University of Virginia Library

While sorrow filled the affrighted halls, and mirth
Broke off its shouts with sighs—that baffled fiend
Now first ashamed, Bel's great Enchantress scorned,
Went forth blaspheming Heaven. The Air, the Earth,
Were dark abroad—unnatural vapours screened
With mists the midnight stars: if cursed or warned
She knew not, and by whom she could not read—
But either cursed or warned she did believe.
“Ye skies! may everlasting dimness hide
“Your fires—still shake, O Earth! beneath my tread!”
With face upraised the impious Sorceress cried:
“It is not loss of light, air, time—can grieve:
“I ruled you once, and ye have served me well—
“Though hated—these have lent them to my need—
“But power I mourn, derided and defied,
“With knowledge whence power springs! Let both rebel,
“I will know this: the dead are on my side—
“My nets are strong—one falls, and two shall bleed—
“Withhold your stars, ye Heavens! there still are lights in Hell.”

So spake she, hastening to her caverns drear—
No palace halls adorned like those she fled,
Lofty and filled with lamps; but vaults were here
Numerous as those mixed passages in Crete,
Where, helped by love, young Theseus mastered fear
And ruled his backward footsteps by a thread:
Vast crypts, low cells, and dungeons intricate:
Through these she passed at once with practised feet,
Nor erred, nor paused to turn or hesitate—
She spurned the growling panther from its bed,
The asp lay crushed beneath her heedless gait.
At length she stopped, then spake aloud: “Appear
“Ye who have seen me suffer! if ye fly—
“That which I soon must bear, the same shall ye:
“If pain for ever may affright you, hear!
“But if there be that can endure as I—
“He may despise my curse—beyond my call is he!”

She ended, and behold! nor wall, nor roof,
Nor floor beneath, nor arch was seen on high,
Nor lamp to light that limitless abode—
But thick as summer foliage on the tree,
Above, below, around her, and aloof—
As if ten thousand moons filled one dim sky,
From one dark pool reflected—faces glowed
And wing-fledged shoulders thronged the illumined shade.
An altar stood before her with its shrine—
She gazed on all with fierce imperious eye;
Heads piled o'er heads the pavement that she trode;
As grapes in autumn cluster on the vine,
Chaldæa's guardians heard her and obeyed.
“Ye that have watched together with me—this
“—If power belong to penances like mine,
“Or wisdom bought with groans, preferred to bliss,
“Have claims on knowledge—say—whence came the sign?”
She asked, but none could answer her; a cloud
Above, around, and o'er the impure abyss,
Dimmed every face through all that silent crowd—
Awhile she waited, still no tongue replied.

Far different from the airy swarms beside
Is that substantial shape which rises now;
Mailed in gigantic arms a warrior proud
With graves of brass, and helmet on his brow:
Like one he looks whose sternness had defied
Sorrow and age—for old and sad is he—
But still erect in undiminished might
His port seems halved 'twixt misery and pride—
The eyes are clear, albeit the beard is white;
No palsy shakes the head, no numbness binds the knee.
His left hand bears a weapon, in his right
—Fixed like the engrafted branch upon its tree—
Two different natures join till both are one:
A torch on fire he grasps with fingers bright
For ever clenched consuming unconsumed
And stiff as limbs engraved on sculptor's stone.
Intensely fixed his palm and torch unite—
Nor glows the forge with clearer light illumed
From steel half-fused, by restless bellows blown
When toils midst noise and sparks the smith at night—
Than burned his waxlike flesh and moulten bone:
Even to the shoulder spread that quenchless flame,
Both neck and breast beneath were tinged with light,
Beneath the belt a dusky lustre came—
'Twixt every plate and scale its ruddier brightness shone.

Before him knelt the Prophetess a space,
Then first he spake: “Yet once we meet again—
“From realms where no voice reaches but thine own,
“I heard thee, Daughter! Not to watch the pain
“Thus broadly blazoned on each other's face—
“For this thou hast not called me—since no more
“We meet for ever—but must walk alone
“Henceforth, shut out from knowledge—tread a place
“Where sights, sounds, time, change—death itself, come not—
“That better death through which thought dies! The roar
“Of Hell were happier than such void! It is
“To tell of vengeance—that the uprooted race
“Abhorred, lies cast where branch and leaf may rot.”

“We both have learned to suffer—to deplore
“Is left for such as feebly fall from this”—
Replied the obdurate Sorceress. “We defy
“His terrors at whose feet the holiest fall,
“The mightiest tremble—him whence hope and bliss
“Proceed—whom all things living fear, and all
“Prove good or ill as they approach or fly.
“To-night his fingers wrote upon the wall
“For other eyes than ours whate'er it be
“Which makes, ere read, Hell shake. A daughter I
“Unblessed—a Sire art thou unapt to bless—
“By men and spirits abhorred—accursed of him are we!”

“Thou canst not pity—nor do I complain”—
With groans between, the Spectre's lips reply:
“Compassion was not asked of thee—nor less
“Thy need, could that avail, than mine. I tore
“The veil away which hid his mercy-seat—
“Then was the time to falter!—when in twain
“I hewed the bars which closed his gates with steel,
“And fired both ark and sanctuary. No more
“This palm may loose its hold or quench its heat—
“It grasps the torch for ever! Time assuages
“All natural griefs, but cannot cool or heal
“What he hath changed from nature. Daughter give
“—This thou canst give me—vengeance: while I burn
“Let others grieve and suffer. Hope is gone
“Of peace or help—this torment grows and rages—
“The sole relief which such as we receive,
“And nearest these—is power to plague in turn:
“Yea—give me life for life—and groan for groan.”

“I will!” the Enchantress answered. “Then they live—
“It yet is to be given!” in wrath replied
The scowling Fiend: “Before their God I fell:
“My blood ran largely in his gates—their Sire
“Brought pain and darkness o'er me ere he died—
“To find the promised work undone, from Hell
“I come—to hold this never-slackening fire,
“While they breathe freely of the air—and one
“Is passing toward his grave in peace!”“As Bride
“The other sits upon Belshazzar's throne!
“Father—'twas I that raised her to his side”—
Returned the Sorceress: “I whose feet might tread
“This spark extinguished when I would—have blown
“A flame which half Earth worships—undefiled
“From Bel's lascivious swine I snatched the child
“To seat her thus in glory—o'er her head
“I poured the sacred oil and placed the crown!”
With eyes upon that old blasphemer's face
She spake—and ere the ready bolt came down,
Resumed her words in scorn. “‘Woe—Babel! woe!
“‘When she shall perish—woe both great and base!
“‘Woe to the golden city!’ Have we power
“To run before the time? 'Twere wise to shed
“Hate's utmost malice in one curse—and throw
“The empty vial backward toward its place
“As needed for our use no more! A part
“Escaped scarce touched to shelter with the dead—
“Unharmed the mother's speed foreran mine hour,
“The father followed hard behind. These rest—
“They toil not—grieve not—tremble not—our dread
“Pursues them not; the arrows of despite
“Fall short—they owned no bondage to our art—
“Nor will they wake for us. Within his breast
“Who makes us wretched, midst that sovereign light
“In more than peace they may be. Should I give
“Both Maid and Elder licence to depart
“And fill with innocent dust their graves—to live
“In happy memory on the Earth?—is this
“Thy vengeance, Father? Mine hath tracked them still
“For years unseen—most watchful when apart,
“But ever present if they dreamed of bliss:
“Both have been rendered wretched by my skill,
“And guilty one.” Her impious visage smiled;
The Threatener seemed content and reconciled:
She paused, then spake: “There hath been grief and ire—
“Distrust between those two who loved so late
“I sowed, and angry stubbornness—the Sire
“With grief perplexed, hath cursed his brother's child,
“And strives, since less than hate were guilt, to hate.
“Sorrow and Sin came first—Death comes apace—
“The meek, the good, the fairest of her race,
“And last—kneels down to idols—blood for blood
“There shall be—groan for groan—and fire perchance for fire.”

“How soon?” he cried, whose curse was in his face.
The Sorceress turned and beckoned: “Do ye ask—
“But briefly—who have watched Chaldæa's throne
“With me, till now, so prosperously—behold!
“Your turn comes first—speak twice.” She said, and bending,
Uplifted from the altar's foot a flask
Whose liquor seemed half-spent: her figured zone
Next loosed, and bared her breast. Of double fold
Was that spell-woven girdle: strongly rending
Its length in twain, she poured on either part
What looked like ointment from the cruise of gold;
Then held one half above his hand and torch
Who stood beside.

Swift leaped the unnatural flame
From end to end—and lo! beneath her heart
Its blazing torment round her loins she rolled,
Girthed hard with fire; but fires which seize and scorch,
Consume and blacken—perish with the frame
On which they feed—this, clear as light through glass
Transpiercing all—back, bosom, flesh, and bone,
With beams which cause no vapour while they pass,
And leave no scar—in cloudless radiance came:
Her heart beat visibly, and every vein
Throbbed with the crimson pulse which boiled within
Distinct—and yet she shrank not from the pain.
But he who suffered too—whose child she was—
Beheld the mightier woe with eyes affrighted—
One human feeling unconsumed by sin
Broke loudly forth in groans, while yet again,
With fingers lucid as the furnace brass,
The anointed remnant of that belt she lighted,
Cast back her hair, and coiled it round the brain.

A braid of roses on the temples wreathed
Had looked like this far off—the nearer sight
Discerned those little cells where thought resides,
Pellucid streams in branches infinite—
The waxen brain distending as she breathed,
All life's mysterious caves and changing tides.
Her eyes were closed, but in the face below
Unnatural paleness joined that dreadful light—
Two burning circles, one upon her brow,
And one a girdle to her loins and sides—
Whence rays that met midway.

“Now speak—ask now”—
She said, and thus Chaldæa's guardians cried:
“First—wisest—mightiest—most enduring! tell
“What change to Babylon, and whence?”“I see”—
With lids unraised the Prophetess replied,
“The Median armies crowded in her streets,
“And flames which riot round the gates of Bel
“So near me that they touch me!”“Woe! woe are we!
“Look for the crown! Belshazzar—where is he?
“Woe! Babel! woe!” they cried. “Two equal seats”—
'Twas thus she spake—“I see—a double throne—
“And two tiarad kings—the eldest bears
“Chaldæa's crown and sceptre with his own:
“The palace steps I see strewn thick by slaughter—
“A larger carcass on the last appears.”
“Woe! woe!” they cried again—but louder she—
“Ask thou too twice, my father; silence ye!”

“Look for the apostate Virgin and the Sire,”
In haste he cried—and thus once more his daughter.
“I see Bel's image in the palace halls
“Distained with blood—upon his altar-fire
“A female victim half-consumed is lying—
“Below are two that sleep; that silvery head
“Rests on as white a bosom, but the face
“Of neither turns this way—the Idol falls—
“Crowds wring their hands and weep—above the dying
“They flee amain, or mingle with the dead!”

“Seek farther—look again—find out the place
“Where both must be for ever.” Thus he calls,
With cruel wishes unappeased, who bears
At once his sin and curse. “I see”—she said—
“But know not how to tell aright—thine ears
“As ill could entertain—thy thoughts conceive
“What now unveils before me! Earth hath shades
“That dimly image blessed and glorious things,
“But none like these! An infinite appears
“Peopled by happy natures: Seraphs weave
“With radiant leaves a crown which never fades—
“And sweet the strain that mighty concourse sings—
“‘Come—good and faithful Servant!’ Near the gates
“Toward which they look, a seated Elder waits,
“His garments lustrous as those angel's wings—
“Nor less serenely blessed his face than theirs—
“Who reads to one beside him on her knees,
“Words largely written in the Book he bears:
“Such beauty shines midst Heaven! although her brow
“Declines abashed, and cheeks are wet with tears—
“The written words on which they gaze are these—
“‘Through Him—and by his death, transgressions cease’—
“Though both are changed so far, I know them now!
“With arms outstretched a youthful pair appears—
“Again the Elder points and smiles—she sees,
“‘Daughter, thy sins are pardoned—rest in peace!’”

The Sorceress spake, but could endure no more:
One impious word she added, and her cry
Reached far within those caves—a call of pain—
A dreadful shriek of wrath and blasphemy—
From breast and brow the fiery rings she tore,
And they dispersed who never met again.

Time would not tarry while the accursed rite
Beneath was perfected—nor Death abide
Till signs foreshown had left an hour to fear—
Concurrent in their swiftness, side by side,
Behold! at once his shadow and his flight—
The types of terror, and the wings appear!
To other beds Euphrates turns his tide;
Far worse than darkness steams that hazy light
Effused from fires half-strangled midst its glare—
Beneath his shores the Median ensigns hide;
Host urges host where lately rushed his might,
The sated Harlot slumbers at her feast—
Who now shall watch Chaldæa's peace to-night!
Midst all those sounds confused which vex the air
From porch or grove—what ear can judge aright?
Of all those cries around the nearest are the least.

But they meantime o'er whose hushed banquet fell
The threat sent forth to darken and appal
Ere known from whom—crowned worshippers of Bel
Supreme themselves and worshipped too of all—
All else surpassed in wretchedness! The Priest
Before his altar, stilled at length by fear,
With ill-discerning gaze upon the wall
Beheld what mocked prayers, spells, and sorceries;
Magician, Wizard, Augur, Soothsayer, Seer—
The tribe of many names and monstrous lies—
These chased by threats had fled the affrighted hall.

As one who dreams that some great sight is near,
Intent perforce, if fearful looks the more—
So turned the apostate Queen her tearless eyes—
Her stedfast eyes, then tearless, toward the door;
Yet scarcely knew she what they shunned or sought:
Fixed on her throne, and patient as before,
With breath that seemed to struggle with its sighs,
And unwet cheeks though pale—exempt from thought—
Sat feebly conscious of her miseries.
Nor changed she when God's Prophet from the floor
Had read his threats—nor started as awake—
Past hope, and so past terror or surprize,
She heard his scorn of state—the chain of gold
And crimson vest rejected—voiceless heard
The threat, and watched his visage while he spake—
But neither flushed nor changed her own appeared.
Even they that stand around him—Princes old,
The Judges of her Tribe—upon whose knees
Had been her seat in infancy—revered
So long, nor therefore loved the less—like Kings
Though poor and captive, midst such Lords as these,
And Gods above such Priests—familiar friends,
Seem strange or ill-remembered. One indeed
There is, whose gaze hath power upon the springs
Of that else frozen bosom, and alone
A thrilling sense of misery extends
Sight chained to sight, and soul to soul.

Take heed!
Ye cannot shut your hearts so close—if stone
That Prophet's words would rend the obduracy
And pass despite their bars! Ye Princes—ye
Who have dishonour'd God, and learnt to rave
So loud from him that trembles on his throne—
Behold how pale your recreant Deity!
While thus the voice which teaches from the grave,
Which rests not night or day, which warned the dead,
And cries to us:—“The Most High deigned to give
“Wealth, honour, empire—to thy father gave
“This world with all its realms: before him bowed
“Kings, kindreds, people, languages—his dread
“Was present on the Earth amongst mankind,
“And whom he would he slew—he kept alive—
“He honoured—he consumed! But when his mind
“Was lifted up—his heart grown hard and proud—
“The same that raised deposed him—from his head
“Displaced his crown, and drove him out from men
“To roam abroad midst bestial natures blind—
“A beast with beasts! He ate the grass—the dew
“Rained on his abject body—from cave to den
“He changed his habitation, till he knew
“That God—the Most High God—ordains for kings
“His servants whom he will. Belshazzar, thou—
“Thou that hast heard all this—didst lift thy face
“Confronting him that made thee! holiest things,
“The vessels of his house, are present now,
“Profaned by lips whose breath is blasphemy:
“While Gods like these were honour'd in his place,
“Gold, silver, brass, and iron received their praise—
“Dumb stocks, and stones which neither hear nor see—
“Him in whose hand is held thy life, whose eye
“Is ever on thy thoughts and round thy ways,
“Thou hast despised! The Vision was to thee—
“The hand which wrote was His—the words are these:
“‘MENE—God hath both numbered all thy days,
“‘And finished all.’‘TEKEL—Thy worth is weighed;
“‘Thou art found wanting in the balances.’
“‘UPHARSIN—He divides thy realms in twain,
“‘And casts thee out. The Medes and Persians reign.’”

Thus, through the Spirit of Wisdom, undismayed
He spake—then turned from altars where his eye
Met odious semblances adored. In vain
The downcast Monarch roused his majesty
Proclaiming what he promised, though despised
Both gift and giver—office, robe, and chain—
Honours and barren power, with powerless breath,
Himself despoiled of honour: awed, chastised,
That mighty hand was on his heart again:
The cheerless banquet shamed the silent guest.

One parting voice was heard which spake of death,
And one there is which echos it. The rest
Of Judah's exiles follow—he remains
Whose gaze had been so stedfast on the Queen—
That rash disconsolate Old Man: remote
At first, amongst the crowd he stands, unseen
Of all eyes else but hers—while awe restrains,
And lips so sacred name the hand which wrote.
He might perhaps have pitied what he loved—
In such an hour as this grief works with dread;
And wrath gives way by holier passions moved,
Or softens till it changes. Misery
Hath quelled the hate of things which needs must hate
Constrained by nature—so the old have said—
Beasts, reptiles, birds have gathered side by side,
Each with its prey—and man with all—to die.

But he beheld the Virgin where she sat,
Chaldæa's radiant Queen—Belshazzar's Bride—
Her brows still crowned with sapphires—in her eye
No tear of penitence—the purple vest
Nor soiled, nor torn—a sovereign midst her state—
A flushed partaker of the harlot's pride—
Assistant in their boasts and blasphemy—
With all God's spoils before her face—a guest
Where idols stood and Bel had triumphed late,
Confronting, as it seemed, the aged and blest,
And still more scared than shamed. Here love helped wrath!
While terror silenced every tongue but his,
He stood with hand uplifted toward the throne
And called aloud: “Now strew the Bridegroom's path—
“Dance round him to the nuptial chamber—sing
“The hymn which charms all sadness into bliss!
“Ailona gains a hundred Gods for one;
“Let Hazer's Daughter take the gifts they bring—
“Through them the royal crown and purple vest!
“Our promised help came late—whatever Hell
“To root their empire deeper could suggest
“More prompt, is freely given—and lo! it prospers well!”

Confounded by a cry so strange, awhile
That shuddering audience gaze upon the Sire,
Mute and subdued before he spake: their eyes
Await some further curse. However vile,
Men feel at first that misery hath power
Which neither mirth can shame nor pride despise—
Aloof, they yield its privilege to ire,
And pause a moment ere they strike or smile.
Here kings are troubled, God's just threatenings lower;
The threat hath entered to their souls: dismayed
Their eyes, in silence, rest upon his face
So aged and pitiable through grief. “To die
“Thus young, seemed hard, but they escaped this hour,
“And God to them was merciful!” he said:
“Disown the dust of which thou art, erase
“From thoughts so foul as thine its memory,
“Nor wrong with words of honour them that sleep!
“They will awake no more to feel as I
“How sharp is ill-requited love, and weep
“In shame above the shameless one! Earth! hide
“Their bones within more deeply—heavier lie,
“Lest this report should reach their clay—the crown
“Midst impious banquets on her harlot brow!
“These altars where she knelt before the pride
“Of blind and lewd idolatry! Come down—
“Cast off thy robes—bring sackcloth for the Bride!
“Thou didst despise my curse—but mark and fear me now!”

He says, and is obeyed: the royal pall
She leaves, and jewelled garland, on her seat,
Descending meekly to the step below:
Some tears escape at last—but these are all
That misery yields, or wrath extorts from woe—
These too she strives to hide, then sits before his feet.

Another shout yet louder filled the hall,
And ceased almost as suddenly—a cry
Suppressed by that which raised it. Pride disperst
The humbler thoughts of outraged majesty—
Belshazzar rose: but Cathura's haste ran first,
The Priest more swift prevented him. “Behold
“A slave or less—this vapour from the mire
“Hath breath wherewith to scatter blasphemy!
“Before the king he curses uncontrolled,
“And scoffs at Bel!”“Cry to thine idol—cry!”
—With fiercer hate returned the reckless Sire—
“He talketh, eateth, sleepeth—as of old—
“And must, as then, be wakened. Priests gave blood,
“Nor spared a portion of their own through shame,
“When at the voice of Ahab Israel stood
“On Carmel at their altar. All day there
“Watched they his sacrifice, and called for fire:
“To other sights than feasts and pastimes, came
“Their King hard pressed by misery, and the dread
“Of worse which soon might follow—to declare
“Whom he would worship, as their offerings sped,
“Nor halt 'twixt truth and falsehood!” Regal ire
Endured not till the Elder ceased. “I see
“Rebellion in thine eyes,” the Monarch said,
“Ill thoughts and graceless speech forerunning death!
“An age so grave becomes not fools—through her,
“And for her sake, thou shalt find mercy—flee
“To hide thee from the sword before it stir,
“Nor suffer child-like for irreverend breath—
“Get hence, with him that brought thee!”

“O wise of speech!
“And skilled to walk where others slip or err!”
With wrath o'er-ruled by scorn, the Sire replied;
“Strong to restrain the intemperate thought, or scourge
“Irreverence for its lack of awe! Yea, teach
“How sinful in the sight of God is pride:
“Who else can chasten with rebuke as thou?
“The shamed and threatened should cry shame and threat—
“The judged should judge—the blasphemous should purge
“Men's lips and hearts—the fool that trembles yet,
“When age inclines to folly, turn and chide!

“‘Bel boweth down, and Nebo stoopeth,’ —now!
“Take up the proverb—rise, ye poor, and cry
“‘How hath the oppressor ceased—he that trode
“‘The nations in his haste, and would ascend
“‘Above the stars to fix his throne on high
“‘—His equal throne beside the mount of God,
“‘And in his heart conspired against the Blest!—
“‘The trees break forth and sing—the tyranness hath an end!
“‘In pits and heaps the golden city lyeth—
“‘The fire is quenched—the whole earth is at rest—
“‘Ye forest trees rejoice! the cedar cryeth—
“‘Ye mighty dead, and sceptred shades, attend!
“‘Hell calls her kings to welcome him that dyeth—
“‘Hell from beneath is moved to meet her guest!
“‘Their thrones they leave, and round their Emperor press—
“‘The great that were, meet him that greatest was—
“‘The chief ones of the earth—earth's chief in sin—
“‘He comes who made the world a wilderness—
“‘Death has thrown wide his gates that pomp might pass,
“‘And glory find a large abode within.’”

“He too perchance hath feasted—give the bowl—
“More wine may warm to milder prophecies;
“No fear lest grace grow less!” with bitter soul
Thus scoffs the obdurate Pontiff: “Slaves are proud
“When princes shake—the abject find a stone
“To cast at him that trembles! He defies—
“This gray reviler lifts his voice aloud,
“And mocks our Gods!” The Elder stood alone,
Yet safe from fear: they cannot feel afraid
Whom misery arms against despite, and wrath
Is hot as his. Thus bated by the crowd,
That blind and captive Danite heard its cries—
A spectacle in Gaza, when they made
—With pomp like this of Babylon to Bel—
Their feast to Dagon and the Gods of Gath—
Despising death! They both had loved too well;
Too much had trusted female truth—but one
Blameless beside in purity. His tongue
Waxed bolder from their threats, pride prouder, hate
More deadly while his old and hoary head
He shook triumphantly, and thus: “The sun
“Through Him stood still on Gibeon: all day long—
“All that unnatural day, while Israel sped—
“Stayed the dim moon in Ajalon!—a gate
“He opened through the deep for old and young,
“With flocks and herds confused—safe through their bed
“The everlasting waters saw them flee
“Pursued by hosts that perished”—In despite
The King brake forth before he ceased, and thus
With smiles—“Bel cannot help his own!—the sea
“Fled from the face of Israel's God—its wave
“Returned not till he pleased!—Who trusts aright
“Were better seen if thou couldest flee from us—
“In depths like ours thou wilt not fear to be;
“So small a stream can scarce retard thy flight,
“And he so great hath only one to save.
“Our hope, Ailona, is accursed and vain—
“Polluted idols—stone—or iron—or brass—
“He talked of promises, and in his heart
“The spirit of God—if God can help again
“And stop the river's waters till he pass—
“We too will fear and worship.” Madly rave
Both priests and guests as wiser fears depart—
“He did blaspheme!” they cry.

The Virgin's ears
At last discern, her eyes are open now—
In cruel hands that feeble Sire appears!
His struggles are for time to threat—the rest
He neither hopes nor heeds. When Herod slew
The babes which Rachael wept for, none were prest
With wilder anguish on the mother's brow
To mothers' hearts more near—yet Sabra drew
His wrists away, and shook her from his breast—
“Begone—stand off—apostate! what wouldest thou?
“Ye slaves be quick,” he cries, while shouts pursue
The wretch in haste to perish.

Misery
Works sure as time itself—the lapse of years
Is equalled by one night like this. So meek
And harmless as it was, the Virgin's eye
Serenely clear in peace, or dimmed by tears—
Now glows with hate—while frenzy stains her cheek
Her stature seems extending. “It is I
“That cursed—and curse thee! I—Belshazzar's Bride
“Abhor his idols—call it blasphemy—
“She hates both them and him.” A louder shriek
Than hers, though loud—from many throats beside,
The sound of multitudes—is heard; a call
Which shakes their roofs, and summons kings to die!
One moment hark!—again the breathless hall
Is still—it gathers yet—it rages higher—
It comes with nearer terrors—“Haste—arise!
“The Medes are in our streets—Belshazzar, fly!”
The steps of many messengers—the fall
Of weights which rock the earth—the flash of fire
So broad their lamps grow pale—before their eyes
Unnatural haze—with borrowed light and heat
Bel's crimson summit glowing in the skies
Seen through their open porticos—the feet
Of flight and strife—and lo! once more the Sire!

“That mighty hand hath saved his worshipper!”
So they which bore him forth: “The river's bed
“Swarms with its hosts—we heard below the stir—
“We saw their steeds and ensigns in the street—
“The Median arrows followed as we fled—
“Belshazzar, haste!” The Monarch turns his gaze
From face to face—his feet are in the snare;
Nor knows he whom to trust or doubt—despair
Is all it finds: the nearer temples blaze;
His palace-courts are filled with fire—the gales
Of midnight bring their sparks to settle there.
Wisdom, were any left, would speak too late:
Now sinks the Queen! the Earth's dread Mistress fails—
The proud, the rich, the beautiful, the great!
She whom all nations worshipped—whose they were—
Above the harlot's sorceries wrath prevails—
Hell's strength grows vain to-night, and Babel desolate!

At length, “The God of Daniel held me fast,
“And that almighty hand subdued,” he said;
“Accursed be those I served! It was not death,
“Or hell, but worse which awed me. This is past—
“Throw wide the palace gates before us—Ye
“Who love to live, ask ye for life—upbraid
“The bounty whence ye fed as slaves! your breath
“Is his who spares—but those that will not cast
“Their glory in the dust, nor see decayed
“The wreaths their fathers wore—which they yet wear—
“Chaldæa's offerings unpolluted still
“By shame or fear—let such arise with me!”

He spake: suspended near the throne are found
Both shield and sword—the breast beneath is bare,
The brow with flowers and regal emblems crowned—
Unhelmed beside he passes from the sill.
Some follow, most remain—and now begin
The shuddering calm 'twixt life and death—the chill
Of passions quenched—as ashes on the hearth
From fires extinct, the sediment of sin—
Grief and sick memory: but thence a birth
To humbler thoughts, a holier calm within,
And wrecks of pity on the refluent will.

That rescued Sire beheld his wretched child,
And dread at length was o'er him! Things of earth
Before their God were awed from strife—their pride
Paused, at his terrors, in its haste to ill.
The Queen dethroned—the widowed Queen and Bride,
Alas! so soon thus miserable!—beguiled,
Not hardened, not impenitent—of late
His boast, upon the pavement now, with eyes
Upraised toward his! Will God refuse to hear?
Both need forgiveness—must they part in hate?
She sinned but once.

“Unhappy Maid, arise—
“The dreams of glory pass and death stands near:
“Cruel,” he says, “I have been! Love is fear—
“Such jealous love as that I felt to-day—
“For God—nor less for thee! Midst throbs and sighs
“Like these, who now shall wipe thy tears away?
“In wrath I spurned and cursed thee!”—“God is near,”
With faltering breath, the Virgin's lips reply,
“He heard thy curses—he may hear thee pray:
“Remember those who, guiltless, taught to die—
“Forgive me for thyself—my sins toward thee—
“Till then I ask not mercy from him!”—“He
“Hath mercy on the merciful—but I
“Hard-hearted as I ever was—in this
“Most rash and wretched too—I live to see
“Ill prayers fulfilled!—the least obdurate thou”—
He says—breast cleaves to breast, and misery seems bliss.

A third is near, whose right hand grasps a sword,
His left that jewelled wreath which awed mankind
Of bloody leaves and broken flowers—till now
The chidden traitor stirred not from its lord:
Through many founts life's ruddy streamlets flow—
He was the last in death, nor stays behind.

Her eyes discern the bearer and the crown—
But time endures not here remorse—a voice
Is heard above the tumult—“Groan for groan!
“And blood for blood!” the raging Sorceress cried,
“Self-bound—self-cursed—the idols were her choice:
“In fire her race she ends, and I mine own—
“Child of Azaiel's Child! Belshazzar's Bride!
“A captive crowned—Earth's Empress in the dust!—
“Azaiel slew the Spoiler in his pride:
“Within the temple gates—before the shrine—
“He at the altar slew him!—am I just?
“Azaiel was thy sire, the slain was mine!”

She spake—and dragged the victim from its place
High up the altar steps: one hand sustained
That form which kings had worshipped—one was raised
To strike—but yet encumbered and restrained:
The feeble Elder followed in the race
Where wrath breathed hot on life—while hundreds gazed
He singly held the accursed wrist, and chained
Its strength a moment with his own—in vain.
Aside she turned her dark and furious face,
Then shook the hindrance off—in air again
Twice rose the sacrificial blade and fell—
Both Sire and Maid lie near the altar's base—
That hoary head upon a whiter breast
Stained red with blood, before the feet of Bel!

With tottering knees he hastes who loves them best,
For help too weak in might, too slow in pace—
Yet death stands back till vengeance does the rest—
“Relentless fiend—go—prophesy in Hell!”
The heart is pierced before the words are past:
Back toward Bel's altar reels the bulk unblest—
One furious struggle yet, and that the last—
High midst its flames he lifted her—he prest
The swelling throat, and held the weapon fast—
Her dying curse is choked with fire—till then
The warrior's grasp relented not—at length
Near them he sinks whose spirits scarce touch their clay—
Bewildered by their side, he hears again
That voice which once was stronger than his strength—
Those mournful tones which thrill midst life's decay—
“Forgive me both—be merciful as men—
“Would ye had time to pardon—I to pray.”