pain—
A mournful hour at best! But while he strays
The moon-lit court she visits, and again
Beholds her seat of stone beside the well
Where childhood wondering saw with downward gaze
Bright stars beneath the waters dark, as plain
As those in Heaven above. All worthless things
Grow precious when we turn to bid farewell—
Here were her sports in infancy. The grove
Guarded and filled with lights—where still in vain
Through pine or cedar beats its restless wings
Aloft from branch to branch the fearful dove,
Yet finds no safer hiding place—outspreads
With dusky foliage o'er her as of old,
But now, it seems, reproachfully. They lie
Henceforth neglected in their narrow beds,
Whose widest error was excess of love,
Pure but extreme, beneath the sacred mould
Her hands had gemmed with springs first buds! Her eye
Is toward the gate, and whom she waits, behold!

No partner in that tenderness which sheds
O'er sorrow smiles till anguish change or cease—
Nor singly, as she hoped. Abruptly treads
The Sire, like one whom some great thought might keep
Irresolute at first beset with fears—
But now by force burst through again. Not peace
With love more mild at parting, calm and deep,
He brings—but gestures fierce, distempered looks,
Impatient urgency, the pride which hears
Defiance in a pause like doubt, and brooks
Delay as ill as scorn. Beside him one
Who never missed her welcome till to-night,
Though no unfrequent visitant, appears
With visage pale cast down: in Babylon
A prince, yet little envied; swift to seek
The poor, and strong to shelter from despite
The just oppressed—a brother with the meek;
Here Judah's trust, and Sabra's proselyte;
Toward him, 'bove all, observant as a son.

“Arise, and let us hence!”—with glowing cheek
Distempered by ill fears, thus first the Sire—
“Haste we from that foul Sorceress, child! from Bel,
“Belshazzar, Babylon. They tarried not
“Who burnt the cities whence they came with fire,
“And all that impious plain o'erthrew—but urged
“With threats their lingering host, accepted Lot—
“‘Escape ye to the mountains—turn not back—
“‘It is for life!’—then God's fierce anger fell
“On one who looked behind her. He hath purged
“With flames the filth of that accursed land,
“And left it void for ever! Sins as black
“Are round us here Ailona—where we dwell
“Is judged like these—the ground on which we stand
“Accursed of God as bloody and defiled,
“And shall be desolate: this city too
“He will destroy—the league she made with Hell
“Avails no more—it is for life!—O child,
“Away! nor look behind, lest wrath pursue
“Consuming them that tarry!”

He little knew
—So pure of heart the Sire—that cries may warn
Till those who hear discern them not. There is
A voice as loud which calls untired to us
At noon, at eve, at sunset, midnight, morn—
“Watch till I come!—the hour, perchance, is this,
“Beyond which none can work!” To us it calls
As loud, but who regards? The happy thus
Leaps lightly forth—the wretched and forlorn
Seeks shelter in a world which laughs at him—
From crowd to crowd the crippled Elder crawls;
Wherever fools frequent his watery eye
Is seen, his slavered lip, and palsied limb
Dragged on in life's dull chase of vanity.

With grief she heard, not fear: such floods of zeal
Were less unfrequent late—the sight grown dim
Changed all it saw to prodigies. Thus far
Her heart condemned her not. Why call it sin
To feel as human breasts in youth must feel?
The voice which led seemed Destiny's—the star
Toward which she went so fast, shone fixed, and lighted
No path but this. If hope swelled high within,
What marvel was it here? Bland words prevail,
And smiles of broad-eyed wonder in a war
'Gainst scrupulous starts like these: some playful tale
Disarmed the giant brood of dreams affrighted,
And cut suspicion short.

Her words begin
Low-toned as fearful to offend, submiss
But little credulous of what he said.
“Are all alike so wretched then?—is this
“The threshold of that gate where hopes are cast?
“Or are we marked to eat the bitter bread
“Of helpless poverty alone—to crave
“No better for the present than the past—
“To trust no certainty but death—to tread
“The same dull road contented toward the grave?
“Is such the fruit which faith must pluck at last
“From penitential love of God? His dread
“Pursued us forth, nor leaves us where it drave:
“We and our fathers speed alike!”

She spake,
And more, perchance, had followed, but his ears
Endured not till its end. “O wise!”—he cried—
“O subtilely taught to laugh at other's fears,
“And doubt if God be just or not! Awake,
“Ye ignorant aged—behold at last a guide!
“His sabbaths were despised; that feast ordained
“When Israel fled, and in one night he slew
“The first-born males of Egypt—solemn days
“Of prayer and thankfulness were all profaned,
“And murderers left to serve him. Idol praise
“Was noisy in his courts—on altars new
“Were idol sacrifices. Israel weighed
“The gold of Ophir for a God, and learnt
“To watch the lying lips of Prophets feigned,
“Agape for oracles. His Priests beheld
“The abominations which their hands had made
“In Dan and Bethel unabashed: they felled
“The oak, or from its mountains brought the pine,
“Whence part was made an image, part was burnt,
“Even as they would, with fire. Witchcrafts, sorceries,
“Unnatural vigils, orgies mad with wine
“Inflamed adulterous Judah. Nor were these
“On Lebanon retired midst groves obscene,
“By stream or valley—under rocks or trees—
“As if their cursed defilements shamed the land—
“But near his Temple porch their lusts were seen
“Whose ways thou callest unequal! Yet are we
“So stedfast in his love; or should have been
“Through faith so perfect—mingling as we must
“With leperous millions on life's crowded strand—
“As still to move aloof, and wander free
“Untouched, untainted, spotless of the dust
“Which blinded them—left space enough between
“Our guilty brethren and ourselves? That hand,
“Unsparing as it seemed, was more than just—
“It plucked us out to save us.”

Loud in zeal
The fervent Sire; and Astath ere he ceased,
With haste as eager but more mild began.
“Thou hast no better choice than this—to kneel
“Where brutes are worshipped Gods, and kings deceased
“Are honoured as immortals—man by man!
“The dead by those who live!—no choice but this,
“Or flight with us, Ailona.” Urgent they,
Like passers by, whose dreadful task it is
To warn the deaf of danger—ill believed
Both cries and signs, threats mocked, prayers cast away.

In turn she spake, but less amazed than grieved:
“Escape! from what? Belshazzar's wrath?—Alas!
“We should find wings for that! Some deep abyss
“Must hold and hide us trembling from the day,
“Beyond where human eye hath reached! Our hands
“Are weak to break the doors of triple brass—
“Where should we flee?”—“God hath not mocked me thus,
“Nor thus far left me destitute,” replied
The impatient Sire, “He will find safer lands,
“Where faith in him may tarry: we shall pass,
“Though weak, the doors which Astath keeps for us:
“Nor lacks he means, nor is his help denied.
“At least, may we be ready! Where he stands
“Is Death, who watches closely if he slide;
“Yet, for our sakes, he fears not Death. The gate
“Will open when he bids to let us out—
“His servants guard us here—his chariots wait—
“And Cyrus still is in the plain. Decide!
“Should evil intercept us, not through doubt
“We perish, faithless 'gainst our souls—it is
“From Him whose thoughts are wise, whose paths are straight,
“Who judges best in all things else, and this.
“But charge not thou, if mischief follow pride,
“The plague of stubborn sin on chance or fate:
“Child!—mark me—thou art warned!”

He spake; the Maid
Looked round irresolute and sore beset;
Nor saw she where reluctant will might hide
Secure midst specious subterfuges—yet
To meet the rashness of his wrath afraid;
But worse prepared to yield. Before her face
Ashamed she sees a holier sacrifice;
Self-offered honour and a name so great;
That God be not despoiled, nor she betrayed
Who hazards all in this pernicious race
Where loss is death—the fortunate, the wise
For her sake offered! But is faith indeed
So pure, or love thus sanctified?—no trace
Of earth or human passion mixed to shade
Its broad and lucid singleness, whence dies
Untouched connatural fondness as a weed
Too gross for that celestial soil?—'Twere hard,
A daily guest so long, with careless eyes,
Or tranced in holier visions, to regard
Beauty so absolute as hers, and feed
Their sight content and passionless apart
On grace so innocent! There is a time
When love seems clear of love's infirmities—
Unmanacled from tyrant sense, sublime,
Throned rather in the spirit than the heart,
But lord alike of both. Some hallowed page,
His daily lesson, sounded from her tongue,
Of grace conferred, or chastisement delayed,
Wrath, comfort, warning, mercy—which the Sage
Resolved interpreting:—some ancient rhyme
Seemed more than earthly music in her song—
And prayer for peace was answered while she prayed.

With all thoughts fair or sacred mixed the Maid,
Beloved till now like one of happier kind
Scarce consciously—apart from maddening fear
Or jealous hope—those goads on either side
Which make so many miserable. He saw
That, honour'd as he was, the lowliest hind—
The least and last of Judah—might appear
Where he of seed corrupt, unsanctified,
Alien in nature, lineage, heirship, law,
A stranger proselyte—might not. Awhile
He watched some token of a will resigned,
Then answering silence—thus: “Shall faith then fail;
“Or false allurements draw thee from a Guide
“Like this, Ailona? Wretched! if through guile,
“And listening freely to the muttered hail
“Of witchcraft thus forewarned, we feast with Bel,
“No violent threat compulsive!” Shame calls pride,
Hard pressed by truth—pride, anger to its aid.
“He fears lest faith should faulter or rebel
“Who leaves his master's gate unclosed,” she said;
“Both flies and counsels flight—looks back to chide,
“Then quits, for hostile lords, his own betrayed!”

If thou whose thoughts are fettered by my tale
Shouldest yield thine heart to hatred, and the pest
—Yet God preserve from this!—grown sovereign there,
Should war with weaker mercy, and prevail:
Till that pure Spirit whose temple is the breast
Made clean from wrath, and sanctified by prayer,
For ever leave the unwholesome place unblest—
Abhor thee and forsake thee—spare to rail,
To threat, deride, defy, contemn, or dare,
Hate hath a loftier aim, a curse less loud were best.

Wish that he love, as some have loved, though few,
Till passion climb toward madness—that long years
May pass away midst doubts, convictions, fears,
Dreams rarely false in all things—never true—
That words of hope may fill his credulous ears,
That guileless counsel urge him to pursue,
That love may work with pity. Let him gaze
—No casual guest, but daily through his tears—
If sickness cloud the sight, or grief the hue,
Since thus weak hearts grow weakest. While he strays
Unconscious still of misery at his side,
Drive forth his visions, bid him wake and view
The backward movements of suggested pride—
Eyes, once so mild, with hatred in their rays,
Those cheeks, before so pale, with anger dyed,
And scorn on lips where late his transports grew.

Cruel the wish which faulters in my verse—
I would not feel who teach it! Pain must cease
In health or death, and death may lead to rest;
Repentant guilt is sheltered from its curse;
Toil hath its end in ease, and care in peace—
Want shall be filled at last; the meek who mourn are blest!
He shall have need of tears, yet blush to weep:
His noonday thoughts ride hard the heart opprest;
And shame grow great as strength and pride decrease:
He shall feel loath to watch, to sleep afraid—
For damned suggestions haunt distempered sleep;
And, sick with weariness, his dreams might show
Some base intruder grinning from his gate;
His home usurped, and in the walks he made
—Where still on banks he raised his roses blow—
The thrifty slave, long taught to fawn and wait,
Triumphant now and owner of their shade—
Her whom he fears to love, with him he scorns to hate.

Not thus he felt who never hoped, but woe
Was in his heart already, and stings like these—
Ill gibes from cruel lips—pierced deep. “I might forego
“What many covet most,” he answered; “ease,
“Abundance, honour—nor repine: nay more,
“I could leave scorn behind me, and a name
“Marked out for curses where my father's grave
“Reminds the passer by. For God, who sees
“Our thoughts within their fountain, and before
“They issue foul or pure—shall praise or blame
“As each hereafter merits. If I crave
“Ought for myself beyond, he knows it—he
“Knows if I seek his honour, and would save
“For him, his worshipper. In that clear sight,
“Where all things as they are and were must be—
“Love other than his own, if mixed with his,
“May seem like sin. We yet shall meet to-night—
“Again Earth's Empress may rebuke her slave—
“But had the chidden traitor sought to flee
“He might have found a fairer time than this!”
Thus said, he tarried not reply. The Sire
Gave larger room for anger, as from wrong
Extreme, disclaiming recompense: in ire
He rent his robe, then spake: “That serpent tongue,
“Before so still, hath learnt at last to hiss!
“Accursed be they that taught it!” While the tide
Of wrath ran high, his stormy spirit moved
Afloat from wave to wave unwrecked above—
But struck and perished when it fell. The Maid,
As one whom loud reproach had fortified,
Endured more stubborn while he raved—her love,
For in the eclipse of duty still she loved,
Was weak against his grief.

“'Twere much,” he said,
“To see thee perish quite, and fallen from truth
“Apostate bring God's judgments on thine head—
“The penal curse for ever! Child, we warred
“Till now with other cares than these, and youth
“Had better hopes. What makes thine heart so hard?
“There once was love between us—toward the dead
“Honour there was and pity. We abide
“The last of many on the earth—our name
“Was blameless till to-night—now faith is marred—
“We halt 'twixt God and Baal!” Again she sighed,
Moved rather by his sorrows than his fears,
Till the couch rocked beneath her. “Ere thou blame
“Wait till to-morrow, Father! grant me this—
“If faithless—let men curse me—loath me thou—
“Would that my heart were harder than it is,
“Or that I did not see thee lose these tears!
“Why should we cease to love?”—“God send thee grace
“To hear my prayers!” he said, and knelt beside:
“Except toward Him I never prayed till now!”
Then pausing, gazed upon the Virgin's face,
Pale as if death had touched it in its pride
Ashamed to harm. The sight was closed, the brow
Encircled with the garland of a bride:
Long years had vanished from that look! the place
In which she lay was where her Mother died.
So much the same she seemed, that Sabra's eyes
Glanced back for him who suffered there before:
Intent he gazed, then spake: “For their sakes rise
“Who will require thee of me. I have been
“Rash and ungentle, Child, but not unkind—
“Must love thus perish—shall we meet no more?
“Would God that thou couldest see what I have seen,
“And learn, at last, to pity!”

On her cheek
She felt his tears—her heart perchance inclined,
But still those breathless lips forbore to speak.
“Thou wilt not change, and leave me, Daughter?” thus
Again he cried, “It is for her that bore—
“So meek and gracious as she was!—and not
“For one whom malice taught thee how to hate.
“Still wider grow divided souls—'twixt us
“With charms and spells that impious fiend has thrust:
“The cord is loosed, love perished, faith forgot—
“Peace never can return again!—Too late,
“Were vows renewed, it is for such to trust.”

Alas! too late, indeed! Belshazzar's Bride,
Arise! his trumpets shake the guarded gate;
With hymns and flowers the virgins stand beside!
Both started from their place—the Child and Sire—
A thought of sin arose, a dream of wrath,
A shade begot 'twixt misery and ire—
Then passed as swift away. To see her die—
Himself to press the struggling spirit forth—
Seemed more endurable than this! His eye
Was evil toward the virgins and their guide.
“Ye have made haste—and prospered in your speed—
“Behold the victim! bear the knife and fire!
“It is an hour for Hell to laugh,” he cried,
“Hell hath prepared the soil, and ye the seed:
“God grant that all who reap may find as I!
“She did despise my tears—unnatural Maid!
“When thou shalt kneel, may God refuse to hear—
“Or hearing thee, remember why I prayed,
“And how, at last, was answered! Grief and shame
“Pursue thee, watch beside thee, run before—
“And late repentance load thine heart with dread!
“May none who ever loved thee touch thy bier—
“But strangers dig thy grave—thy bridal bed
“Be with the worm in darkness, and thy name—
“Accursed amongst our tribes—be heard no more!”

Till then she might have hoped for happier days;
With larger means to soothe the couch of age—
Since youth had slept so hard—her holiest care
Hereafter, through life's shadows and decays,
To watch, to comfort, nourish, or assuage:
Here hope looks far along a shoreless main—
What is to-morrow's promise every where!
His curse confounds—she neither kneels nor prays—
The trembling virgins hurry from his rage—
That court is passed which none will tread again!

Awhile the wretched man sat down; his face
Declined was hidden in his hands. A strain
Of love, of glory, of that godlike race
Which rose and ends in Heaven, he hears ascending—
Sweet voices when the intermitted clang
Of drums or cymbals drown them not. In vain
He would subdue those throbs which shake the place,
And listening to the bridal hymns they sang,
Approve his curse—remorse with wrath contending—
But feebler nature ill sustained his hate,
Nor will love's growth of years at once decay:—
Their songs have ceased at last, or passed away;
The grove again is silent round his gate.
Such calm seems dreadful to him now—he lifts
His eyes and marks the couch on which she lay,
Her lute beside the veil she wore so late,
With written emblems treasured as her gifts—
The sacred toils of many a peaceful day!
Then words midst groans burst forth—“It is thy will!
“Teach me to suffer—hold mine heart from sin—
“Be patient yet! I know not how to pray—
“But still confess that thou art righteous still.
“Thine eyes, which see my terrors, search within—
“Thou knowest, Lord, that I love thee!”

From his seat
In haste uprisen, he stops not on the sill.
Some lamps remain without unquenched, and wave
Their restless radiance o'er the dewy sward
Flower strewn—no sounds but echoes of his feet
Are heard, nor those beyond the pavement. Hard
His red eye fixes where those cressets burn,
And rests a moment on his Brother's grave.
Loud swings the gate behind him—“Let it beat!
“Henceforth”—he says—“who will may lock and guard—
“That care is passed—I never shall return!”