Judah restored :: :: University of Virginia Library

Judah restored

a poem. In six books. By Dr. Roberts ... In two volumes

Roberts, W. H. (1734-1791)

I, II.

VOL. I, II

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

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I, II. VOL. I, II

JUDAH RESTORED.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST BOOK.

The subject proposed—state of the Jews towards the end of the captivity—Character of Belshazzar—A feast proclaimed in honour of Baal—Night comes on—Daniel's prayer—The angel Gabriel appears to Daniel—foretells the destruction of Babylon by Cyrus, and the deliverance of the Jews—directs Daniel how to behave, when sent for by Belshazzar to interpret a sign from heaven—The angel retires —Zorobabel comes to Daniel—his character—his conversation with Daniel—Zorobabel, Misael, and Ananiah, encourage the tribes—Morning rises—procession to the temple of Belus—the temple described—a sacrifice—the Chaldæans fall down before their idol—the Jews refuse to comply —Belshazzar's rage—the banquet described—the King's impiety—the hand-writing on the wall—Daniel sent for— his appearance—his interpretation—Belshazzar's resentment —Daniel prophesies the destruction of Babylon—the terror of the King—but the banquet continues

The fall of proud Belshazzar, the return
Of Benjamin, and Judah, captive tribes,
I sing. Spirit of God, who to the eyes
Of holy seers in vision didst reveal
Events far distant; thou, who once didst touch
Their lips with heavenly fire, and tune their harps
To strains, sublimer than the Tuscan stream
Caught from his Latian bards, or ecchoed round

The wide Ægean from Ionia's shore,
Inspire my soul; blest spirit, aid my song.

The sun full seventy times had pass'd the realm
Of burning Scorpius, and was hastening down
The steep convex of heaven, since Babylon
Receiv'd her mourning prisoners. Savage taunts,
And the rude insult of their barbarous lords,
Embitter all their woe. Meanwhile the Law,
Proclaim'd on Horeb's top, neglected lies;
Nor kid, nor evening lamb, nor heifer bleeds,
Nor incense smoaks, nor holy Levite claims
Choice fruits, and rich oblations. On the trees,
That o'er the waters bend, their untun'd harps,
Harps, which their fathers struck to festal hymns,
Hang useless. 'Twas the hill, 'twas Sion's hill,

Which yet Jehovah lov'd. There once he dwelt;
There stood his temple; there from side to side
The cherub stretch'd his wings, and from the cloud
Beam'd bright celestial radiance. Thence, tho driven
In early childhood to a stranger's land
Or born sad heirs of slavery, still they cast
An anxious look from Perath's willowy vale,
Toward Jordan, sacred stream; and when the sun
Sunk in the west, with eager eye pursued
His parting beams; and pointed to the place,
Where from their sight the faint horizon hid
Those hills, which round deserted Salem's walls
Stood like a bulwark. And as some tired hart,
Driven by keen hunters o'er the champain wild,

Pants for the running brook, so long the tribes
Of captive Judah for their native clime,
Again to sing the strains of Jesse's son,
Again to raise a temple to their God.

But oh! what hope, what prospect of return,
While fierce Belshazzar reigns? He undismay'd
Tho' hostile banners stream near Babel's towers,
Round his gall'd prisoners binds the griping chain,
And scoffs at Judah's God. Even now a shout
Is heard thro every street, and with loud voice
Arioch, an herald tall, proclaims a feast
To Bel, Chaldæan idol; and commands
That when the morrow dawns, soon as is heard
The sound of cornet, dulcimer, and harp,

Sackbut, and psaltery, each knee be bent
Before the mighty dragon. Silent stand
With eyes dejected Solyma's sad sons.
Shall they comply? but will Jehovah then
E'er lead them back to Canaan, pleasant land?
Shall they refuse? but who, oh! who shall check
Belshazzar's waken'd wrath? who shall endure
The burning caldron, or what lingering death
The tyrant's cruel vengeance may devise?
Thus they irresolute wait the fatal hour.

Now Night invests the pole: wrapt is the world
In awful silence; not a voice is heard,
Nor din of arms, nor sound of distant foot,
Thro the still gloom. Euphrates lulls his waves,
Which sparkle to the moon's reflected beam;
Nor does one sage from Babylon's high towers

Descry the planets, or the fix'd, and mark
Their distance, or their number. Sunk to rest,
With all her horrors of the morrow's doom,
Lies Sion's captive daughter: sleep, soft sleep,
His dusky mantle draws o'er every eye.
But not on Danïel's unpillow'd head
One opiate dew-drop falls. Much he revolves
Dark sentences of old; much pious zeal
For great Jehovah's honour fires his soul;
And thus with lifted hands the prophet cries.

‘Father of truth, and mercy, thou, whose arm
‘Even from the day when Abraham heard thy voice,
‘Stretch'd o'er thy chosen race, protects us still,
‘Tho now awhile thou suffer us to groan
‘Beneath a tyrant's yoke; when, gracious Lord,
‘O when shall we return? O when again

‘Shall Siloa's banks, and Sion's holy top,
‘Be vocal with thy name? Said not thy seer,
‘When seventy tedious moons had twelve times waned,
‘We should again be free? Behold, the day
‘Approaches. God of Israel, hath ought chang'd
‘Thine everlasting counsel? wilt thou leave
‘Thy people yet in sad captivity,
‘And join thy prophet with the despis'd tribe
‘Of Babel's false diviners? Not to thee,
‘But to great Bel, Chaldæa's frantic priests
‘Waft clouds of incense. Soon as morning dawns,
‘With shouts the noisy revellers will proclaim
‘The triumph of their God; nor will they cease
‘To rouse their monarch's rage, should Judah dare
‘Resist his impious edict. Then, O then,

‘God of our fathers, rise; and in that day,
‘Even before night, whose vaulted arch now shines
‘With clustering stars, shall visit earth again,
‘Confound their horrid rites, and shew some sign
‘That yet again thy prisoners shall be free.’

He spake, and sudden heard a rushing noise,
As when a North-west gale comes hovering round
Some cape, the point of spacious continent
Or in the Indian, or Pacific main;
The sailor hears it whistling in his shrowds,
And bids it hail. Bright as the summer's noon
Shone all the earth. Before the prophet stood
Gabriel, seraphic form: graceful his port,
Mild was his eye; yet such as might command
Reverence, and sacred awe, by purest love

Soften'd, but not impair'd. In waving curls
O'er his arch'd neck his golden tresses hung;
And on his shoulders two broad wings were plac'd,
Wings, which when clos'd, drew up in many a fold,
But, when extended to their utmost length,
Were twice ten cubits. Two of smaller size
Came shadowing round his feet, with which he trod
The elastic air, and walk'd o'er buoyant space,
As on firm ground. A tunic brac'd his limbs,
Blanch'd in the fields of light; and round his waist
Was clasp'd an azure zone, with lucid stars
All studded, like that circle broad, which cuts
The Equator, burning line. The astonish'd seer
With low obeysance bow'd his hoary head,
While thus in voice benign the Cherub spake.

‘Servant of God, that prayer was not unheard

‘In heaven. I caught it, as before the throne
‘I stood, within the emerald bow, and mix'd
‘With fragrant incense, offer'd it to him,
‘The white-rob'd Ancient of eternal days,
‘Even on his golden altar. Forthwith sent
‘To thee, with speed impetuous, swifter far
‘Than travels light's meridian beam, thro realms
‘Of space, studded with worlds, which neither thought
‘Of mortal can conceive, nor numbers count,
‘I come, God's messenger. Not twice the morn
‘Shall dawn, ere all the woes which Salem felt
‘Shall fall on Babylon. This, this is he,
‘Whose streamers now round these devoted towers
‘Wave to the western wind, whom God hath rais'd
‘His instrument of vengeance. Twice hath pass'd

‘A century, since him the prophet stiled
‘Cyrus, the Lord's anointed. He shall say,
‘Cities of Judah rise; He shall command,
‘And Solyma's unpeopled streets again
‘Shall throng with busy multitudes. To him
‘In vision, or in dream, shall God reveal
‘His secret purpose; or what other way
‘His power shall mould the victor's ductile will
‘To execute his promise. One day more
‘Shall proud Chaldæa triumph. In that day
‘Let not a knee in Benjamin be bow'd
‘Save to Jehovah. What tho cruel pride
‘Inflame Belshazzar's soul; what tho his wrath
‘Torments unknown prepare; a sign from heaven
‘Shall blast each vain device, a sign obscure,

‘But terrible. Ask not what; for in that hour
‘Shall beam celestial knowledge on thy soul,
‘And thou shalt read the mystic characters
‘Of dark futurity. Fear not his frown;
‘But in the sight of his assembled peers
‘Hurl bold defiance at his throne; and speak
‘As fits a prophet of the living God.’

He spake, nor ended here; but to the seer
Matters of import high disclos'd, which lay
Deep in the womb of time. ‘And these,’ he cried,
‘Record to distant ages, but conceal
‘My present errand.’ Daniel prepar'd
Obedient answer; but before he spake
Gabriel had furl'd his wings, and now had reach'd
The middle space 'twixt earth, and highest heaven.

Meanwhile Zorobabel from restless sleep,
If sleep it be, when the tired soul, weigh'd down
By sad affliction, still in dreams renews
The terrors of the day, awak'd, arose.
Zorobabel, than whom among the sons
Of Benjamin, and Judah, none was fired
With zeal more fervent for Jehovah's name,
Or wafted warmer sighs towards Sion's hill.
He, much alarm'd, lest fear should bend the tribes
To forc'd obedience, ran with hasty step
To Daniel. Him in meditation lost,
And deeply musing on the angel's words,
He found, and paus'd awhile. The seer at length
Observ'd his silence, with superior love
Smiling; when thus Zorobabel began.

‘O father of the prisoners, for in age,

‘As wisdom, thou surpassest, from that smile
‘At other time encourag'd, I should draw
‘Right happy presage. But what place for hope?
‘Saw'st thou not, when the herald's voice proclaim'd
‘That every knee should bow, saw'st thou not mark'd
‘In each sad face, distrust, and blank despair?
‘Cold is their love of Salem: soon, too soon,
‘To anguish, and tormenting fires will yield
‘Vows made in ease. Belshazzar's darken'd brow
‘With chilling horror smites the dastard herd,
‘Nor did they with more humbled eye behold
‘His sire in all his glory. Tell, o tell,
‘What best may fix their wavering faith, (for ne'er
‘In danger, or distress, thy counsel fail'd,)
‘Lest haply they forget their fathers God,

‘And mix their incense in these rites obscene,
‘Abominations.’ Daniel replies.

‘Fear not, Zorobabel; for not an hour,
‘No, not one hour beyond the appointed time
‘Shall captive Judah mourn. This he, whose eye
‘Surveys the future as the pass'd, declar'd,
‘And what he speaks, is truth. Tis he, who nam'd
‘The day of our deliverance, and that day
‘Nor man, nor angel, hastens, or retards.
‘I know that he, who wields Chaldæa's sword,
‘Regards not Sion's king.’ “ Sleeps then your God,
“Ye despicable slaves,” the monarch cries,
“Or is he journeying in a foreign land,
“And wait ye his return?” ‘Yet will I rise,
‘And in the sight of his assembled peers

‘Hurl bold defiance at the monarch's head,
‘As fits a prophet of the living God.
‘His vengeance recks not me. For wilt thou say
‘That haughty Babylon, with all his power,
‘Can match with Judah's Lord? Hast thou not heard
‘Of great Nebassar's fate? and who is he,
‘This proud Belshazzar, that shall close the mouth
‘Which God hath open'd? when the anointed Saul
‘Obey'd not heaven's command, did Samuel fear
‘Even on that head, on which his hand had pour'd
‘The imperial oil, to call fierce vengeance down,
‘While his uplifted sword on Gilgal's plain
‘Hew'd Agag to the ground? Could Nathan's voice
‘By well-feign'd parable reprove the lust
‘Of Jesse's son, and from his streaming eyes

‘Call tears of bitter sorrow? read'st thou not
‘In Israel's annals, when the monarch stretch'd
‘His arm to seize the prophet, how it shrunk,
‘Contracted all the nerves? And shall not I
‘Defy this base Assyrian? Haste; collect
‘Our scatter'd brethren; fill their drooping souls
‘With holy courage. With thee Misael
‘Shall go, and Ananiah, whom the proud
‘Chaldæans Shadrach call. O that my friend
‘Good Azariah lived! but he alas!
‘Far from his native country sleeps in peace.
‘In yonder cave beneath that arched rock ,
‘These hands interr'd him; much his pious zeal;
‘Much his authority might now prevail.
‘But go; the day-spring hastens. I the while,

‘Nor fear success, will pour a fervent prayer.
‘The God of Judah will protect his sons.

He spake, nor did Zorobabel delay,
But, lowly bending, left the reverend seer,
And hasten'd where commanded. What remain'd
Of night, he summon'd Judah's mourning tribes,
While Ananiah, and old Misael
Thus rous'd their souls. ‘And have ye then forgot
‘The calf in Horeb, and the opprobrious vale
‘Of Hinnon, stain'd with blood? Have ye not heard,
‘How great Nebassar, as Belshazzar now,
‘Proclaim'd that at the harp's, and cornet's sound,
‘All knees should bow before that carved mass
‘Metallic, which o'er Dura's spacious plain
‘Darted his evening shade? Defied we not

‘The burning caldron, by the angelic form
‘Conducted thro the flames, that round us curl'd
‘Their sloping points, and fan'd with freshest gales,
‘Disarm'd of all their rage?’ As when by strong
Attrition from the wire electric flame
At once with subtle force thro all around
Shoots its invisible influence; so the words
Of Misael thro every Jewish heart
Darted the sacred fire. No more they fear
The monarch's angry threats; no more they talk
Of tame submission to his power, but swear
Eternal fealty to Judah's God.

Now morn with rosy-colour'd finger rais'd
The sable pall, which provident night had thrown
O'er mortals, and their works, when every street,
Strait, or transverse, that towards Euphrates turns

Its sloping path, resounds with festive shouts,
And teems with busy multitudes, which press
With zeal impetuous to the towering fane
Of Bel, Chaldæan Jove; surpassing far
That Doric temple, which the Elean Chiefs
Rais'd to their thunderer from the spoils of war,
Or that Ionic, where the Ephesian bow'd
To Dian, queen of heaven. Eight towers arise,
Each above each, immeasurable height,
A monument at once of eastern pride,
And slavish superstition. Round, a scale
Of circling steps entwines the conic pile;
And at the bottom on vast hinges grate
Four brazen gates, towards the four winds of heaven
Plac'd in the solid square. Hither at once
Come flocking all the sons of Babylon,

Chaldæan, or Assyrian; but retire
With humblest awe, while thro their marshall'd ranks
Stalks proud Belshazzar. From his shoulders flows
A robe, twice steep'd in rich Sidonian hues,
Whose skirts, embroider'd with mæandring gold,
Sweep o'er the marble pavement. Round his neck
A broad chain glitters, set with richest gems,
Ruby, and amethyst. The priests come next
With knives, and lancets arm'd; two thousand sheep,
And twice two thousand lambs stand bleating round,
Their hungry God's repast: six loaded wains
With wine, and frankincense, and finest flour,
Move slowly. Then advance a gallant band,
Provincial rulers, counsellors, and chiefs,
Judges, and princes: from their essenc'd hair

Steam rich perfumes, exhal'd from flower, or herb,
Assyrian spices: last, the common train
Of humbler citizens. A linen vest
Enfolds their limbs; o'er which a robe of wool
Is clasp'd, while yet a third hangs white as snow,
Even to their sandal'd feet: a signet each,
Each bears a polish'd staff, on whose smooth top
In bold relief some well-carv'd emblem stands,
Bird, fruit, or flower. Determin'd, tho dismay'd,
Judæa's mourning prisoners close the rear.

And now the unfolded gates on every side
Admit the splendid train, and to their eyes
A scene of rich magnificence display,
Censers, and cups, and vases, nicely wrought
In gold, with pearls and glittering gems inlaid,
The furniture of Baal. An altar stands

Of vast dimensions near the central stone,
On which the God's high-priest strews frankincense,
In weight a thousand talents. There he drags
The struggling elders of the flock; while near,
Stretch'd on a smaller plate of unmix'd gold
Bleed the reluctant lambs. The ascending smoak,
Impregnate with perfumes, fills all the air.

These rites perform'd, his votaries all advance
Where stands their idol; to compare with whom
That earth-born crew, which scal'd the walls of heaven,
Or that vast champion of Philistia's host,
Whom in the vale of Elah David slew
Unarm'd, were minish'd to a span. In height
Twice twenty feet he rises from the ground;
And every massy limb, and every joint,

Is carv'd in due proportion. Not one mine,
Tho branching out in many a vein of gold,
Suffic'd for this huge column. Him the priests
Had swept, and burnish'd, and perfum'd with oils,
Essential odours. Now the sign is given,
And forthwith strains of mixed melody
Proclaim their molten thunderer, cornet, flute,
Harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, unite
In loud triumphal hymn, and all at once
The King, the nations, and the languages
Fall prostrate on the ground. But not a head,
But not one head in all thy faithful bands,
O Judah, bows. As when the full-orb'd moon,
What time the reaper chaunts his harvest song,
Rises behind some horizontal hill

Flaming with reddest fire; still, as she moves,
The tints all soften, and a yellower light
Gleams thro the ridges of a purple cloud:
At length, when midnight holds her silent reign,
Chang'd to a silver white, she holds her lamp
O'er the belated traveller; so thy face,
Belshazzar, from the crimson glow of rage,
Shifting thro all the various hues between,
Settles into a wan, and bloodless pale.
Thine eye-balls glare with fire. ‘Now by great Bel,’
Incens'd exclaims the monarch, ‘soon as morn
‘Again shall dawn, my vengeance shall be pour'd
‘On every head of their detested race.’

He spake, and left the fane with hasty step
Indignant. Him a thousand lords attend,

The minions of his court. And now they reach
The stately palace. In a spacious hall,
From whose high roof seven sparkling lustres hang,
Round the perpetual board high sophas rang'd
Receive the gallant chiefs. The floor is spread
With carpets, work'd in Babylonia's looms,
Exquisite art; rich vessels carv'd in gold,
In silver, and in ivory, beam with gems.
'Midst these is plac'd whate'er of massy plate,
Or holy ornament, Nebassar brought
From Sion's ransack'd temple; lamps, and cups,
And bowls, now sparkling with the richest growth
Of Eastern vineyards. On the table smoaks
All that can rouse the languid appetite,
Barbaric luxury. Soft minstrels round

Chaunt songs of triumph to symphonious harps.
Propt on a golden couch Belshazzar lies,
While on each side fair slaves of Syrian race
By turns solicit with some amorous tale
The monarch's melting heart. ‘ Fill me,’ he cries,
‘That largest bowl, with which the Jewish slaves
‘Once deck'd the altar of their vanquish'd God.
‘Never again shall this capacious gold
‘Receive their victim's blood: Henceforth the kings
‘Of Babylon, oft as this feast returns,
‘Shall crown it with rich wine, nectareous draught.
‘Fill high the foaming goblet; rise, my friends;
‘And as I quaff the cup, with loud acclaim
‘Thrice hail to Bel.’ They rose; when all at once
Such sound was heard, as when the roaring winds

Burst from their cave, and with impetuous rage
Sweep o'er the Caspian, or the Chronian deep.
O'er the devoted walls the gate of heaven
Thunder'd, an hideous peal; and lo! a cloud
Came darkening all the banquet, whence appear'd
A hand, (if hand it were, or airy form,
Compound of light, and shade,) on the adverse wall
Tracing strange characters. Belshazzar saw,
And trembled: from his lips the goblet fell:
He look'd again; perhaps it was a dream;
Thrice, four times did he look; and every time
Still plainer did the mystic lines appear,
Indelible. Forthwith he summons all
The wise Chaldæans, who by night consult
The starry signs, and in each planet read

The dark decrees of fate. Silent they stand;
Vain are their boasted charms. With eager step
Merodach's royal widow hastes to cheer
Her trembling son. ‘O king, for ever live;
‘Why droops thy soul;’ she cries? ‘what tho this herd
‘Of sage magicians own their vanquish'd art,
‘Know'st thou not Daniel? In his heart resides
‘The spirit of holy Gods; 'twas he who told
‘Thy father strange events, and terrible;
‘Nor did Nebassar honour one like him
‘Thro all his spacious kingdom. He shall soon
‘Dispell thy doubts, and all thy fears allay.’
She spake, and with obeysance low retir'd.

‘Then be it so; haste, Arioch, lead him here,’
Belshazzar cries; ‘if he interpret right,
‘Even tho my soul in just abhorrence holds

‘His hated race, I will revoke their doom,
‘And shower rich honours on their prophet's head.’

Nor long he waited, when with graceful step,
And awe-commanding eye, solemn and slow,
As conscious of superior dignity,
Daniel advanc'd. Time o'er his hoary hair
Had shed his whitest snows. Behind him stream'd
A mantle, ensign of prophetic powers,
Like that, with which inspir'd Elisha smote
The parting waters, what time on the bank
Of Jordan from the clouds a fiery car
Descended, and by flaming coursers drawn
Bore the sage Tishbite to celestial climes,
Maugre the gates of death. A wand he bore,
That wand, by whose mysterious properties

The shepherd of Horeb call'd the refluent waves
O'er Pharoah, and his host, with which he struck
The barren flint, when from the riven cliff
Gush'd streams, and water'd all the thirsty tribes
Of murmuring Israel. Thro many an age
Within the temple's unapproached veil,
Fast by the rod, which bloom'd o'er Aaron's name,
Still did the holy relic rest secure.
At length, when Babylonia's arms prevail'd,
Seraiah sav'd it from the flaming shrine,
With all the sacred wardrobe of the priest,
And bore it safe to Riblah. Dying there
The priest bequeath'd the sacred legacy
To Daniel. He, when summon'd to explain
As now, God's dark decrees, in his right hand

Brandish'd the mystic emblem. ‘Art thou he,
‘Art thou that Daniel, whom Nebassar brought
‘From Salem, whom the vanquish'd tribes adore,
‘In wisdom excellent? Look there, look there;
‘Read but those lines,’ the affrighted monarch cries,
‘ And cloath'd in scarlet wear this golden chain,
‘The third great ruler of my spacious realm.’

He spake, and thus the reverend seer replied.
‘Thy promises, and threats, presumptuous king,
‘My soul alike despises; yet, so wills
‘That spirit, who darts his radiance on my mind,
‘(Hear thou, and tremble,) will I speak the words
‘Which he shall dictate. “Number'd is thy realm ,
“And finish'd: in the balance art thou weigh'd,

“Where God hath found thee wanting: to the Medes,
“And Persians thy divided realm is given.”
‘Thus saith the Lord; and thus those words import
‘Graven by his high behest. See'st thou this wand?
‘Ne'er has it born, since first it left the trunk,
‘Or bud, or blossom: all its shielding rind
‘The sharp steel strip'd, and to dry winds expos'd
‘The vegetative sap; even so thy race
‘Shall perish: from thy barren stock shall rise
‘Nor prince, nor ruler; and that glittering crown,
‘Won by thy valiant fathers, whose long line
‘In thee, degenerate monarch, soon must end,
‘Shall dart its lustre round a stranger's brow.’

‘Prophet of evils! dar'st thou pour on me
‘Thy threats ill-ominous, and judgments dark,’
Incens'd the monarch cries, ‘Hence to thy tribes;

‘Teach them obedience to their sovereign's will,
‘Or I will break that wand, and rend in twain
‘The mantle of thy God.—Or if these marks
‘Thou wilt erase from that accursed wall,
‘Take half my realm.’ He spake, and fix'd his eyes
Wild staring on the mystic characters:
His rage all sunk at once; his fear return'd
Tenfold; when thus the man of God began.

‘Go to the shady vales of Palæstine,
‘Vain prince, or Syrian Lebanon, and tear
‘The palms, and cedars from their native mould
‘Uprooted; then return, and break this rod.
‘Believe me, far more arduous were the task:
‘For it was harden'd in the streams of heaven;
‘And tho not dedicate to sorcerer's arts
‘By magic incantation, and strange spells;

‘Yet such a potent virtue doth reside
‘In every part, that not the united force
‘Of all thy kingdom can one line, one grain,
‘Of measure, or of solid weight impair.
‘Wilt thou that I revoke thy destin'd fate?
‘Devoted prince, I cannot. Hell beneath
‘Is moved to meet thee. See the mighty dead,
‘The kings, that sat on golden thrones approach,
‘The chief ones of the earth. “O Lucifer,
“Son of the morning, thou that vaunting said'st
“‘I will ascend the heavens; I will exalt
“‘My throne above the stars of God, the clouds

“‘Shall roll beneath my feet,’ art thou too weak
“As we? art thou become like unto us?
“Where now is all thy pomp? where the sweet sound
“Of viol, and of harp?’ with curious eye
‘Tracing thy mangled corse, the rescued sons
‘Of Solyma shall say, ‘is this the man
“That shook the pillars of the trembling earth,
“That made the world a desert?’ all the kings,
‘Each in his house intomb'd, in glory rest,
‘While unlamented lie thy naked limbs,
‘The sport of dogs, and vultures. In that day
‘Shall these imperial towers, this haughty queen,
‘That in the midst of waters sits secure,
‘Fall prostrate on the ground. Ill-ominous birds
‘Shall o'er the unwholesome marshes scream for food;
‘And hissing serpents by sulphureous pools

‘Conceal their filthy brood. The traveller
‘In vain shall ask where stood Assyria's pride:
‘No trace shall guide his dubious steps; nor sage,
‘Vers'd in historic lore, shall mark the site
‘Of desolated Babylon.’ Thus spake
The seer, and with majestic step retir'd.

Aghast the nobles stand; cold drops of sweat,
Cold as the icy dews of death, o'erspread
Belshazzar's face; and ever and anon
His eyes hold converse with the fatal wall
In wild distraction. Nathless he prolongs
The feast, and quaffs the still returning bowl,
Which, like the fabled stream of Lethe, steeps
His senses in oblivion. Dance and song,
With all the dissonance of barbarous mirth
Confound his callous mind; his dread subsides;

Stretch'd on his golden couch the monarch lies
Secure, nor heeds the prophet's warning voice.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

V. 20. Psalm cxxxvii. 2.

1 Kings vi. 29.

1 Kings viii. 10.

Euphrates.

Ps. cxxv. 2.

Ps. xlii. 1.

The army of Cyrus was encamp'd near Babylon.

Dan. iii. 5.

Jeremiah xxv. 11, 12, &c.

Revel. xviii. 1.

Rev. iv. 3.

Rev. viii. 3.

Daniel vii. 9.

Isaiah xliv. 28–xlv. 1.

See book 3d, v. 470.

Daniel viii. 19. &c.

Nebuchadnezzar.

1 Kings xviii. 27.

1 Samuel xv. 33.

2 Samuel xii. 1.

1 Kings xiii. 4.

Daniel. i. 7.

See book 5th.

Exod. xxxii. 19.

2 Chron. xxxiii. 6.

Daniel iii. 1.

Daniel v. 29.

1 Kings xviii. 28.

Bel and the Dragon, v. 3.

1 Sam. xvii. 50.

Baruch vi. 24.

Daniel iii. 7.

Dan. v. 1.

2 Kings xxv. 15.

Dan. v. 2. 3.

Dan. v. 5–28.

2 Kings ii. 8–15.

Exod. xiv. 17.

Exod. xvii. 6.

The high priest.

Dan. v. 7.

MENE MENE TEKEL VPHARSIN. Dan. v. 25.

Isaiah xiv. 9, &c. This very sublime chapter has exercised many Poets. The Bishop of Oxford has translated it into a fine Latin Alcaïc Ode (see Lowth's Prælectiones) and Mr. Mason has converted it into an English ode.

BOOK II.

ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND BOOK.

Description of the walls of Babylon, which were now surrounded by Cyrus.—Character of Cyrus—His army described —He calls a council—his speech—Gadatas and Gobryas return from their nocturnal expedition—Gobryas gives an account of the present disorder'd state of Babylon, which determines Cyrus to attack it immediately—A Persian sacrifice —The army marches—They turn the waters of the river into their dyke—Gobryas and Gadatas conduct them up the channel, which is now dried, into the city—Confusion and slaughter of the inhabitants—Belshazzar's terror—his cowardice, and death.

While thus Belshazzar, and his impious peers,
Forgetful or regardless of the sign,
Which still seems fainter, as their fears are lull'd
By wine, that powerful opiate of the soul,
Protract their clamorous banquet, thro the streets
Of Babylon the sons of riot hold
Nocturnal orgies, and with savage zeal
Impatient wait the morn, that shall destroy
The remnant of the tribes. Ah cruel king!
Ah tyrant! never shall that morning rise
On thy devoted head. Thy citizens,
Rude waissaillers, think not what an host is near;
And not a sentinel leans on his pike,

Listening to catch the sound of hostile feet
Beneath the towering walls; those walls, within
Whose large inclosure the rude hind, or guides
His plough, or binds his sheaves, while shepherds guard
Their flocks, secure of ill: on the broad top
Six chariots rattle in extended front.
For there, since Cyrus on the neighbouring plain
Has mark'd his camp, the inclos'd Assyrian drives
His foaming steeds, and from the giddy height
Looks down with scorn on all the tents below.
Each side in length, in height, in solid bulk,
Reflects its opposite; a perfect square;
Scarce sixty thousand paces can mete out
The vast circumference. An hundred gates
Of polish'd brass lead to that central point,
Where thro the midst, bridg'd o'er with wondrous art,

Euphrates leads a navigable stream,
Branch'd from the current of his roaring flood.

Yet, for the persevering hand of toil
Each obstacle surmounts, yet a deep trench
And wide, fit channel for a mighty bed
Of waters, had the host of Cyrus drawn
Round all this spacious magnitude. The moon
Full twice twelve times had fill'd her horns with light,
Since to Chaldæa's frontiers from the hills
Of Persia Cyrus came. There long inur'd
To toil, and manly exercise, he learnt
Even in his early youth, to bend the bow,
To hurl the pointed javelin, and to brace
His sinews in the wintry flood. His board
Was strew'd with herbs, or cresses from the brook,
The feast of temperance. Hence, bold in war,

He spread the terror of his arms o'er all
The nations round. On lesser Asia's plains
He fought, till from the Ægean to the banks
Of Perath, every warrior bow'd the knee
To Persia's mighty monarch. Thro the vales
Of Syria, thro Arabia's spicy groves,
His ensigns stream'd. But tho his valour great,
Yet greater was his mercy. Justice, truth,
And sacred chastity preserv'd his soul
From every foul offence, that blasts the name
Of desolating conquerors. With him
Came many a gallant chief, and many a tribe.
Say, Muse, their names and numbers: in thy book
The fair memorials of heroic fame
Stand registered; and thence the poet's hand
Transcribes whate'er of great or virtuous,

Heroes of old atchiev'd in better days,
Or patriots suffer'd for their country's love.

First the bleak barren rocks of Persia send
Their valiant sons of war, a thousand cars
Arm'd with sharp scythes, and twice ten thousand spears.
They from Carmania to the western bound
Of Susiana, from the Persic gulph
Stretch to Great Media's frontiers. From the banks
Of Pasatigris, and that unbridg'd stream
Araxes, they come flocking: o'er their backs
Rattles a quiver stow'd with barbed reeds.
These from a twanging yew, whose horned points
Are forc'd to contact by the elastic string,
They shoot with aim unerring; in the left
A platted target, in the right they bear
A javelin, short, but massy; from the belt

Two daggers hang; and every horse is arm'd
With hides, which scarce the sharpest blade can pierce.
Next from Gedrosia's sands, unhappy soil,
From Parsis and from Arbis, Ctesias leads
A band of gallant archers. Here, so fame
Reports, a nation of stout Amazons
Once held imperial sway, tho now no trace
Remain, save here and there an ancient name
Recording female prowess. With these march
The rough Carmanians. They with skins of fish
Protect their hairy limbs, and haunt thick woods,
Or the deep cavern of some arched rock,
Their wretched habitations. Ne'er did they
Hear the delightful sound of ponderous wain
Creeking with autumn's spoils, nor the tir'd ox
Unharness'd, lowing for his evening food.

With these are join'd the slingsmen bold and tall
Of Arachosia. Eastward to the Ind
Spreads Arachosia, and fair cities boasts
With bastions, and high towers adorn'd. A thong
Of pliant leather in their hands they bear,
And round their waist is tied a scrip, where lie
Huge balls of molten lead. Nor be forgot
The various tribes of Bactria, Comians,
And Zariaspans, and Chomatrians, once
A mighty kingdom: by Tigranes these
In rank and file are rang'd; and on their shields
Some quaint device is graven, emblem of war,
Or mark of royal ancestry. By these
Stand Margiana's warriors, from the banks
Of northern Oxus: in his hand a lance
Each poises, cut from some stout vine, whose trunk

Not two Titanians of gigantic form
Can clasp with arms extended, and which spread
Thick clusters o'er the sloping hills, in length
Two cubits. From Hyrcania's forests wild,
Tho interspers'd with many a verdant scene
Of corn, and luscious figs, impetuous rush
Ten thousand bowmen; down their shoulders hangs
A tiger's shaggy skin, spoils of the chace,
And naked their unsandal'd feet: the son
Of old Orontes leads the savage horde,
Fierce Ariamnes. With them Parthia sends
Her daring horsemen: they, of Scythian race,
Exil'd in ancient days, had settled near
Hyrcania's woods, a hardy clan, and o'er
High tottering precipice, or foaming flood,
Drove their unbridled coursers. Oft pursued

In battle did they turn, and from their bow
Speed arrows wing'd with death. In after times
The restless Roman, when he dar'd invade
The eastern world, felt this, and on his throne
The proud usurper trembled at the name
Of distant Parthia. By these Porus leads
His Indian squadrons. Down the rugged heights
Of Taurus, from the Caspian's southern bank,
Eight thousand Medians pour: barren the soil,
The mountains labour with their load of snow
Nine wintry months: there Salmanassar plac'd
Samaria's captive tribes, and bade them till
A rude unthrifty desart. They, what time
Wise Solomon was number'd with the dead,
Deserted his degenerate heir, and rais'd
The banner of rebellion. ‘To your tents ,

‘O Israel,’ cried Nebat's son, when lo!
In Bethel, and in Dan, two golden calves,
Ægyptian idols, from their God seduc'd
The ten apostate tribes, who fix'd their seat
In Ephraim's mount; till proud Samaria's walls
Were built, where Judah saw the rival throne
Of alienated Israel. But who
Can count the forces, which Ecbatanè
Pour'd thro her lofty gates? They with gay crests
Of gaudy plumage waving to the wind
Crown their resplendent helmets, and their hair
Tinge with Sidonian colours. To their feet
Hangs a loose robe of purple, whose broad hem,
Scollop'd by female art, sweeps all the ground,
Save when engag'd in battle round their waist
They twist it, as a zone. Great was the host,

And mighty: chariots, girt with sharpen'd scythes,
Two thousand; twice three hundred thousand foot,
And cavalry proportion'd. In the midst
Stands their great leader, Cyrus. On his casque
A crimson crest, spangled with stars of gold,
Streams, like a meteor. O'er his breast is clasp'd
With polish'd studs a cuirass; and his legs
Are fenc'd with greaves of brass. A sevenfold shield
His left sustains, his right a javelin wields,
And at his side a falchion beams with gems,
Jasper, and emerald. Near him is his car,
At whose four poles eight fiery coursers neigh,
Champing their golden bits. He stands, and views
With secret exultation all his host:
Yet often does he cast a pitying eye
On Lydia's captive monarch, oft repress

Each rising thought of pride, and sigh to see
The fall of regal state, the sport of war.

Now shines the moon on the pavilion'd plain,
Where brazen helmets, and high-burnish'd shields,
Seem to the distant traveller, like some stream,
Whose waters gently swoln by western breeze,
Wave to the sparkling rays. Tho not an eye
Is clos'd thro all their troops, such silence reigns
As in the dreary mansions of the dead
Strikes a more awful horrour, than the shouts
Of dissonance, and confusion. Cyrus calls
To council all his peers. Tigranes first,
Porus, and Ctesias, and the giant strength
Of Ariamnes; and what heroes else
Of fealty, and prowess unreprov'd,
Were summon'd by their chief. He from his seat

In graceful attitude uprose, and thus
With words of manly confidence began.

‘Princes and warriors, whom the love of fame,
‘Or sense of injuries yet unreveng'd
‘Far from your native homes hath hither brought
‘Combin'd in strictest league; tho two long years
‘Round these proud ramparts we have toil'd in vain;
‘Tho safe within those walls impregnable
‘The Assyrian with insulting jests derides
‘Our preparations; never will we quit
‘This enterprise, till humbled Babylon
‘Receive her conquerors thro her hundred gates,
‘And those high bastions bow. Shall we return
‘Inglorious? shall our name become the scoff
‘Of all the neutral nations? when we drove
‘The royal hunter, and his light-arm'd bands

‘From Media, where the semblance of a chace,
‘And oaths of peaceful amity, conceal'd
‘His hostile purpose, turn'd he from his flight
‘Till Babylonia's frontiers sav'd from death
‘Her routed prince? Remember ye the day,
‘When by a herald's voice I summon'd him
‘To prove his prowess, and in single fight
‘Decide the fate of millions? skulk'd he not,
‘Like a base coward, in those fenced walls,
‘And slew my faithful messenger? Revenge,
‘And honour, dearer to a soldier's soul
‘Than life, than liberty, forbids delay.
‘Nor grieve, my friends, for twice the ripen'd corn
‘Has nodded o'er the furrows, since we rais'd
‘Our banner on this spacious plain; the hour
‘Now hastens, when the meed of victory

‘Shall crown our patient labours. That broad dyke,
‘Which round the city with incessant toil
‘Our pioneers have sunk, is now compleat,
‘Capacious of the stream, which wont to waft
‘Thro many an arch, the tributary spoil
‘Of bleeding provinces. The obsequious flood
‘Will change his wonted course, and in the midst
‘Of Babylon will leave his channel dry.
‘There will we pour our troops, which pant for war,
‘And, tho obedient to their leader's voice,
‘Scarce brook this tedious rest. Fear not success;
‘To combat is to conquer. Mithras smiles
‘Favouring our bold emprise. Scarce dawn'd the day
‘When to the right six towering eagles soar'd,
‘And spread their broad wings o'er the Persian tents.

‘I hail'd the mystic omen. Ere the sun
‘Had sunk behind the Red sea's western coast,
‘I sent two gallant spies, to whom is known
‘Each winding path, each bush, each babling stream,
‘Gobryas, and Gadatas, if haply ought
‘May favour, or retard, our destin'd march.
‘Faithful I know them, and in arms approv'd;
‘Much do I wonder at their long delay.’

Scarce had he said, when at the camp arrive
The expected chiefs. ‘Welcome, my gallant friends,
‘Thrice welcome to our tent,’ the monarch cries;
‘Bold was your enterprise; and if I read
‘Your looks aright, ye bring no trivial news
‘Founded on idle rumour, or surmise;
‘But such well-built report, as shall direct
‘Our future operations; whether still

‘To wait some luckier hour; or, ere we sleep,
‘Let loose the rage of vengeance, and of war.’

He ended, and thus Gobryas. ‘Think not, prince,
‘Tho now six hours have pass'd, since first we left
‘These tents, (for then the sun was hastening down,
‘And now 'tis midnight's tide,) ah! think not us
‘Regardless of our trust: nor deem, tho born
‘Assyrians, that we e'er can waste a wish
‘For what Belshazzar governs. Wrongs like ours
‘Might kindle all the sparks of fierce revenge
‘Even in the tamest soul. With hasty step,
‘We paced the plain, and from the walls soon heard
‘The voice of riot, as ten thousand throats
‘Were howling all at once their barbarous sounds
‘Discordant. Here awhile we stood and paus'd,
‘For louder, and still louder was the noise,

‘As nearer we advanc'd. Before the walls
‘No sentinel was seen, no light appear'd
‘Suspended in the lofty towers. At length
‘To that frequented sepulchre we came,
‘Where the tall cypress with his ancient boughs
‘O'erhangs the tomb of Ninus. There we found
‘Two wretched exiles leaning o'er the stone.
‘Wet were their robes, and from their hair they drain'd
‘The dripping stream. First they prepar'd for flight,
‘But stop'd at once; and, falling at our knees,
“Whoe'er ye be, they cried, ye cannot add
“One misery to our store: our woes are full.
“Are ye from yonder tents? conduct us there
“And we will fight against our tyrant's head
“Till we be drench'd in blood.” “I know you now,
‘Replied my brave companion, “for your speech

“Declares that ye are strangers, and, I guess,
“Sons of Judæa's captive tribes. But say,
“How did ye pass these walls? at this late hour
“Why bend ye o'er that consecrated stone?
“Tis not from reverence; for ye serve a God
“Who lives beyond those hills; whose name, till late,
“Was never heard on Babylonia's coast.
“What mean those shouts? if ye will answer true,
“By the great spirit, which dwells within that tomb,
“Life, liberty is yours.” Confirm'd by this,
‘And fearless they reply. “We are indeed
“The wretched children of captivity.
“We flee Belshazzar's fury: feasts, and wine,
“Have steep'd his senses in forgetfulness;
“And open stand the brazen portals, where
“The high-arch'd bridge controuls the foaming flood.

“Headlong from thence we plung'd, and down the stream
“Swam with the unwearied vigour of despair,
“Beyond those towering walls. The city soon
“Even to the meanest host would yield her stores.”
‘They spake, when Gadatas with haste replied,
“This is no time for words, come, follow me,
“Nor fear your tyrant's wrath.” Even now before
‘Yon tent they stand, while round the soldiers throng,
‘A curious multitude, eager to mark
‘Their dress, their accent, and with hungry ears
‘Devour their tale. Now is the time, my chief;
‘Now is the wish'd-for hour of vengeance come.
‘O may I live to plunge my trusty sword
‘Deep in that monster's heart, who slew my child,
‘And drove my grey heirs to a foreign camp,
‘For shelter, for revenge!’ Now Cyrus rose,

And with him rose his faithful counsellors.
To each he gives his charge as each excells
In dignity, in valour, or in fame.

But first he bids the Magian priests prepare
A sacrifice: they with the living fire,
Once kindled by the lightening's breath, and since
Thro many an age preserv'd with holy awe,
Approach the pile. There on the flames is stretch'd
A perfect victim; while the chiefs with myrrh,
And aromatic spice, and precious oil
Feed the devouring element. But far,
Far off the soldiers stand: for he, who throws
The least pollution on the sacred hearth,
Be it thro chance, or inattention, dies.
As oft the west-wind o'er the Atlantic main
From Carolina's, or Virginia's coast,

Thy world, Columbus, travelling, on a field
Of ripen'd corn, now spent, and languid, breathes;
Each loaded ear salutes the rising dawn:
So when the Magian mutters mystic words,
The troops at once bend forward to the ground,
And hail the host of heaven, the clustering stars
Fix'd or erratic, and the horned moon:
All, but the mighty Mithras: he retir'd,
That cover'd by the silence of the night
His faithful votaries might direct their march,
And in the morning, crown'd with conquest, meet
His rising beams. And now the army moves
In separate squadrons; to the right wing these,
These wheeling to the left, as disciplin'd
By frequent practice. The long rank extends,
The close file deepens. Cyrus leads the van,

While stout Deïoces before him rears
The imperial ensign, on whose burnish'd top
The golden eagle spreads his painted wings;
That eagle, which as earliest fame reports,
Oft marshal'd to the field the warlike kings
Of ancient Persia. Hush'd is every sound,
Still is the night, and not a whisper breathes
Thro all the legions of their populous host.

And now they cross the skirt of that broad shade
Which Babylon's high walls, that intercept
The moon's bright beams, cast o'er the plain beneath,
And march unheard, unseen. First their wide dyke
Receives the averted stream; The Persians walk
Thro the dried channel. Gobryas leads the van,
And Gadatas. To them, for well they knew
The pass, great Cyrus had consign'd this post

Of danger, and of fame. The bank they mount
With eager haste; the brazen steps ascend;
Wide open stand the portals; and at once
The unguarded streets of Babylon are fill'd
With hostile multitudes. In vain to arms
Rush the rude rioters, and call on Bel
To save his faithful votaries. He nor hears,
Nor checks the victor's rage. In heaps they lie
Prostrate, some dead, some dying: hideous shrieks
Rend the keen air. Meanwhile the Assyrians rous'd,
But rous'd too late, unite in bands, as fear,
Or chance directs; and thro the crouded streets
On friend, on foe, with undirected aim,
Hurl staves, or pointed darts, or feather'd shafts,
Undisciplined. Some from the lofty towers
Tear conic pinacles, or roll huge stones

Rent from the walls, which down with hideous crash
Fall ponderous. Some to Bel's illumin'd fane
Thronging precipitate in vain implore
The senseless idol: these Tigranes finds
All prostrate; and attended by a troop
Of faithful Zariaspans, hews at once
The god, and all his votaries to the ground.
Some seek the bridge, if chance a friendly boat
Shall waft them down the stream; but oh! what grief,
What horrour chills their souls, when they behold
That flood, where oft they wont to brace their limbs,
Convey'd they know not whither, and a way
Thro the dried channel worn by many a foot.
Aghast they stand, men, women, old and young,
Promiscuous; when Hyrcania's chief appears,
Fierce Ariamnes: from the twanging yew

Five hundred arrows fly: deep groans of pain,
And hideous ejulations to the scene
Add horror tenfold: on the bank they roll
Writhing in agonies, or happier close
Their eyes for ever in eternal sleep.
These seek their homes, if chance the much-lov'd walls
May screen them from the conquerors; those unbar
The brazen gates, and strive to leave behind
Babel's deserted towers; in vain; the dyke
Opposes, and the sword of Porus drives
Back to their walls the trembling fugitives.

Yet some awhile maintain unequal fight
Unarm'd, and thro the river strive to force
A passage to the plain: plung'd in the waves
They perish; or, if chance escap'd, fresh troops
Of Persians watch the adverse banks, and slay

Whate'er the waters spar'd. Within the walls
Of Babylon was rais'd a lofty mound
Where flowers, and aromatic shrubs adorn'd
The pensile garden. For Nebassar's queen,
Fatigu'd with Babylonia's level plains,
Sigh'd for her Median home, where nature's hand
Had scoop'd the vale, and cloath'd the mountain's side
With many a verdant wood; nor long she pin'd
Till that uxorious monarch call'd on art
To rival nature's sweet variety.
Forthwith two hundred thousand slaves uprear'd
This hill, egregious work; rich fruits o'erhang
The sloping walks, and odorous shrubs entwine
Their undulating branches. Thither flocks
A multitude unseen, and mid the groves
And secret arbours all night long conceal'd,
Silent, and sad, escape the victor's sword.

Now the glad sound of loud triumphal notes
Mix'd with the yells of terrour, and dismay,
Are wafted thro the concave arch of night
To that imperial mansion, where the king
Lies revelling with his minions. Nitocris
First heard, and started. In that spacious room,
On whose rich sides was painted many a chase,
With all the warlike acts of Ninus old,
And great Semiramis, she sat, and wove
Her variegated web. Her slaves around
With sprightly converse cheer'd the midnight hour;
When sudden, chill'd with horrour, in their arms
She sinks, a breathless corse. And now the noise
Invades Belshazzar's ear. A messenger ,
And still another messenger arrives,
To tell him, all is lost. On the adverse wall

Instant his eye is fix'd: the characters,
Which yet remain, grow blacker, and increase
In magnitude tenfold: ‘Where, where,’ exclaims
The affrighted prince, ‘O where is Daniel? where
‘Is that interpreter of heaven's decrees,
‘Whose curse prophetic on mine ear still sounds
‘More horrible, than these alarming peals,
‘Which, as I speak, nearer and nearer roll,
‘The harbingers of slaughter. Haste, arise;
‘Tell him I spare the tribes; tell him I bow
‘To his Jehovah.’ Thus Belshazzar spake,
When sudden with impetuous uproar
Thro the wide portals rush'd an armed band,
Persians, and Medes. Gobryas, and Gadatas,
Breathing fierce vengeance, and inveterate hate,
Conduct the bloody troop. Where, monarch, where

Is now thy cruel wrath, thy pride, thy power?
Sunk on his knees behold Belshazzar bows
Before his rebel exiles! ‘Spare, O spare
‘My life,’ the coward tyrant trembling cries;
‘Let Cyrus wear my crown. To barren sands,
‘To regions, never trod by human foot,
‘Banish me, where I ne'er again may know
‘Sweet social intercourse, but think, O think,
‘How fearful 'tis to die.’ Thus while he spake
With sword uplifted o'er their bending king
The victors stood. And now perhaps his prayers,
And eyes, which upward rolling, long'd for life
Tho miserable, had stop'd the fatal blow,
Had not his murther'd son forbad the rage
Of Gobryas to subside. On his arch'd neck
The ponderous falchion falls, and at one stroke

Smites from its spouting trunk the sever'd head
Of Babylonia's monarch. Ever thus
Perish fell cruelty, and lawless power!

Meanwhile the Persian Cyrus by his guards,
A valiant band, encompass'd, thro the streets
Had march'd, and check'd his soldiers' frantic rage.
Pent in their camp two tedious years, restrain'd
From war, their souls delight, and now let loose
At once on whom they hate, scarce can they quench
Their thirst of blood. And as a herd of wolves
Or in Lucanian, or Appulian woods,
Inflam'd by ravenous hunger prowl for prey;
If chance they hear the sound of distant sheep
Within some watled fence, o'er the weak wall
Bound at one spring, and sate their greedy maw
With all the slaughter'd flock; so the fierce bands

Of Cyrus, long witheld, pour all their ire
Insatiate on their unresisting foes.
Yet do they not, tho' steep'd in blood, neglect
Their sovran's awful voice, who bids them sheath
The sword, and tells them that the valiant fight
For victory, not for slaughter. He, when now
Weltering in gore he saw Nebassar's heir,
And all the imperial ensigns on the ground,
Look'd down, and paus'd awhile; then gently wiped
A tear of soft compassion from his eye,
And turning to the nobles, ‘tho your king
‘Hath paid the debt of war, fear not,’ he cries,
‘The sword of death is sheath'd.’ Nor more he spake,
Nor left the peers occasion to reply,
But drawn by strong instinctive sympathy
Turn'd to the scene again, where whilom lay

The monarch's mangled corse. A stream of blood
Mark'd where he fell; but now his lifeless trunk
The insulting soldiers drag thro every street,
And on a pole high-rais'd his dripping head
Bear to the distant walls. There from the top,
O'er the broad trench, with many a taunt they cast
What once was great Belshazzar. On the plain,
His realm, where oft he march'd in princely state,
The royal carcase lies; while ravenous birds
Flock round, and screaming claim their promis'd prey.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

1 Kings xii. 16.

Jeroboam.

Crœsus was at this time a prisoner in the camp of Cyrus.

The sun, worship'd by the Persians under that name.

Jeremiah li. 31.

BOOK III.

ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD BOOK.

Confusion in the city—check'd by Cyrus—Burial of the Babylonians—Council of the Jews—Characters, and names of the counsellors—Daniel opens the business of their meeting —Jeshua speaks—Othniel—Zorobabel—Misael—Daniel ends the debate, and they determine to apply to Cyrus, for leave to return to Jerusalem—Interview between Othniel, and his Babylonian mistress—He endeavours to sow sedition among the Jews—Cyrus receives the homage of the Babylonians —Daniel requests that the Jews may be permitted to rebuild the temple of Jerusalem—Cyrus desires to hear their history.

All night with hideous uproar, and dismay,
Screams, shrieks, and yells of death, (far other notes
Than those, which usher'd in the evening star,)
The ecchoing walls resound. For now the hour
In vision to prophetic eye reveal'd,
The fatal hour of Babylon is come,
And every barbed shaft, and every dart,
Flies heaven-directed. Thee, so wills thy God,
Ah! fall'n Jerusalem, thee, and thy tribes,
The valiant warriors of the north shall sate
With glorious vengeance: prostrate in the dust

Lie half thy foes; the rest shall bow their necks
Beneath a foreign yoke. Now morn appears,
Scattering her hoar frost o'er Chaldæa's plain,
And by degrees unfolds a horrid scene,
The carnage of the night. The Median, struck
With pity and remorse, down drops his sword;
And even Hyrcania's savage clans, long train'd
To deeds of blood, recoil. Beneath a pile
Of slain, some mangled chief, with eye half clos'd,
And long-protracted groan, still lingering, begs
A short, tho painful respite. Cyrus now
Bids raise the imperial ensign: at that sight
Chomatrians, Bactrians, and the valiant troops
Of Parthia, with what other powers encamp'd
By Babylon, come flocking, and surround
Their gallant chief. He with one silent look

Of admiration all their toil o'erpays:
Nor wish the valiant for a nobler meed.

‘Well have ye fought, my friends,’ the hero cries,
‘But now the bloody rites of war are clos'd,
‘Remember ye are men. Unburied lie
‘The slain of Babylon. Hear ye those cries?
‘They are the shrieks of widows, whom this night
‘Has rob'd of all they love. Their sons, their lords,
‘Disfigur'd, and with many a ghastly wound
‘Transfix'd, from day's broad eye they fain would hide,
‘And rescue from opprobious insult rude.
‘Haste to their aid; by gentle acts relieve
‘Those miseries, which ye caus'd: against the dead
‘Ye war not; them to the earth consign, and drop
‘The tear of human pity o'er their graves:’
He spake, nor did his Persians not obey.

Three days, three nights, the frequent corse was seen,

With limbs all mangled, and with entrails torn,
Stretch'd on an iron bier; these in the earth
With decent awe they laid, and at their side
Plac'd wine, and funeral cates; left the cold shade,
Still hovering round her native clay, should pine
For those gross elements she lov'd before.

Meantime the Jews, whom wisdom, rank, or age,
Exalts above their peers, in full debate
Assemble. Daniel first, the voice of heaven,
Directs their counsels. By him, Misael sits,
And Ananiah; Jeshua next, the son
Of Jozadeck; to him in right descent
From Aaron, and from Phineës, devolv'd
The hereditary priesthood; but the law
Of regal, or of sacerdotal power
No trace retain'd, by long captivity
Suspended. By him stands Zorobabel,

Who deems each hour an age, till Sion rears
Her lofty summit to his eye, and shews
Her stones, once worn by many a pious knee
Of Levite, and of people. Othniel
With sidelong glance reproves his violent zeal;
Othniel, descended from that race, who wont
In happier days to raise the festal hymn
Of triumph, and record in sacred song
The victories of their fathers. He enslav'd
By amorous ditties had resign'd his heart,
Won by a fair idolatress, and wish'd,
Forgetful of his faith, to rest his head
For ever on the base Assyrian's lap
Degenerate. Bilshan too, and Mispar comes,
And Nehemiah. In mute silence all
Stand fix'd awhile, when Daniel thus begins.

‘Look round; behold the vengeance of your God:
‘The tyrant is no more: dried are the streams
‘On which the queen of waters sat secure;
‘And Babylon, detested, dreaded name,
‘Proud Babylon is fall'n. The day is come,
‘When rescued Judah in the promis'd land
‘Shall rest his wearied foot. And yet who knows
‘But, reconcil'd by habit, ye may choose
‘The yoke of bondage; or, too indolent
‘To tempt the perils of a tedious way,
‘Forget Jerusalem? Say, shall we bend
‘Before the victor's throne, and from his voice
‘Implore the imperial edict of return,
‘Or thro successive ages linger on
‘Apostate, till no trace, no mark be left
‘Of God's peculiar people? Speak, my friends:

‘Tis freedom's privilege that each should speak
‘What each thinks just, and right.’ He paus'd; and next
Rose Jeshua, green in years, in counsel sage;
‘Show me,’ said he, ‘thro all the faithful tribes
‘A soul so dastard, and as thus I tear
‘This scroll in twain, even so from Abraham's stock
‘My hand shall sever him. But it may not be;
‘Few days have pass'd, since in that ruin'd fane
‘Of Belus, we defied Belshazzar's rage,
‘And scorn'd his giant god: and shall we now
‘Stand doubting, whether we will yet be slaves,
‘When freedom calls us? O Jerusalem,
‘Pride of our fathers, object thrice ador'd
‘Of Judah's tenderest love, ne'er did I see
‘Thy walls, thy sacred hill, thy towering shrine:

‘But often did my father to mine eye,
‘To fancy's eye, display the glorious scene
‘Magnificent: oft did the good old man
‘Draw back the holy veil, which he alone
‘Might pass, and shew'd me the mysterious rites,
‘The imperial oil, the garments rich with gems,
‘The cups sacrifical, and altars stain'd
‘With many a victim. “These, said he, my child,
“If thou shalt live till Judah be restor'd,
“It will be thine with reverence to preserve
“From hands unhallow'd: twill be thine, if e'er
“Ungrateful Benjamin forget his God,
“With fervent prayer, and evening sacrifice
“To stop the pointed thunderbolt. But first,
“O first erect a temple on that hill
“Which great Jehovah loves. Twas there he dwelt,

“Twas there he spake in visions to his saints,
“There heard the vow propitious, and receiv'd
“The fragrant incense.” Thus my father spake;
‘Deep in my mind are all his counsels laid;
‘And I shall count each moment for an age,
‘While Babylon detains me. What advice
‘Cold hearts, and timid caution may propose
‘I reck not: were the danger twice tenfold,
‘Tis impious even to doubt, when heaven invites.’

He ended, when uprose the form uncouth
Of Othniel. With a mark indelible,
Like the first murtherer's, God had stamp'd his face,
That all might know him. Yet with flattering words
Oft did he lure the tender virgin's heart
To sportive dalliance: nor unvers'd to hide

Seditious stratagems with specious boast
Of public love, he drew the gazing croud
To hail him as their universal friend,
The champion of their rights. For Sion's hill,
Or Sion's God he car'd not. By his crew
Of midnight revellers encompass'd round,
Oft would he mock Jehovah's dreaded name,
And with opprobrious Alleluiah's mix
His songs impure. He rose, and thus began.

‘Well hast thou spoken, Jeshua; well thy words
‘Become thy sacred station; nor, I trust,
‘Are others less impatient to be free.
‘For me, tho linen girdle ne'er shall bind
‘My waist, nor golden mitre grace mine head,
‘For me be witness all the host of heaven
‘How oft at midnight's latest hour mine eyes

‘Have burst the bonds of sleep, how oft my voice
‘Has cried to heaven, that Judah may return.
‘Nor should Chaldæa's wealth, nor all the gems
‘Which the sun ripens in his eastern beds,
‘Nor should the weight of gold, which Solomon
‘Coffer'd in Lebanon's umbrageous house,
‘Spoils of rich merchants and Arabian kings,
‘Induce me for a moment to protract
‘These hours of bondage. But let zeal be check'd
‘By wisdom; never yet did safety spring
‘From rash impetuous counsels. Shall we then
‘Surround the victor, on his new-earn'd throne
‘Scarce seated, and with inauspicious suit
‘Disturb his opening reign? rather by slow
‘Degrees, and soft insinuation, win

‘His favour, if so he may send us home
‘Safe convoy'd by a bold and numerous host
‘Of ssingsmen, and of archers. Long the way,
‘And perilous, which from Chaldæa leads
‘To Salem's ruin'd walls. Remember what
‘Our fathers suffer'd, when in haste they fled
‘From Rameses, and forty tedious years
‘Travers'd the pathless desart. Did a man,
‘Say did one man in all that number'd host,
‘Save Joshua , and Caleb, press the grapes,
‘Or drink the milk of Canaan? Famine , thirst ,
‘And fiery serpents hissing in their tents,
‘And pestilence destroy'd their minish'd tribes.
‘Besides what enemies by force, or wile,

‘In center, or in rear, attack'd their troops
‘Fatigued with toil, and vigils; Basan's king,
‘And Sihon , whom from Arnon's watry banks
‘To Hermon, which Sidonians Syrion call,
‘The Ammorite obey'd; and that dread name
‘Huge Amalek; and what other powers their march
‘Infested, from the day when first they pitch'd
‘In Succoth, to that hour when from the hills
‘Of Abarim , they saw the extended plain
‘Of Moab, and the walls of Jericho,
‘By Jordan, pleasant stream. Ills great as theirs,
‘Or greater may assail us. Sweet the name
‘Of Sion, and to every Jewish ear
‘There is a magic in the sound, which charms

‘More than a thousand Babylonian spells.
‘But shall we ever reach this happy land,
‘Unaided, and encumber'd on our march
‘With all our stores? Our wives, our helpless babes,
‘Can they protect us from the lawless rage
‘Of all the assassins, who perchance infest
‘The way, and like a torrent from the hills
‘In savage clans come pouring o'er the plain?
‘Can they secure us from the parching drought
‘Of unslak'd thirst, or 'mid the famine stop
‘Our cries for bread? Then shall we curse in vain
‘Our hasty counsels, and with anxious eye,
‘Such as our fathers cast towards Palæstine,
‘Look back for lost Euphrates. Let us go,
‘When freedom calls, nor wisdom disapproves.’

He ended, and Zorobabel began.
Who speaks not what he thinks, even as the gates
‘Of hell my soul detests him. Foul designs
‘Varnish'd with specious words, are doubly foul.
‘Dar'st thou rehearse the miseries of our sires
‘Laden with Egypt's spoils, and yet forget
‘The hand that led them thro the wilderness,
‘Far from the house of bondage? “Yoke my cars,
“Prepare my chivalry,” the Memphian cried;
‘In vain; the waves, that like two mountains rear'd
‘Their humid walls, while Israel pass'd between,
‘Clos'd on his routed host. What tho' unknown
‘And intricate the path? hast thou not heard
‘Of that bright cloud which marshal'd them by day?

‘And when dark night hid all her choir of stars,
‘Rose not the fiery pillar? What tho thirst,
‘Tho famine press'd them sore; gush'd not a stream
‘Of freshest beverage from the riven rock?
‘And when the barren earth witheld her stores,
‘Fell not sweet bread from heaven? Did Amalek,
‘Did Og, did Sihon, triumph o'er the tribes
‘Of way-worn Israël? To all the males,
‘Save two, which Moses number'd by the foot
‘Of Sinai, sacred mount, I grant, the fields
‘Of promise were denied: But say, whence sprung
‘The fatal prohibition? thro their camp
‘Spread not the sound of murmur, and distrust?
‘Forsook they not their living strength, seduc'd
‘By gross idolatries? Hence, as a cloud
‘Eclipses the bright sun, what time his orb

‘Flames in the chambers of the southern sky,
‘His countenance grew dark; the sons of Dan
‘Were stricken, Simeon wept, and Ashur shook
‘Thro all his tents. But when to him they mourn'd,
‘Ne'er did they mourn in vain. Crimes, rank as theirs,
‘Have fix'd us here awhile, till exile purge
‘Our sins away. That hour is come; and now
‘Why stand we loitering thus in dull debate?
‘Hath not his prophet said? shall we distrust
‘His power? or kindle his fierce wrath again
‘By murmurs, by sedition? Shall we leave
‘The holy one of Israel, and fall down
‘To Belus, or to Mithras? Go, enquire
‘Of Cushan, or of Kedar; ask the isles,
‘Will ye forsake your Gods? Tell, mighty king,

‘God of our fathers, tell, why thou alone
‘Hast seen thy shrine forsaken, while a cloud
‘Of never-ceasing incense wafts perfume
‘To Moloch, and to Dagon? Never more,
‘Ah! never may thy chosen servants rouse
‘Thy slumbering vengeance! For thee, Othniel, go,
‘Go, false dissembler; spread thro all the tribes
‘Affliction, and dismay; bid them remain
‘In Babylon; record, as thou art wont,
‘The dangers of the way; but should they hear
‘Thy voice, should even this venerable ring
‘Of sages, and of elders, shrink with fear,
‘Unguarded, and alone, myself will go.’

‘No, not alone,’ said Misael; ‘take at least
‘An old man with thee: zeal will speed my steps,
‘Tho time hath drawn his furrows o'er my brow.

‘My wife, my children gone, behold I stand
‘Like an old oak, whose branches all are scath'd
‘By heaven's red lightening, but whose knotty trunk,
‘By tortuous roots bound to the solid earth,
‘Remains immoveable. Tho bow'd by age,
‘Tho lost to every other human joy,
‘Sion is dear as ever to my soul.
‘O Othniel, hadst thou heard the fatal crash,
‘When God's own house fell from its rocky base;
‘O hadst thou seen the tears, and mark'd the sighs
‘Of the first captives, driven from all they lov'd,
‘Thou wouldst not brook delay; nor even the warmth
‘Of young Zorobabel would equal thine.
‘For me, could I but once again behold
‘Thy brook, O Cedron; could I see the stones,
‘Tho now perchance with moss o'ergrown; or trace

‘The remnant of one cedar beam, that join'd
‘Its firm support to prop that holy pile,
‘Among the ruins would I rest mine head,
‘And sleep in peace. Who knows but yet again,
‘As in the days of Solomon, the tribes
‘May all unite, and rescued Judah throw
‘His fond fraternal arms round Israel's neck,
‘And welcome him to Salem? Then, oh then,
‘From Ascalon to Gilead, from the mount
‘Of northern Lebanon to the Asphaltic lake,
‘The land shall all be ours: our herds shall range
‘On Basan, and on Carmel; Ephraim's brow
‘Shall whiten with the fleece of new-wash'd sheep;
‘The daughter of Jerusalem shall drink
‘From Jacob's fountain, and Samaria's nymph
‘Recline on Rachel's tomb. Soft is the dew,

‘Which evening sheds on Hermon; sweet the oil
‘Which drip'd down Aaron's sacerdotal vest,
‘Even to his skirts; but sweeter far, my friends,
‘To live in unity, and mutual love.
‘Twas thus your fathers cheer'd the gloomy hours
‘Of exile; all was peace. One heart was theirs;
‘One interest, to restore the captive tribes;
‘One wish, to see Jerusalem again.’

‘Just,’ said Zorobabel, ‘O reverend seer,
‘Just are thy words. But this man prostitutes
‘The name of public-love, and by fair speech
‘Conceals his base designs. O how I hate,
‘When low-born cunning sits in wisdom's seat,
‘To see the gazing multitude admire,
‘As wisdom's self were there! Coward, and slave,

‘Hence to thy Dalilah; hang on her breast,
‘Play with the silken ringlets of her hair,
‘And as she trolls her wanton madrigal,
‘Swear that no virgin of Jerusalem
‘Is half so lovely; swear thou ne'er wilt leave
‘Her Babylon, to seek, thou know'st not what,
‘The country of thy fathers. But beware;
‘For if, as thou wert wont in other days,
‘Thou sow'st sedition 'mid the wavering tribes,
‘Judah has yet a spirit to resent,
‘An arm to punish.’

‘Go, vain railer, go,’
Said Othniel, in a tone where fear was mix'd
With hatred, and disdain, ‘go round by night
‘And rouse the drooping tribes; return'd perchance

‘They'll hail thee as their king, and at thy throne
‘Renew their ancient fealty. Too much,
‘Too much already hath Jerusalem
‘Bewail'd her royal line. It was the sin
‘Of that accursed race which cried to heaven,
‘And drew down vengeance on their people's head.
‘That race by long captivity is sunk
‘Even to plebeian baseness. Shall we then
‘At once forget the source of all our woes,
‘And place Judæa's sceptre in the hand
‘Of Jechoniah's heir? Let the tame fools,
‘Gull'd by these specious arts, embrace thy chain;
‘For me, rather than cringe, and bend my knee
‘Obsequious, to a vile usurper's throne,
‘In Babylon I'll live, and never waste
‘One single thought on Salem, or on thee.’

100

Thus while he spake, rage redden'd on the cheek
Of young Zorobabel. He started up,
Impatient to reply; but Daniel rose,
And fix'd attention held the council mute.
By reason, by persuasive truth he strove
To bend the stubborn heart of Othniel.
So to their fold, when evening streaks with red
The cloudless landscape, while the shepherd drives
His flock, if chance but one refuse to hear
The well-known call, he leaves the obedient sheep,
And o'er the plain with many a weary step
Persues the devious wanderer. But when truth,
Nor reason can prevail, ‘Shalt thou, vain boy,’
Exclaims the man of God, ‘shalt thou retard
‘Our blest deliverance? Shall the general weal
‘Yield to a private voice? Let Othniel stay;

101

‘For us, this instant let us all repair
‘To Cyrus; for while we sit loitering here,
‘Jerusalem lies prostrate in the dust.’

The prophet ended, and at once uprose
The obsequious Sanhedrim. Toward that rich house,
Where late Belshazzar held his midnight rout,
Where now the Persian sits in regal state,
They bend their way. But Othniel turn'd his steps
Diverse. The fair Assyrian saw him come
With folded arms, and downcast eye: she saw,
And trembled; for she knew that Judah's chiefs
Were met; and worse than death she fear'd, lest fate
Should doom her to lament in solitude
The loss of whom she lov'd. ‘What means,’ she cried,
‘My Othniel? speak.’ He spake not. Silence seem'd
More horrible to her distracted soul,

102

Than words of bitterest wrath. She could not weep,
But look'd such anguish, that a sudden tear
Gush'd from her Othniel's eye. She, deeply vers'd
In female art, and all the wiles of love,
Watch'd the soft moment, on his yielding arm
Hung amorous, and with many a sigh began.

‘Canst thou then leave me, Othniel? canst thou go,
‘Ne'er to return again? For thee my fame,
‘For thee my kindred, and for thee my gods
‘I left, and to the keen reproach of scorn
‘Yielded my virgin honour. Not a dame
‘Thro all Chaldæa, but with cruel jests
‘Will load my misery: “this is she,” will cry
‘Each envious rival, “this is she, who lov'd
“The stranger, who disgrac'd her father's house,
“Her country, and her gods.” O may I sink

103

‘In everlasting rest, or e'er I hear
‘The voice of slander murmuring o'er my name!
‘Think on the dangers of the way, which leads
‘Thro savage hordes, inhospitable soil,
‘From Babylon to Sion: think on these,
‘And if, asham'd to fear, thou still wilt go,
‘O take me with thee! on my faithful breast
‘Repose thy wearied head: the dews of night
‘From thy warm limbs I'll chase; and when the sun
‘With fire solstitial cleaves the gasping earth,
‘Fan thee with freshest gales: for thy repast
‘I'll cull the daintiest herbs; to slake thy thirst
‘I'll bring fresh water from the coolest spring.
‘Yet wherefore go? thou wilt not here remain
‘A single sojourner: such is the force
‘Of thy persuasive eloquence, the tribes

104

‘Will rather stay in Babylon with thee
‘Than march they knew not whither. Go; collect
‘Thy followers: rouse their fears; alarm their souls
‘With tales of sad disaster; paint such scenes
‘As fable never feign'd.—But O forgive,
‘Forgive the violence of a woman's love,
‘For never will I live beyond the day
‘Which tears my Othniel from me. Tis at least
‘The privilege of misery, to die:
‘And while or sword, or fire, has power to kill,
‘That privilege, O Othniel, shall be mine.’

She spake, and wept. He gently from her eye
Kiss'd the soft tear, and with impetuous speed
Departed. Forthwith to each Jewish slave
Whom fear, or love, or interest, urg'd to stay,
He hasten'd, and with specious argument

105

Beneath his banner listed half the tribes:
The women chief; they, like the reed, which veers
To every wind that blows, fickle of mind,
And impotent of purpose, yield assent
To every new deceiver. In the street
Before the gate with threatening eye they stand,
And look as tho' their deep resolves were all
Unchangeable; while Daniel, and his train
Salute their conqueror on his golden throne,
That throne, where conscious of superior worth
Cyrus exalted sits. Around him stand
His valiant spearmen tall, and strong, in war
His guard, his ornament in peace. With them
Are join'd those gallant souls, whom love of fame
Drew from their native fields, Carmanian chiefs,
And Arachosian, Ctesias, and the son

106

Of old Orontes, and that dreaded name
Tigranes. Near the throne on either side
Stands Gadatas, and Gobryas; while the lords
Of Babylon fall prostrate on the ground,
Their names, their rank, their virtues they record,
Their ancient feats in arms. To their new prince
They vow perpetual fealty, and swear
To add their annual tribute to his stores.

Scarce was this homage ended, when appear'd,
Attended by his faithful counsellors,
The reverend form of Daniel. Cyrus saw,
And started; thrice his colour chang'd to pale,
And thrice to deepest red. As one, whom chance
Leads thro the church-way path, where many a stone
Marks out the separate mansions of the dead,
Or sees, or thinks he sees, some shrouded ghost,

107

Spirit of friend departed, thwart the night,
And trembles with a sacred awe, as tho
A messenger had hail'd him from that land,
Which lies beyond the grave: such heaven-struck awe
Felt Cyrus, and to Gobryas thus began.

‘Gobryas, behold that venerable sage;
‘Whence, and what is he? Is he clad indeed
‘In flesh, and bones, as we; or is he but
‘Some airy form, that cheats the uncertain eye,
‘A shape, and not a substance? Tell me true;
‘For such a man, so mild, so hoary-hair'd,
‘Like him in dress, and features, when soft sleep
‘Had steep'd my senses in oblivion, stood
‘Beside my pillow. To a lofty hill
‘Where lay the ruins of an ancient shrine,
‘He pointed, and with voice prophetic, such

108

‘As wak'd me not, but pierc'd my slumbering ear,
‘Foretold strange things to come. Tell, if thou know'st,
‘His age, his rank, his office, and his name.’

He ended, and thus Gobryas. ‘Oft, great king,
‘Oft hast thou heard me speak of Judah's tribes,
‘That wondrous race, whom from the palmy vales
‘Of Palæstine to Babylonia's plain
‘Nebassar bore triumphant. Never yet,
‘Tho much invited, have they quaff'd the bowl ,
‘Or shared the banquet with Assyria's sons;
‘Save here and there some amorous youth, enslav'd
‘By fair Chaldæan. Him, his brethren stile
‘Degenerate, and accurs'd; for, tho a race
‘Of slaves, they scorn their conquerors. Nor to Bel,
‘Nor Nebo will they bend their stubborn knee;

109

‘In secret they adore some local God,
‘Mighty to save. That ancient, whom thou see'st,
‘Favour'd above the rest, hath oft reveal'd
‘The will of heaven. Twice , when Nebassar's soul,
‘Perplex'd with nightly visions, sought in vain
‘To all the sage magicians of his court,
‘He read the book of fate, and told him things,
‘Which time shall yet reveal. Hence in his gate
‘High-honour'd did he sit, provincial chief
‘Of spacious Babylon. Perchance he comes
‘To hail the monarch of the vanquish'd tribes.
‘Say, wilt thou hear him speak? Sweet is his voice,
‘And powerful are his words: no fear will mark
‘A dastard soul: he speaks as man to man;
‘And yet with decent reverence, such as fits

110

‘A subject to his sovran.’ Cyrus nods
Assent, and Daniel, bending low, begins.

‘My name is Daniel; in Chaldæa's land
‘Call'd Belteshazzar. Hither, as that chief
‘Reports, whom well I knew ere cruel pride
‘Had driven him for revenge to foreign tents,
‘In early youth I came. Tho grac'd with power,
‘Tho honour'd with Nebassar's noblest gifts,
‘Yet bondage still was bitter. Not a day
‘Has pass'd, but I have turn'd a longing eye
‘Towards lost Jerusalem. Tis hence I lead
‘My faithful friends to hail their mighty king,
‘And dare with humblest suit to interrupt
‘His recent victories. On thee, great, prince,
‘Depends their anxious hope. Back to that land,

111

‘Where once their fathers held imperial sway,
‘Fain would the tribes return. Speak but the word,
‘And every voice shall rend the vault of heaven,
‘Hymning thy praise. Posterity shall read
‘The imperial edict, and record thy name,
‘While sun, or moon endures. Nor deem our God,
‘As Gobryas thinks, a deity confin'd
‘By time, or circumscrib'd by local space:
‘The earth, the heaven, is his: in every clime,
‘Thro every age, his power, his truth remains,
‘Unalter'd, unimpair'd. Think'st thou that dream
‘Was casual, when thou saw'st a form like mine
‘Undraw thy curtains in the hour of sleep?
‘No; twas the God, whom Benjamin adores,
‘It was the God, who, tho thou know'st it not,
‘Guides all thy steps, that spread before thine eyes

112

‘The vision, emblem of poor Judah's state
‘Imploring aid from thee. Behold this book ;
‘Two centuries have pass'd, since here thy name
‘Was written. Thee, while yet unborn, the seer
‘Observ'd, and with prophetic rapture stil'd
‘Cyrus, the Lord's anointed. Look again;
‘See where thy gallant acts predicted stand,
‘Thy name, thy pity to the captive tribes,
‘O Sion's blest deliverer! mark it well;
‘Stamp'd was this volume with the seal of God.’

Thus while he spake, all wrapt the conqueror sat
In wonder, and in reverence. Then, as one
Recovering from a trance, where every sense
Seem'd lost, ‘O tell me, Daniel, tell, ‘he cries,
‘The story of thy fathers; tell me who,

113

And whence ye are; your race, your name, your God,
O tell me all, even to the fatal time
When Babylon receiv'd you, where, they say,
The seventieth sun is rolling o'er your heads.
Mark every circumstance; still much of day
Remains; and I could steal from balmy sleep
The midnight hour, to hear a tale like thine.’

END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

Jerem. l. 9.

See B. i. v. 355.

Psalm lxxxix. 19.

1 Kings x. 14–17.

Numb. i. 2.

Numb. xxvi. 65.

Exod. xvi. 3.

Exod. xvii. 3.

Numb. xxii. 6.

Numb. xvi. 49.

Numb. xxi. 33.

Ibid. xxiii.

Deut. iii. 9.

Exod. xvii. 8.

Numb. xxxiii. 5.

Deut. xxxii. 49.

Εχθος γαρ, &c.

Who dares think one thing, and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of hell.

Pope's Iliad. B. 9.

Exod. xii. 36.

Exod. xiv. 22.

Exod. xiii. 21.

Exod. xvi. 12.

Jeremiah ii. 10.

Psalm cxxxiii.

See Book 1. v. 256.

Daniel i. 8.

Dan. ii. 1, &c.–iv. 5, &c.

Dan. ii. 48.

Dan. i. 7.

See Book i. v. 150.

The prophecies of Isaiah.

BOOK IV.

ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

Daniel, by command of Cyrus, relates the most material parts of the Jewish history, from the call of Abraham, to the taking of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar, and the arrival of the captives at Babylon. After which, Cyrus gives them permission to return, and build a temple at Jerusalem; and orders all the ornaments of the former temple, which had been brought to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar, to be restored to the Jews.

Silent, and still, as is the summer's noon,
When not a breeze bends the soft osier's twig,
The heroes sat; attention held them mute;
When Daniel thus began. ‘O mighty king,
‘Those questions make my sorrows stream anew.
‘Yet, if so great your love to hear the doom
‘Of once triumphant Judah, tho my soul
‘Still shrinks with horrour, still with grief recoils,
‘I will begin. But whence? should I at large
‘Unfold the wondrous story to thine ear,

‘The stars would fill their evening lamps with light,
‘Ere half my speech were clos'd: and thy demand
‘Were ill requited, should I disappoint
‘Thy keen impatience with imperfect tale.
‘Hear then the whole, but brief. I will record
‘Mysterious wonders, when perchance thy soul
‘Shall swell with heavenly rapture. I will tell
‘Of wars, seditions, dark idolatries,
‘Of captive Judah seeking, tho in vain,
‘His alienated God. And if, O king,
‘Thou hear'st his bitter sighs, and dost not weep,
‘Ne'er didst thou weep at human misery.

‘Thou see'st us exil'd by the lot of war
‘In this detested land; and yet this land
‘Was once our home. From Ur , Chaldæan Ur
‘Abraham, the venerable patriarch, came.

‘Who has not heard of Abraham? Him, with all
‘His house, to Sichem, and to Moreh's plain,
‘Jehovah call'd; and from the Memphian stream
‘To where Euphrates bathes Chaldæa's banks,
‘To him, and to his seed for ever gave
‘That seat of mighty nations: there the sons
‘Of Canaan pitch'd their tents; the Kenite there
‘Pastur'd his flock; beneath their mantling vines
‘The Kadmonite and Hittite sat, and quaff'd
‘Nectareous beverage sweet. Ah! who shall drive
‘Those valiant warriors from their pleasant fields?
‘Shall Abraham? but unequal is his strength;
‘Nor yet is vengeance ripe. The Amorite,
‘A powerful name, whose race shall feel the edge
‘Of Israel's sword, confederates with his arms,

‘ Eschol, and Aner. Shall his son? shall he,

The base-born Ishmael, captive Hagar's hope,
‘Reign o'er the promis'd land? No other child
‘Yet calls him father; and his barren wife,
‘Sarah, the lovely Sarah, sinks in years,
‘Lamenting her sad lot. Yet mark, O king,
‘The power of Judah's God: when he commands,
‘Even nature deviates from her wonted course,
‘ And Sarah bears a son. With holy joy
‘The patriarch receives his promis'd heir,
‘And calls him Isaac. Nor with any maid
‘Of Canaan does he deign to match his son ;
‘But from the land, nam'd from two frontier streams
‘Which confine on its bounds, Rebecca came,

‘And, at one birth produced in happy hour
‘ Two pledges of her love. The first was rough
‘With hairy shag, like lion's brindled cub,
‘Or Indian tiger's whelp. All day he rang'd
‘The fields, a cunning hunter; and at eve
‘Bore on his shoulders huge the bleeding stag,
‘His aged sire's repast. His cattle rang'd
‘On Idumæan Seïr, and from him
‘Came Edom's warrior dukes. But Jacob, so
‘Was stiled the younger, was the chosen line
‘For which his God reserv'd the promis'd boon:
‘ Israel his other name. To him were born
‘Twelve sons, the founder of twelve powerful tribes,
‘Our great progenitors. Go to the shore,

‘And tell the sands, which the retiring tide
‘Hath left uncover'd; turn thine eye to heaven
‘And number all the twinkling stars of night,
‘Then shalt thou count their seed. Howbeit they pin'd
‘With famine, which o'er Canaan's ravag'd fields
‘Spread from Beet-sheba to the land of Nile,
‘And shed the blighting mildew, as it pass'd,
‘O'er herb, and fruit. But Egypt's provident lord
‘Foresaw the dearth, by two prophetic dreams
‘Reveal'd, and from seven years of plenty stored
‘ Exhaustless granaries. Thither Jacob went,
‘And in the richest soil, that soil, where late
‘The royal shepherds of Arabian race
‘Pastur'd their flocks, the sons of Israel spread

‘ Their tents. At first with hospitable voice
‘ The Egyptian bade them hail; but when their tribes
‘Increas'd, four hundred summers saw them toil
‘Beneath imperious masters. Many a town,
‘And many a goodly city did they raise,
‘ Pithom, and Rameses. When still they grew
‘Maugre their bitter toil, thro every nome,
‘ Were sent quick orders, that each Hebrew male
‘Fresh from the birth be plung'd beneath the stream,
‘If so the race of Israel might no more
‘Remain a separate name. Then wept the tribes;
‘Then trembled Reuben, and the tents of Dan
‘Were darken'd with dismay. Jehovah heard ,
‘And forthwith, arm'd with signs miraculous,

‘Sent Moses to their aid. Him in an ark
‘ Of rushes, on the river's sedgy brink,
‘Pouring his infant moans, Myrrhina heard,
‘Myrrhina, daughter of the Memphian crown.
‘She heard, and pitied; for full well she knew
‘Some Hebrew's hand had wove the verdant bed,
‘If chance his child might one short day survive
‘The tyrant's wrath. She rear'd him as her own,
‘ And taught him all the wise mysterious lore
‘Of Egypt, nurse of science. Aaron too,
‘From whose persuasive mouth flow'd eloquence
‘Sweeter than honey, which with Gilead's balm,
‘His vessel's precious freight, the Tyrian bore
‘From Canaan, in the wilderness receiv'd
‘His long lost brother. To the glittering court

‘ Of proud Busiris, captive Israel's scourge,
‘The sons of Amram speed; and in the name
‘Of great I AM, the Lord of Abraham, ask
‘Deliverance for his seed. “Hence, tell your God
“His people shall not go,” the tyrant cries;
‘When instant with his rod, the herald smites
‘Each river, pond, and fountain: where before
‘Flow'd water, limpid stream, huge lakes of blood
‘Stagnate o'er all the land. Seven days are pass'd,
‘And in his wonted channel once again
‘Rolls the pure element. But noisome frogs
‘Rise from the slimy soil, and even by night
‘Croak round their curtains in the hour of sleep,
‘Ill ominous. Next from the dust a swarm

‘Of creeping, and of winged insects rose,
‘Shadowing the face of noon. The pestilence
‘Consum'd their drooping herds, and beast, and man,
‘Were smitten sore. Heaven's adamantine gate
‘Flew open, and an hideous peal was heard
‘Of thunder mix'd with lightening, such as shook
‘The pillars of the world. Huge hail-stones smote
‘The verdant herb, and strip'd the mantling vine,
‘Laden with luscious grapes. The affrighted Prince
‘Relents; the heavens are calm'd. But soon his heart
‘Is sear'd; when all night long the east-wind blows
‘Impetuous, and to Egypt's ravag'd coasts
‘Wafts a black cloud of locusts: they, whate'er
‘The hail had spared, with blasting breath devour;

‘Nor on the trees, nor on the grass remains
‘Or leaf, or blade of green. Then Moses waves
‘His hand towards heaven, and o'er the afflicted land
‘Spreads darkness palpable. Three tedious days,
‘And three long nights in the same spot they sat,
‘Unseeing, and unseen. Yet, strange to tell,
‘Tho the proud king, and all his realm beside
‘Felt God's awaken'd ire, no ill assail'd
‘The sojourners of Goshen. And when soon
‘The Egyptians saw their first-born drench'd in gore,
‘The avenging angel pass'd o'er every house,
‘Where slept the tribes of Israel. Hence a feast
‘Sacrifical, memorial of that night,
‘Was yearly solemniz'd, while Judah yet
‘Was free; and shall again, if e'er they reach

‘The fields of promise. Terrour now subdues
‘The monarch's soul, and he who late forbad
‘His captives to depart, impatient speeds
‘Their march towards Canaan. Nathless he pursues
‘The fugitives. They on the red-sea coast
‘ By Pihahiroth old had pitch'd their tents,
‘When sudden from the west they heard the sound
‘Of chariots, and of horsemen. O'er the flood
‘Their gallant leader waves his wand, and lo!
‘The obedient waters part, and on dry land.
‘Safe thro the sea the sons of Jacob pass;
‘The tyrant follows; but the Arabian gulph
‘Shuts close, and swallows him with all his host.

‘And now o'er rock, o'er desart, vale, and plain,

‘By Marah's bitter waters, by the wells
‘Of palmy Elim , and the wilds of Sin ,
‘ Three months they journied, till they saw the heights
‘Of Horeb, and of Sinai. There did God
‘Display a scene of dread magnificence ;
‘He bow'd the heavens, and in a flaming fire
‘Descended from on high. The mountain felt
‘Unusual weight, and with convulsive throes
‘Shook to his center. O'er the top was spread
‘A dark thick cloud, and streams of smoke arose,
‘Wreathing their dusky volumes. Then 'gan sound
‘The trump of God; that trump, which none can blow
‘Beneath arch-angel's strength. And now the voice
‘Is louder, and yet louder, while the tribes

‘With new-wash'd garments, and unsandal'd feet
‘Fall prostrate on the ground. Mean-time their guide
‘Even on the summit of the burning hill
‘Held converse with the highest, and from his hand
‘Receiv'd two plates of stone, whereon were graven,
‘On either side, those everlasting laws,
‘Which none may break, and live. Here too he gave
‘ The pattern of an ark, where ay he dwelt,
‘While Israel, yet unsettled, spread his tents
‘On mountain, or in vale. Twice wan'd the moon ,
‘Nor Moses yet return'd. The impatient tribes
‘Demand a God; when Aaron, strange to tell,
‘Rears a grim idol, carv'd of fusil gold,
‘Such idol, as in Egypt's hated land

‘Their enemies ador'd. With dance, and song,
‘And festive shouts his frantic votaries hail
‘Their new deliverer, and ‘a God, a God,’
‘Each voice proclaims, while Horeb's cliffs resound
‘‘A God, a God.’ Now Moses, from the mount
‘Descending, heard the shouts of dissonance,
‘And on the rock the holy tablets dash'd ,
‘Indignant: o'er the water next he strew'd,
‘Ground to vile dust, their molten deity,
‘And made them stoop their base necks to the draught
‘Inglorious. Then he bade his Levites arm,
‘And each man thro the camp from gate to gate
‘ Slew brother, friend, companion; in that day
‘Three thousand fell. But God allay'd his wrath,

‘His honour satisfied; yet still denounc'd
‘Severest vengeance, should they e'er again
‘Bow down to ought created, or unite
‘In league of amity, or nuptial bond,
‘With base idolaters. How long they rov'd
‘The pathless desart; how the wanton nymphs
‘Of Midian drew them to the obscene rites
‘Of Peör; how the wasting pestilence
‘Consum'd their tribes; or how the solid earth
‘Clave where they stood, and buried in her womb
‘The leaders of sedition, Eliab's sons,
‘Behoves not now to tell. The promis'd land,
‘The nearer they approach the frontier line,
‘Retires still farther. So when late at eve

‘The traveller on some distant hill descries
‘An hospitable lodge, he thinks full soon
‘To rest his weary limbs; but strait appears
‘A valley interpos'd, which the slope earth
‘Foreshorten'd on his eye, and bids him haste,
‘For lo! the twilight melts away, and night
‘With hasty strides pursues him. In that land
‘Even Amram's son, the leader of the way,
‘Ne'er plac'd his foot; tho from the summit high
‘Of Pisgah, he survey'd the stately palms
‘Of Palæstine, the fig-trees, and the vines,
‘Which shew'd their clusters to the mid-day fun,
‘Rich cedar-groves, and every fir that crown'd
‘The brow of Lebanon. He saw, and died:
‘ The vale of Moab, by the ancient shrine

‘Of Peor receiv'd his bones; but never man
‘Could trace his sepulchre, lest Israël
‘Might hail him as a god, and at his tomb
‘Perform abominations. Howbeit him,
‘Favour'd of heaven so highly, Judah held
‘In holiest awe: to him the prophets bow'd;
‘His laws, his civil polity, his rites
‘Religious bound the tribes, while yet they till'd
‘The fields of promise; and if once again
‘Thy grace restore them to that pleasant land,
‘Graven on their foreheads shall his words be seen,
‘And the broad scroll even to their garments edge
‘Shall hang for a memorial. Moses dead,
‘ Full thirty days the afflicted Hebrews weep
‘Their lost deliverer. Yet without a guide

‘He left them not: to Joshua with one voice
‘ They vow'd obedience. He thro Jordan's stream ,
‘Which parted as they pass'd, conducted safe
‘The shouting Israelites, while in the midst
‘Firm on dry ground the anointed Levites stood,
‘Bearing the mystic ark. If ever chance
‘Shall lead thee to that unfrequented spot,
‘ Twelve stones, a sign to future times, will mark
‘The place, where forty thousand warriors pass'd
‘To claim their heritage. Then shook the kings
‘Of Canaan, and the Amorite presag'd
‘Destruction to his gods; then fell the walls
‘Of Jericho . In vain conspir'd the strength
‘Of Hebron, and of Lachish; Eglon's lord

‘In vain with Piram join'd confederate arms;
‘Keen was the sword of Joshua; heaven's high host
‘Beneath his banner fought; the moon, the sun ,
‘Stood still to hail his victory. From their cliffs
‘He swept the giant Anakim; and all
‘The country of the south, hill, valley, plain,
‘From Halak even to Hermon's dewy brow,
‘Obey'd the new possessors. To each tribe
‘ A portion was assign'd, save Levi's sons;
‘They, honour'd more than all, receiv'd their lot,
‘ An everlasting priesthood, and the tenth
‘Of fruits, of flocks was theirs. Twas theirs to waft
‘The fragrant incense to the gates of heaven,
‘And pour the victim's blood. Still much remain'd

‘Unconquer'd; often with their foes they strove,
‘Now victors, now subdued. Again they bow'd
‘To idols, Ashtaroth, and Baälim ,
‘And all the vanities of Syria,
‘Of Moab, and of Sidon. Then, ah! then,
‘The Ammonite smote their inglorious backs ,
‘Harness'd for fight; and, omen dire! the ark,
‘Pledge of God's covenant with his chosen seed,
‘Siez'd by Philistia's troops, adorn'd the shrine
‘Of Dagon. But not long; the molten beast,
‘Aw'd by his presence, on whose seat he sat
‘Usurping power celestial, from the height
‘Down dropt; his sever'd head, and mangled palms
‘Lay prostrate on the ground. Then quaked the priests
‘Of Ashdod; and to Gath, and Ekron, first,

‘Thence to Bethshemesh , where the landmark stands
‘Parting the fields of Dan from Judah's lot,
‘Convey'd the fatal prize. Now Samuel pray'd;
‘On the bright fire a spotless victim smoak'd ,
‘Whose odour, sweeter than the scented gale
‘From blest Arabia's groves, in eddying wreaths
‘Ascended. Soon he heard the thunder roar
‘O'er Philistæan tents, and saw them flee
‘Gor'd by the trenchant blade of Israel,
‘With hideous rout confounded. Him, while yet
‘A child, Jehovah call'd, and thrice pronounc'd
‘His name. Twas hence he learnt in earliest youth
‘The sacred ministry, and knew full well
‘The rites of sacrifice, and when the hour
‘To seeth the flesh, and when to burn the fat,

‘Or feed with oil the unextinguish'd lamps.
‘Him Israel honour'd long; till prone to change,
‘ ‘ Give us some man of war, the murmurers cried,
‘ ‘Some king to fight our battles.’ Sore he sigh'd,
‘For in prophetic vision he foresaw
‘The miseries of his country. On the head
‘Of towering Saul he pour'd the imperial oil ,
‘While all the shouting tribes with loud acclaim
‘Hail their elected monarch. He, thus rais'd
‘By God's especial choice, forgot the hand
‘That rais'd him; happier, had he still remain'd
‘Amidst the humble tents of Benjamin
‘Unknowing, and unknown: for dark distrust,
‘Suspicion, melancholy, and black despair
‘Prey'd on his spirit; and his crown was wove

‘With sharper thorns, than tear the mangled flesh,
‘The tenters of the soul. With adverse fate
‘Long time he struggled, till on Gilboa's mount
‘With his three sons Philistia saw him fall,
‘Then nail'd to Bethshan's gate his streaming trunk,
‘And with his arms, her trophies, deck'd the shrine
‘Of horned Ashtaroth. The vacant throne
‘Was fill'd by Jesse's son, heaven's favour'd prince,
‘David. To him the promise was renew'd,
‘Long since to Abraham given, that in his seed
‘All nations should be blest. Twas he that slew
‘Proud Gath's gigantic champion, when his voice,
‘Loud as the roaring of a whirlwind's blast,
‘Defied the armies of the living God.

‘He too, when Amalek pour'd on the south, ,
‘Repell'd the bold invader. Forty years
‘He sway'd the sceptre, and his banner wav'd
‘O'er all the promis'd land. Sion to him
‘Her fortress yielded: there he plac'd the ark ,
‘That sojourn'd long in Gibeah, and with dance,
‘And song, and instrumental melody,
‘Proclaim'd a sacrifice. For who like him
‘Could touch the strings of viol, or of harp,
‘Whether in fuller strains he rous'd the soul
‘To gallant feats of war, or with soft airs
‘Drew from each eye the involuntary tear,
‘The tear of sympathy. But not to him
‘Was destin'd to erect a nobler shrine,

‘A mansion for his God. His sapient heir,
‘(Whose wisdom far excell'd whate'er the east,
‘Or Egypt, birth-place of ingenious arts,
‘Could boast; to whom the sons of Zerah bow'd,
‘Eman, and Darda; who could call each tree ,
‘Each beast, each insect by his name, and mark
‘Their separate properties;) this glorious work,
‘Model'd in heaven, and for his hands reserv'd,
‘ Rear'd on the mount of Moriah. There it stood,
‘And might have yet defied the rage of time,
‘The waste of centuries. From Lebanon
‘Ten thousand fellers hew'd the knotty trunk ,
‘Cedar, and fir; and when the new moon shot
‘Her feeble rays, ten thousand others came

‘In regular succession. On broad floats
‘The Tyrian monarch bound the polish'd beams,
‘Carv'd by Sidonian artists, and receiv'd
‘Each year rich stores of corn, and oil, and wine,
‘The merchandize of Canaan. Nor mean time
‘Did twice two thousand axes cease to cleave
‘The mountain's side, and from its center scoop
‘Huge blocks of marble, and of porphyry,
‘The temple's deep foundation. That secur'd,
‘ Seven summers roll'd away, when now the shrine
‘Uprear'd his awful head. Should I report
‘Each separate part, the pillars, palms, and flowers ,
‘The doors of olive, and the Cherubim
‘Which spread their wings of gold; should I unfold
‘The wealth, the glories of that stately pile,

‘The day would fail me, tho the sun not yet
‘Hath reach'd his middle course. But not for that,
‘Nor for ought else which earthly pride can boast,
‘Flow Judah's tears perennial; but that there
‘Jehovah dwelt, that there he deign'd appear
‘In visible effulgence. Could we raise
‘Another pile, tho Syria shall refuse
‘Her cedars, nor Sidonian artists carve
‘The dædal figures, tho nor solid bulk,
‘Nor space, dimension'd out in round and square,
‘Shall vye with what is lost; yet there, even there,
‘By fervent prayer, and frequent sacrifice
‘Invok'd, who knows but God may still reside,
‘And in compassion to our weaker sight
‘The unclouded blaze of his divinity
‘Temper with mildest rays? A solemn feast

‘Shall testify our joy, such as was held
‘Two weeks from Hamath to the Memphian stream,
‘When Solomon before the altar rais'd
‘His eyes to heaven, and in the oracle
‘Bade Zadock gently lay the vagrant ark,
‘The covenant of redemption. But his heart
‘Eftsoons by Gentile harlots was estrang'd
‘From him, to whom his altar smoak'd with clouds
‘Of never-ceasing incense: nor could all
‘His former wisdom, heaven-inspir'd, forbid
‘The doting monarch on the opprobrious hill
‘To build an high place for the rights impure
‘Of Moab, and of Sidon. Hence, when he
‘Slept with his fathers, God arose, and rent

‘The kingdom from his son. Ten tribes retired ,
‘And form'd a separate nation. Sion still
‘Remain'd to David's heir; and from that hour
‘Rais'd from one stock two sovereign thrones appear'd,
‘Israel, and Judah. With enchanted spells,
‘And magic divination, Israel rais'd
‘ A grove, and worship'd all the host of heaven.
‘ Hence soon their conqueror from Samaria, scene
‘Of all their horrid mysteries, remov'd
‘The wretched vagabonds; and in their stead
‘Planted a motley crew, the sons of Cuth,
‘Hamath, and Ava, with the worshippers
‘Of fierce Adramelech. Had Judah, warn'd
‘By Israel's doom, tho late, obey'd her God,
‘Thou hadst not seen us here, an exil'd race,

‘Imploring aid from thee. Yet some, who sat
‘On David's throne, averted for a while
‘Cælestial vengeance. Asa first, who tore
‘The crown imperial from his mother's brow ,
‘Idolatrous Maächah. Then, endued
‘With all the pious fervour of his sire ,
‘Jehosaphat: and Joas next, preserv'd
‘In infancy from Athalia's rage;
‘And Jotham . Nor unnotic'd be the name
‘ Of Hezekiah. He with lifted ax
‘Level'd the groves, where oft at night's still hour
‘With hideous noise their frantic votaries howl'd
‘To devils. He, when doom'd to death, by prayer
‘Suspended God's own mandate; and, a pledge

‘Of lengthen'd life, on the fix'd dial saw
‘The shade retire full ten degrees of heaven.
‘Josiah still remain'd, predicted heir
‘Of David's royal house. Him all the priests,
‘Prophets, and people, heard with awful voice
‘Renew the covenant. He from idols purg'd
‘Each valley, and each hill; and rear'd a pile,
‘Where blaz'd the crackling chariots of the sun ,
‘Offerings of Judah's kings. Could ever man
‘Have chang'd the immutable decrees of heaven,
‘Josiah had prevail'd. But vengeance now
‘Was ripe; in war the patriot monarch fell,
‘Slain at Megiddo by barbarian hands;
‘Nor did his sons escape the victor's rage,

‘Bound with inglorious chains. And now approach'd
‘The fatal hour, when hostile fire should wreath
‘Its dusky smoak o'er Sion's darken'd brow.
‘What tho her holy priests foretold the fate
‘Of lost Jerusalem; what tho her seers
‘In vision, or extatic trance, beheld
‘The appointed day; the perverse tribes despised
‘Their warning voice, and, from their God estrang'd,
‘Wallow'd in foul pollution. But his wrath,
‘Tho long defer'd, was terrible. Even now
‘I hear the shouts, and neighing of the steeds ,
‘When round her walls the fierce Chaldæan rang'd
‘His unresisted legions: yet I see
‘The madness of despair, the pale dismay
‘Which spread o'er every face. Can I forget,

‘Tho then a child, O can I e'er forget
‘The shrieks, the groans, and unavailing prayers,
‘Which God not deign'd to hear? Mean time the streets
‘Were fill'd with armed troops, thro every gate
‘Thick swarming: down they tear the marble towers,
‘Which crown the walls ; great David's first, where hang
‘A thousand bucklers, useless now, and vain,
‘Once shields of mighty men. Huge stones obstruct
‘Siloa's clear fount, and Cedron, rapid brook,
‘Tho swoln by sudden rains, forgets to flow.

‘And now the sons of rapine hasten up
‘The everlasting hill, and, dire to tell!
‘With impious step profane the holy shrine,
‘Nor spare the mystic veil. In vain the priests
‘Oppose their feeble strength; in vain they strive

‘To save the sacred vessels of their God
‘From hands idolatrous: in heaps they throw
‘The golden cups, the gems of richest hues,
‘Jasper, and amethyst: the purple robes,
‘The breast-plate, crown, and ephod. O'er them stands
‘A chosen troop, whose falchions wave around,
‘And guard their prey. Meanwhile the loud laments
‘Of matrons, and of virgins, rend the air:
‘They on the altar hang, or clasp their arms
‘Round every pillar; scarce the uplifted sword
‘Can drive the mourners from the courts they love.

‘This done, the victor by the trumpet's voice
‘Commands, that thro the eastern gate be led
‘The tribes of vanquish'd Solyma, who fill
‘The winding vale, a piteous spectacle,
‘Men, women, helpless infants, hoary seers,

‘Prepar'd for banishment. With downcast eye
‘In silent grief the captive monarch stands,
‘Abash'd. His faithful consort by his side
‘With louder shrieks bewails her bitter lot.
‘His princes next, and all the attendant train,
‘The pageants of his court: the men of might,
‘Valiant in war, seven thousand. Nor is left
‘Whoe'er can labour at the burning forge,
‘Tempering the fusil ore, or rear the pile,
‘Or carve the fretted moulding. All the hinds
‘Unskill'd in finer arts, untrain'd to fight,
‘The Babylonian conqueror bids remain;
‘But not for pity: from the deep-sunk well
‘To draw fresh water, with incessant toil
‘To cleave the wood, to lop the spreading vine,
‘To till the soil, is theirs, in Canaan slaves,

‘As we in Babylon. The sign was given,
‘And up the hill we pac'd our destin'd way
‘With slow, and weary step; from whose broad brow,
‘Smitten by general sympathy, we turn'd
‘To cast one lingering look, a last farewell,
‘On lost Jerusalem. The house of God,
‘The temple blaz'd with fire: the horizon shone
‘With sacrilegious flames; and peals of joy
‘Were wafted from the savage clans below,
‘Arm'd with infernal brands. Again we turn,
‘And onward hasten, as with eager step
‘We fled from dire pollution. Many a hill,
‘And many a stream we pass'd: nor ceas'd the while
‘Our conquerors with opprobrious jeer malign
‘To insult our sacred miseries, and with thongs
‘Of pliant leather, or close-twisted cord,

‘To drive us on reluctant. Bow'd with age,
‘Or worn with toil, and sorrow, many fell
‘All lifeless on the ground; no friendly hand
‘Perform'd their parting obsequies; but birds
‘Obscene, and ravenous beasts devour'd their bones.
‘The rest, less happy fugitives, the gates
‘Of Babylon receiv'd. What happen'd since
‘From Gobryas thou hast heard, no common tale,
‘A tale at once of wonder, and of woe.’

Thus Daniel spake, and once again implor'd
That Judah might return; then ceas'd; when thus
Spake Cyrus, wiping from his eye a tear,
And bending graceful from his golden throne.

‘Go, and your God be with you; nor delay
‘To build another temple. In that house
‘Again shall all those ornaments be rang'd,

‘Which, as ye say, Nebassar hither brought.
‘To thee, O Daniel, shall be given whate'er
‘Remains of brass, of silver, or of gold,
‘In weight, and number. To thy care, and these
‘Who wait attendant, heroes, as I guess,
‘Of no mean race, full gladly I consign
‘This glorious enterprise. Among your tribes
‘If any dare refuse obedience due,
‘Your own laws judge him. Go; and when ye build
‘A shrine on Sion's hill, and call your God
‘With morning prayer, and evening sacrifice,
‘To smile on Israel's race, remember me.’

END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

Gen. xi. 31.

Genesis xii. 6.

Gen. xv. 18.

Gen. xiv. 13.

Gen. xxi. 2.

Gen. xxiv. 3.

Mesopotamia.

Gen. xxiv. 61.

Gen. xxv. 24.

Ibid. 25.

Ibid. 27.

Ibid. 28.

Gen. xxxvi. 8.

Ibid. 40.

Gen. xxxii. 28.

Gen. xv. 5.

Gen. xlii. 5.

Gen. xli. 1–7.

Ibid. 48.

Gen. xlvii. 27.

Ibid. 6.

Exod. i. 11.

Ibid. 16–22.

Ibid. 24.

Exod. ii. 6.

Acts vii. 22.

Exod. iv. 27.

Exod. v. 1.

Exod. iii. 14.

Exod. vii. 20.

Exod. viii. 6.

Ibid. 24.

Exod. ix. 6–11.

Ibid. 23.

Ibid. 25.

Ibid. 27.

Exod. x. 13.

Exod. x. 22. 23.

Exod. xii. 29.

Exod. xii. 31.

Exod. xiv. 6.

Ibid. 9.

Ibid. 21.

Ibid. 28.

Exod. xv. 23.

Ibid. 27.

Exod. xvi. 1.

Exod. xix. 1.

Ibid. 16.

Ibid. 10.

Exod. xxxi. 18.

Exod. xxv. 10.

Exod. xxiv. 18.

Exod. xxxii. 4.

Exod. xxxii. 19, 20.

Ibid. 27.

Exod. xxxiv. 12–16.

Numbers xxv. 18.

Numb. xiv. 37.

Numb. xvi. 31.

Deut. xxxiv. I.

Ibid. 5, 6.

Matthew xxiii. 5.

Deut. xxxiv. 8.

Josh. i. 16.

Josh. iii. 14, 17.

Josh. iv. 6, 7.

Ibid. 13.

Josh. v. 1.

Joshua vi. 20.

Josh. x. 5.

Josh. x. 13.

Josh. xi. 21.

Ibid. 17.

Josh. xiii. 7.

Ibid. 14.

Judges x. 6.

Ibid. 9.

1 Sam. v. 3–5.

1 Sam. vi. 12.

Sam. vii. 9.

1 Sam. iii. 8.

1 Sam. ii. 18.

1 Sam. viii. 5.

1 Sam. x. 1.

2 Sam. i. 21.

1 Sam. xxxi. 10.

2 Sam. ii. 4.

1 Sam. xvii. 20.

1 Sam. xxx. 1.

1 Kings ii. 11.

2 Sam. v. 7.

2 Sam. vi. 12.

1 Chron. ii. 6.

1 Kings iv. 33.

1 Kings vi. 14.

1 Kings v. 14.

1 Kings v. 9–11.

1 Kings vi. 38.

Ibid. passim.

1 Kings viii. 65.

Ibid. 6.

1 Kings xi. 4–8.

1 Kings xii. 20.

1 Kings xviii. 19.

2 Kings xvii. 23.

1 Kings xv. 13.

2 Chron. xvii. 3.

2 Chron. xxii. 11.

2 Chron. xxvii. 2.

2 Kings xviii. 4.

2 Kings xx. 11.

1 Kings xiii. 2.

2 Kings xxiii. 3.

Ibid. 11.

2 Kings xxiii. 29.

2 Kings xxiv. xxv, passim.

Cantic. iv. 4.

BOOK V.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

Othniel still endeavours to sow sedition among the tribes —They are check'd by Daniel—Othniel stoned—a description of that punishment—The Jews, rang'd under their several chiefs, prepare for their departure—Night comes on—The Angel Gabriel appears to Daniel, and informs him that he must continue in Babylon—He takes leave of the Jews—who set out, and pitch their tents beyond the vale of Semiramis, in Mesopotamia—An old man meets them—his story—They set out from thence, and arrive at Haran—erect a pillar—Misael's sickness, death, and burial.

Meanwhile with insult rude, and clamorous threats,
Even at the gate, impatient for the event,
Stands Othniel, breathing vengeance on the head
Of every Jewish chief. Scarce had their shouts
Proclaim'd the imperial edict, when loud cries,
And shrieks, and savage hisses, interrupt
The voice of glad deliverance. Yet, (so vice
Ay shrinks appall'd if virtue deign appear,)
Still silence thro the ranks, when Daniel
Stood like the ambassador of heaven, proclaim'd
His worth superiour: not the faintest breath
Pass'd thro that rabble rout, so valiant late,

So abject now. As when the luscious juice
Of Antigonian, or Barbadian cane,
Forc'd by alchymic heat, in eddying waves
Heaves to the caldron's brim; if chance the fat
Of newly slaughter'd ox, or unctuous caul
Torn from the bleeding swine, on the hot lake
Be cast, at once the boiling sea subsides,
And smooths his level surface; so the herd,
The clamorous host of Othniel, crouch'd at once
Beneath their prophet's eye. But when he spake
Of Judah's glory, and of Sion's fame,
Tears unrestrain'd of sorrow, shame, and joy,
Shame for past ills, and joy for future good,
Burst forth. The very dastards, who but late
Fear'd every peril of the way, the sons
Of earliest childhood, women, who even now

At Othniel's call join'd their confederate tongues,
With patriot zeal inflam'd, all, all forsake
Their chief, and to the prophet stretch their arms,
Impatient of his frown. As when a peal
Of rattling thunder shakes, or seems to shake,
The pillars of the world, and the fork'd flash
Impetuous darting from the riven cloud,
To some tall pyramid, or magazine
Fraught with the stores of war, directs its speed;
If once the electric rod, invention rare
Of later ages, intercept its rage,
Far from the threaten'd pile the obedient fire
Flies diverse; so the troops, determin'd, firm
Of purpose, chang'd at once their fix'd resolves,
Even at the waving of their prophet's hand.

But Othniel, foe to peace, whose soul was form'd

For dark sedition, still with artful phrase
Pour'd his fell poison in the general ear,
And dar'd, now bolder grown, blaspheme the name
Of Sion, and her king. ‘Traytor, and slave,’
Kindling with holy rage, the indignant seer
Exclaim'd, ‘thy life shall pay the forfeit due
‘To Judah's injur'd Lord. Ye know the law;
‘Nor tho it lay obscur'd, have seventy years
‘Impair'd its force;’ “who curses God, shall die ”.

He spake, and instant thro the western gate,
Thence to the stream, a thousand Hebrews drag
Their trembling champion. By the offender's blood,
An easy sacrifice, each hopes to wash
His proper guilt away. In vain he strives
To sooth the former partners of his crime,

And calls to their remembrance every pledge
Of friendship, every vow of amity,
That link'd them to each other: they nor hear
Nor melt with social sympathy. Tis zeal,
Tis zeal for Sion, and Jehovah's name,
That hurries on to vengeance. But the seer
Controuls the tumult of their lawless rage,
And tells them, that no penalty is due,
Where, unsupported by clear evidence,
Vague rumour spreads the tale. Forthwith advance
Zabdiel, and Azareel: they from the sons
Of Elam, and of Arah, boast their race,
And with full testimony soon confront
The self-convicted Othniel. Him precedes
A herald, and proclaims his name, his crime,

His punishment. Not far from where the dyke
Receiv'd the averted stream, a mound appears
Rais'd from the crumbling soil, but harden'd now
To firm consistence by the winter's frost.
Here from devoted Othniel first they strip
His gaudy trappings; then with pliant thongs
Bind fast his arms, and up the steep hill drag
Their trembling prisoner. Meanwhile flinty stones,
Projecting angular in many a point
Appall the victim's soul: cold dew-drops ooze
From every pore; faint are his languid limbs;
Quick throbs his heart; and o'er his swimming eyes
A dark mist spreads. Now fear had well-nigh quench'd
His lamp of life, when Zabdiel from the height
Full on the convex of the stony bed

Dash'd his unvested loins. A fragment huge,
Fit for the corner of some Doric fane,
Indignant Azareel with all his might
Heav'd from the earth, and hurl'd the ponderous mass
Precipitate. On Othniel's breast it fell,
Whom now insensible to all their rage,
Thick as the pelting hail in Autumn's hour,
A stony shower assails, hurl'd from the arms
Of twice two thousand slingsmen. Thus entomb'd
They leave the mangled corse; example dire
Of legal punishment to Judah's sons.

And now whate'er may suit their destin'd way,
Flocks, herds, and neighing steeds, and instruments
Metallic, brass, or iron, to seethe the flesh,
Or broil on living coals, fresh garments, work'd
In Babylonia's looms, and what besides

May shield their limbs, dissolv'd in balmy sleep,
From dews, or nipping frosts, the tribes prepare.
But first the holy vessels, late profan'd
By hands unhallow'd, now again restor'd,
In separate heaps they place. Strait o'er the plain,
Whitening the ground, their canvass tents are spread,
Where forty thousand men of Judah stand
In ten divisions. They ten chiefs obey
With unreluctant service: Jeshua first,
And young Zorobabel, and Misael, green
In hoary years; and Nehemiah; next
Baanah, Bilshan, Mispar, Mordecai,
And Sanabassar, and the reverend age
Of Ananiah. Danïel prescribes
To each his rank, his order, and o'er all

Extends his general care. Now Hesper lights
His evening torch, and summons all the tribes
To early rest; for tedious is their way,
And long their march to Sion. Worn with joy,
As oft with grief before, their spirits sink,
And nature from the tumult of the soul
Seeks respite, seeks repose. Even Daniel's eyes
Which oft held converse with the twinkling stars,
Are seal'd: when at the latest hour of night,
Sent from the bright empyreal, at his head
Stands Gabriel, and with mildest whisper, soft
As unembodied seraphs breathe in heaven,
Accosts the slumbering prophet. But tho soft,
Yet piercing was the sound: for Daniel, rous'd
From sleep, knew well the sweet celestial voice,
Once heard before; and starting from his couch

Knelt with due reverence to the angelic power,
Whom Gabriel gently raising, thus began.

‘Kneel not to me; tho this dark atmosphere,
‘Tho these gross elements inthrall thy soul,
‘While we unmanacled from world to world
‘Bear the sage mandates of our mighty Lord,
‘ I am thy fellow-servant; and in heaven,
‘As thou on earth, perform the high behests
‘Of him, whose potent, and prolific word
‘Call'd from the womb of unessential night
‘Thy race, and mine. Even now to thee I bear
‘No welcome message. To their destin'd home
‘Safe shall the tribes return: On Sion's hill
‘Again another temple shall arise,
‘And clouds of incense shall again perfume
‘The rescued mount of God. But not to thee,

‘But not to thee, O Daniel, is it given
‘To share these happy scenes, nor ever more
‘To see Jerusalem. In Babylon
‘Tis thine to wait with resignation mild,
‘Till God shall call thee to a happier home.
‘Ask not the cause; amid the dark decrees
‘Of providence 'tis hid from mortal sight.
‘Farewell; 'tis God commands; obey, and live.

He spake, and ere the prophet could reply,
The radiant minister had pass'd the gate
Hewn from one solid pearl, thro which the sun
Cloath'd with the majesty of light, now 'gan
His eastern march. At his approach, the tribes
Impatient of delay, round all their chiefs
Croud frequent, and to Daniel's tent repair.

Tho doom'd, God's high command, no more to see
His native land, with smile benign he comes,
Observes their eager haste, and thus begins.

‘Still must ye stay, tho harness'd for your march,
‘Till that soft grassy board be pil'd with food,
‘Your morning's strong repast. Nor fear, my friends;
‘Safe shall ye come to Salem, hallow'd name,
‘And build another shrine. But not to me,
‘As once I deem'd, is given to guide your feet,
‘And lead you to each favour'd spot, where once
‘I rov'd in earliest youth. The pleasant fields
‘Of Solyma, and Jordan, sacred stream,
‘Ne'er shall I visit more. Last night, when sleep
‘Had seal'd mine eyes, a minister of heaven
‘Pierc'd my rapt sense; still vibrates on mine ear
‘The sound celestial:’ “To their destin'd home

“Safe shall the tribes return: on Sion's hill
“Again another temple shall arise,
“And clouds of incense shall again perfume
“The rescued mount of God. But not to thee,
“But not to thee, O Daniel, is it given
“To share these happy scenes, nor ever more
“To see Jerusalem. In Babylon
“Tis thine to wait with resignation mild,
“Till God shall call thee to a happier home.
“Ask not the cause; amid the dark decrees
“Of providence 'tis hid from mortal sight.
“Farewell; 'tis God commands; obey, and live.”

Thus while he spake, from every Jewish eye
The tepid tear of soft affection ran
Impetuous. Nathless they prepare to seethe
The flesh, or broil it on the living coals,

And knead the unleaven'd dough. Not with more speed
Their fathers eat the paschal sacrifice,
For hasty flight prepar'd, with girded loins,
Staves, scrips, and sandal'd feet. And now they stand
In separate squadrons: Babylonia's sons
With admiration mark their eager joy;
While Daniel with many a fond embrace
Hangs on his parting friends, and bids to all
A long, a last adieu; and as they march,
The sage ascends the mount whence Othniel fell,
And thence with far-stretch'd ken pursues their steps,
Till their rear lessens on his aching eye,
While northward by Euphrates, barrier stream,
They bend their way. For to the west is spread
The rocky desart vast; nor dare they pass

Unhappy Araby, tho Tadmor raise
Her towers imperial in the wild, tho there
The Uzzite, purg'd in sore affliction's fire,
Water'd his flocks. And now full many a league
Beyond that wall, which erst Semiramis
Drew from the Tigris even to Perath's bank,
They march. Their tents are pitch'd; around them croud
Mesopotamia's sons, and wondering ask
‘What cause hath led this formidable host
‘From Babylonia's frontiers? Tis not war;
‘For neither sword beams on their puissant thighs,
‘Nor spear darts lightening from their lifted hands.
‘Perhaps from some inhospitable clime
‘This horde is driven, and seeks in richer fields
‘A fair inheritance. Yet flocks, and herds,
‘And ponderous vessels wrought in figur'd gold,

‘Mark not a vagrant crew; strange is their dress,
‘Their accent, and their worship.’ While they spake
A hoary-headed sage advanc'd, and seem'd
Rapt in seraphic vision. In his soul
Love, joy, surprise, and reverence, mixt at once,
O'erpower'd his feeble frame, and down he dropt,
As on the solid earth a dead corps falls,
His faculties entranc'd. Nor long he lay,
Till wak'd as from a dream, he threw his eyes
In extacy round all the populous host,
And thus in Hebrew phrase the sage began.

‘Are ye indeed return'd? or does my sight,
‘Now dim with years, betray me? Have ye left
‘The land of slavery, where full seventy years
‘Have seen you toil, if right I guess, beneath
‘Imperious masters? Hail, my friends; all hail

‘O Benjamin, and Judah! may your God
‘Safe to the sacred hill conduct you home!
‘And O for pity in your tents receive
‘One worn by toil, by banishment and care,
‘A partner of your way! should ye refuse
‘This only boon, my grey hairs will ye bring
‘With sorrow to the grave’. He spake, he wept;
When thus Zorobabel. ‘Whoe'er thou art,
‘O venerable sire, accept this hand,
‘Pledge of my faith. Too long inur'd to ill,
‘We've learnt one lesson in affliction's school,
‘To pity, to relieve, another's woe.
‘Myself will guard thee; in the day I'll guide
‘Thy ductile steed; and when the stars arise,
‘In mine own tent thy aged limbs shall rest,
‘Safe from the dews of night. But say, O say,

‘(For admiration sits on every face,)
‘Whence, and what art thou? in this foreign land
‘Why speak'st thou in the tongue of Sion's sons?
‘How know'st thou that from Babylon we came,
‘And hasten back to Salem? Art thou what
‘Thou seem'st? or rather, some etherial spirit
‘Sent in the reverend form of hoary age
‘To lead us on our way?’ He ceas'd; and thus
The bearded ancient, bending low, replied.

‘Tho here ye see me in these wretched weeds
‘Of poverty, and exile, I was born
‘To wealth, to honours, in my native land;
‘Nor was I, tho a youth, unknown in war,
‘While yet that land was free. Jerusalem,
‘Dear lost Jerusalem, recorded once
‘My name, my martial prowess. But in vain;

‘God's wrath was ripe, and Babylonia's arms,
‘Too well ye know, prevail'd. What boots it now
‘To paint the fatal scene, when from the fields
‘Of promise, as a herd from Basan's hill,
‘Nebassar drove the tribes? the common lot
‘Was mine; and with my new-espoused wife,
‘Sweet as the rose of Sharon, to the yoke
‘I bow'd my neck, and with her bore the taunts
‘Of rude barbarians. Cruel was their scorn,
‘And sore their stripes; but sad necessity
‘Forbad me to repine. At length one night,
‘Fatigued with heat and toil, asleep we lay,
‘When two base ruffians, (still my soul recoils
‘With horrour,) whom our conqueror had plac'd
‘To guard us on the way, approach'd the bed
‘Of chaste connubial love, and first with wiles,

‘Then with brute force assail'd my struggling wife.
‘I started; and at one blow (mighty God,
‘Judge me, if thus provok'd I could resist,)
‘I cleft one vile assassin to the ground:
‘His comrade fled. Thus left, and dreading worse
‘Than death their brutal lust, with speedy step
‘I hasten'd to a wood, where ravenous beasts
‘Howl'd hideous. Dark the night; the moon had hid
‘Her beams; and not a glimmering star appear'd
‘Thro all the expanse of heaven. Yet still I sooth'd
‘The trembling, dear companion of my flight,
‘And hand in hand thro brake, and tangled briar,
‘We forc'd our uncouth way. Now peep'd the dawn,
‘And in the forest's depth an hollow cave,
‘Scoop'd in the bosom of the solid earth,
‘Receiv'd us. Lonely was the spot; brown leaves,

‘Which the rough wind had scatter'd on the ground,
‘We pil'd, and with a huge and massy stone
‘Conceal'd our dark retreat. Nor long we lay,
‘Till o'er our heads we heard the rattling noise
‘Of horses, and of hunters. Soon the sound
‘Of Babylonian language pierc'd our ear;
‘And even our names were ecchoed thro the wood
‘With threats of bitter vengeance. Evening shades
‘Drove, as I deem, (for all was night to us)
‘The Assyrians to their tents, nor dar'd we yet
‘Unbar the murky mansion. From the cave
‘At length I heav'd the stone, resolv'd to try
‘What food, what living stream the wood might yield.
‘Up rose my wife, tho faint, and with me pac'd
‘The solitary wild. Long time we roam'd
‘In silence; looks, not words, reveal'd at once

‘Our anguish, and our love. Thus wandering on,
‘With berries and with acorns, wretched food,
‘Tho then our sole repast, four tedious days
‘We scarce sustain'd a miserable life:
‘The fifth, (not seventy summers from my soul
‘Have blotted out the memory of that day,)
‘The fifth, (O stop my tears,) my faithful friend,
‘My wife, subdued by hunger, and by toil,
‘Fell breathless at my feet. On me was fix'd
‘Her last expiring glance, and seem'd to say
‘Why wilt thou let me die? All day, all night,
‘I strove to call her gentle spirit back:
‘In vain; the angel minister of death
‘Had seal'd her eyes for ever. With these hands
‘I dug the earth, and in her bosom laid
‘All that my soul held dear. Beside her grave

‘Forthwith, twas all I could, I plac'd a branch
‘Torn from some oak, or elm, memorial sad
‘To guide my feet to that sequester'd spot
‘Where slept my lost companion. Now I left
‘The wood, (for what has misery to fear?)
‘And to that plain, whence late I fled, return'd.
‘Twas silence all; the Assyrian host was gone
‘With Judah's mourning prisoners. Tho I knew
‘The victor's wrath was cruel, yet forlorn,
‘Deserted, bar'd from all society,
‘It griev'd me to be left, even by the foes
‘Who sought to slay me. And my brother too,
‘Friend of my earliest years, was gone to serve
‘The insulting conqueror, who perchance requir'd
‘His life for mine, or with severer toil
‘And cruelty refin'd, his tender age

‘Bow'd down with care, and misery. To these walls
‘I came; since which I've drudg'd, a patient slave,
‘In every menial office. Oft I cleave
‘The stubborn wood, or delve the restive soil,
‘Or trench the vineyard. Yet midst all my cares
‘To no false idol have I pour'd a vow;
‘Nor ever was my soul one hour estrang'd
‘From Sion, and Jehovah. Ye have heard
‘My tale; too long indeed, but age will claim
‘This privilege: one thing only I forgot;
‘My name is Phanuel.’ Tears long time had roll'd
Down Ananiah's cheek; his heart had heav'd
With more than common sympathy: but when
He heard the stranger's name, in haste he rose,
And falling on old Phanuel's neck, exclaim'd,
‘My brother, O my brother!’ Now they wept,

And mix'd their hoary heads, and hoary beards,
Clasp'd in each other's arms. So on the top
Of huge Garganus, or within thy groves,
Chaonia, dripping with etherial dew
Stand two coæval venerable oaks,
And join their social branches; deep in earth
Fix'd are their roots; their heads are lost in heaven.

Now onward they advance. Old Phanuel joins
The exulting tribes. Ten days they march, nor cease,
Hymning triumphal songs, to chear their way,
Till Haran, and the fields by ancient Luz
Invite them to refresh their weary flocks
With shade, and herbage sweet. There was a well
Sunk deep in earth, where hewn in solid stone
An old trough stood, the rude unpolish'd work
Of earliest times. Twas here Rebecca met

The messenger of Abraham, when she stoop'd
Her pitcher to his draught. Here Jacob saw
Fair Rachel lead her sheep. Now paus'd the tribes;
And kneeling round the trough with reverence due
Each quaff'd the stream, remembring, as he drank,
His great progenitor. The flocks, the herds,
The steeds deep laden slake their parching thirst.
Here too appears the stone, where Isaac's son
Pillow'd his head, what time in dream he saw
The angelic host, and heard the voice of God
Prophetic. Bethel thence the place was nam'd
To future generations. Here they raise
A pillar, on whose side they carve the hour
Of Sion's glad redemption; nor forget
To consecrate the top with holy oil,

Memorial of their way. Here too the names
Of every chief, who led the obedient tribes,
Recorded stand, to everlasting fame
Fit monument. Impatient of delay
Soon they prepare to march, when all at once
Old Misael bows with age; his eyes grow dim;
His vital lamp burns feebly; yet a smile
Of sweet complacence still o'erspreads his face,
Wet with the dews of death. ‘Leave me,’ he cries,
‘Leave me, my sons; nor one short hour delay
‘Your march to Salem. If I'm summon'd hence
‘Or e'er ye go, O lay me by the bones
‘Of Nahor, and of Terah! place me where
‘The father of our faithful patriarch sleeps.
‘I could have wish'd to see Jerusalem,
‘And hide my grey hairs in that sacred earth

‘Whence first I sprung; but tis not so ordain'd;
‘And here, or there, thy will, O God, be done!’

He spake; he died; an universal groan
Was heard; when Jeshua blew the silver trump,
And instant thro the afflicted ranks proclaim'd
A fast. Twas solemn silence: down they sat
In sackcloth, and in ashes. On that day
To slay the sheep, or bake the kneaded dough,
Were sacrilege. Now on the clay-cold corse
Zorobabel fell prostrate. Thrice he kiss'd
His venerable face, and thrice perfum'd
His limbs, first wash'd, with aromatic oils ,
Balsam, and spikenard. Had the law remain'd
With all its rites, seven days had pass'd, before
The mourning friends of Misael had been cleans'd

From foul pollution. Had an heifer now
Been offer'd to their God, the running stream
Pour'd on the smoking ashes, had purg'd off
Each spot, contracted in the unholy tent,
Where death had spread his pestilential blast
Invisible. And now with beards close shorn
They raise the bier, and to a neighbouring hill
Whose unrelenting side, with axe, and spade
Was scoop'd, a rocky sepulchre, convey
All that remains of Misael. At the mouth
Stands Jeshua: he with decent awe receives,
And deep within the fresh-hewn cavern lays
His faithful counsellor. Meanwhile are heard
Symphonious hymns, and solemn notes of woe,
Now long protracted, interrupted now
With silent pause. Nor fail they to record

His resolute courage, and his constant faith
In Babylonian land; and how he cheer'd
Their drooping souls, and taught them to defy
Belshazzar, and his God. Now evening dims
The face of heaven, and night with printless step
Close in her rear comes hastening. Jeshua waves
His hand; they cease; and to their several tents
Silent, and sad, the pensive tribes return.

THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

Levit. xxiv. 16.

Deut. xvii. 6.

Deut. xvii. 7.

Ezra ii. 64.

Ibid. 2.

See Book i. v. 128.

Rev. xxii. 9.

Rev. xxi. 21.

Exod. xii. 39.

Ibid. 11.

Gen. xxiv. 15.

Gen. xxix. 9.

Gen. xxviii. 11–19.

Numb. xix. 14, &c.

See Book I. v. 258.

BOOK VI.

ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

The Jews miss Zorobabel—their grief on that occasion —Ananiah visits the tomb of Misael—Zorobabel returns —They leave Haran—pass the Euphrates—pitch their tents —ascend a hill, whence they see Mesopotamia on one side, and Syria on the other—thro which they march—They pass thro the lot of Asher, and Zebulun, to mount Tabor—Their prospect from thence—they march on to mount Ephraim— their joy on the sight of mount Sion—They go on thro the portion of Benjamin to Jerusalem—they arrive there— Ananiah addresses them—They repair the houses—renew the feasts—lay the foundation of the temple—old men weep —Haggai prophesies—the work goes on.

But not Zorobabel. He unobserv'd
Staid lingering in the cave, and all night long
Kept vigils at the tomb. For tho his soul
Was prone to sudden rage, yet from his eye
Oft gush'd the tear of pity, and of love;
Which now o'er Misael flow'd in fullest tide,
His friend, his father. He with filial care
Had watch'd his hoary age, and every wish
Prevented, as it rose. To hear him talk
He left his gay companions. All the sports
Of jocund youth, the festive hours of play,
Or dalliance, pleas'd not him. The pious tale
Of Misael he devour'd with greedy ear,

And sat the summer's day, whene'er he spake
Of Sion, and Jehovah. Strong his grief,
As erst was his affection. O'er the tomb
With folded arms, and downcast eye he stands,
Like monumental mourner, whom the steel
Of dædal artist from the Parian rock
Hath hewn, and o'er the marble's mimic form
Spread the soft grace of sympathetic woe.

The rising sun now bids them quit the plains
Of Haran. Flocks, and herds, and pastur'd steeds,
And camels, laden deep with all their stores,
With all their tents, are ready. By his troop,
Four thousand souls, stands each accoutred chief:
All but Zorobabel: he, only he
Is wanting. ‘But without him, who can dare
‘The perils of the way? If he be lost,

‘That gallant spirit, whom fear nor danger awes,
‘Ah! who shall lead the tribes? Even Solyma,
‘Dear Solyma, if he shall ne'er return,
‘To us will prove a land of banishment.
‘Go, search the vale; ascend the mountain's brow;
‘Scour the deep forest; let each trumpet sound
‘Even to his loudest note; and every voice
‘Proclaim him to the ecchoing vault of heaven.’

While thus the Jews in separate squadrons seek
Their lost Zorobabel, to Misael's tomb
Old Ananiah bends his silent path,
To pay the last sad visit to the spot
Where rests his friend, to kiss the sacred earth,
And vent in tears the sorrows of his soul,
The luxury of grief; for even from youth,
From earliest childhood, were they bound with cords

Of strictest amity: together both
Were driven from Salem to Chaldæan plains;
Together both defied Nebassar's rage,
Safe in the burning flames; and all the hours
Of gloomy banishment together cheer'd
By courteous friendship, and by mutual love.

Now Shadrach bow'd his hoary head beneath
The rock's low-arched entrance. Soon he spied
By the faint light, which scarce the orient sun
Shot thro the murky cave, Zorobabel,
Desire of Judah's sons, in pensive mood
Immoveable. He saw him; but the youth
Mark'd not the reverend ancient. ‘Stand'st thou thus,
‘Stand'st thou, Zorobabel, thus weeping here,’
Exclaims the sage? ‘Nor do I blame thy tears;
‘Tears are the dews which soft compassion sheds,

‘The sweet milk of the soul. To man alone
‘Is given the glorious privilege to weep;
‘The beast enjoys it not. Soft are the drops
‘Which fall from widow's, and from orphan's eye,
‘Melting even hearts of stone; but graceful most,
‘When from the virtuous, and the brave they gush
‘In tender sympathy. They are a debt
‘Thou owest the dead; yet still the living claim
‘Thy first attention. Haste; thy drooping friends
‘Already deem thee lost; and should'st thou stay
‘Yet longer, thro the afflicted tents will spread
‘Despair, and wild dismay.’ The youth bows low,
Nor other answer gives, but towards the camp
With arms still folded, and with downcast eye,
Directs his measured steps. Bäanah first,
And Nehemiah, thro the interstice rare

Of oak, or branching palm, that o'er the tomb
Of Misael wav'd its leaves, observ'd him come,
Themselves unnotic'd. They with hasty step
Run forward, and proclaim their champion safe,
Whom now a numerous host receives with joy
Extravagant; and tho but one night lost,
Such transport swells their souls, as when a ship
With sails, and ensigns torn, bears safe to port
Some mariner, whom storms, and adverse winds
Had driven to desert isle, or continent,
For many a year deemed lost. Him his fond wife
In visions of the night full oft hath seen
Buoy'd by a rudder on the Indian waves,
Or clinging to some rock, whose barren brow
O'erchangs the vast Pacific. Him perchance
His sire hath honour'd with sepulchral stone,

With all his gallant acts recorded round,
Memorial of his fame. Around him stand
His friends, and eagerly devour the tale
Of unfrequented shores, and savage dens,
Rocks, seas, winds, wrecks, and every form of death.

And now they quit the solitary fields
Of ancient Bethel, and again behold
The western sun reposing in thy bed,
Euphrates, where thy frontier stream divides
Fair Syria's palmy vales, and vine-clad hills,
From Padan-aram. Here the Jews erect
Their white pavilions on a mountain's brow,
Whose broad base from the marshy bank retires
Five hundred paces. For the impetuous rain
Has pour'd in cataracts, and the swoln stream
Has delug'd all the plain. Here halt the tribes,

Till the deep channel hath again receiv'd
His refluent waves. Nor do they cease meanwhile
To fell the pine, to lop the leafless branch,
And deep within the riven trunk to drive
The forcing wedge. Then with close-twisted cords
They join the solid planks, and bridge the stream
Unfordable. And first the camels pass
Deep laden; next the steeds; then flocks, and herds,
And all their stores; last came the numerous host
In slow succession. Scarce had morning dawn'd
When they 'gan move, and Hesper long had rais'd
His evening torch, or e'er the rear had trod
Syria's flat shore. One night, fatigued with toil,
On the soft bank they rest, and with huge fires,
As ever they were wont, if hill or vale
Supplied fresh fuel, soften'd the rude rage

Of winter, and all his frosts. Yet oft they bore
The parching wind, the pelting hail, expos'd
On some bleak woodless champain. Oft they heard
The famish'd lion roaring for his food,
As on his marshy bed he crouch'd by night
Screen'd by the waving reeds, nor yet reproach'd
The leaders of their way: for fervent zeal
Inflam'd their souls, and every step they trod
Was one step more from Babylonian land.

A soft grey light, which ting'd the distant rocks,
Foretold the sun's approach. They rise, they eat;
Then on the patient camels place their tents,
Their implements, their stores. There was a hill,
On whose rough bushy brow the pendant sheep
Nibbled their scanty food; round the steep sides
A stony pathway wound his narrow maze

Mæandring: not one print of foot was seen,
Save of the solitary hind, who stood
Propt on his rustic staff, from the first peep
Of dawn, to when the evening star appear'd,
And bade him haste to drive his little flock
Back to their wattled fold. Zorobabel
March'd first; then one by one the tribes advanc'd
With slow, and cautious step: for to the right
A craggy precipice, abrupt and vast,
Frowns o'er the vale beneath. The van had reach'd
The top, ere yet the rear prepar'd to move.
Nor cease they to unfold their tents; for now
The moon shines bright, and lights the wary troops
Up the rude cliff. Sleep, hard-earn'd sleep, repairs
The labours of the day, till morn displays
The extended landscape to their ravish'd sight.

Here at their feet Euphrates draws his train;
There, far as eye can ken, the orient sun
Gleams on the distant Tigris. Pleas'd they trace
The vales, the woods, the plains, which late they pass'd,
And see, or think they see, that arched rock
Where Misael rests his head. But soon they turn,
And bid a last adieu to that clear stream,
Beneath whose willows oft they sat, and wept.
Westward o'er Syria's palmy vales they stretch
Their eager eyes, to where Orontes leads
His silver flood, and oft at summer's eve
Sees the glad peasant to his cot repair
Laden with clusters, which the lavish vine
Throws o'er the vale luxuriant. Down the hill
They march with easy steps; for broad the path,
And gradual is the slope, unlike the side

Up which they toil'd before, whose mouldering cliffs
The rising sun smites with his hottest rays.

At length a wood receives them, where the fir,
And cypress join their melancholy boughs,
Fit haunt of superstition; dark as eve,
When lingering twilight hovers o'er the hill,
And intersected with a thousand paths
Ambiguous. Here they stop, and from the depth
Of that sequester'd spot, hear hideous shrieks
Of female lamentation, which the trees
Re-ecchoe thro the glade. Now wonder holds
The sons of Solyma, when lo! they see
The Syrian damsels with unsandal'd feet,
And hair all waving, brandish to the wind
Their torches, and with frantic gestures howl
Funereal ditties. They their annual dirge

Were singing in full concert to the shade
Of lost Adonis; while with pious hand
They spread sepulchral branches on the hier,
Where lay his pictur'd image, couch'd on gold,
And finest tapestry. Soon as was heard
The sound of strangers, they with nimble speed
Ran screaming thro the wood, as tho the ground
By sacrilegious footsteps were profan'd,
And all their hidden mysteries expos'd
To eyes unholy. To the vale they flew,
Swift as a routed band, on whose thin'd rear
The insulting conqueror hangs, and wings their feet
With terrour, and dismay. The Jewish host
Wait not their chief's command, but pause awhile
In blank astonishment. Meantime the nymphs
Had spread alarm thro all the neighbouring folds,

And rous'd the peasant clans. But whether fear
Check'd the rude villagers, or Sion's God
Dispos'd their souls to peace, they stood, and saw
Thy sons, O Judah, pass in silence by,
Who now had left the skirts of that brown wood,
And cover'd all the vale. Even when they pass'd,
As soon they did, beneath Gerizim's hill,
Their ancient rivals hail'd them, as they march'd,
With amity, tho feign'd. Yet here not long
They stay; for Lebanon, the northern bound
Of Canaan's portion'd land, uprears his woods,
Those woods, thro which is seen the stately lodge
Of Solomon, on whose gilt roof the sun
Plays with his evening beams. They on the left
Catch the sweet odours, which Hesperian gales
Waft from the scented cedars: on the right

They leave the fertile vale, and luscious fruits
Of fair Damascus, and thro Hoba bend
Their onward way. There Abraham's valiant arm
Smote four confederate kings, that o'er thy vale,
O Siddim, pour'd their troops, and like a band
Of lawless ruffians plunder'd all the stores
Of Sodom, and Gomorrah. Here they pause
And from their feet shake off the unhallow'd dust,
Lest ought from heathen heritage pollute
Judæa's holy soil. And now they pass
The landmark, which divides the promis'd land
From Syria, and in Asher's lot encamp
By Bäal-gad. Rich Asher spread his tents
To Amad, and Alamnelech, and thence
To Carmel westward: towards the rising sun

Beth-dagon was his bound: in Achahaph
He dwelt, and twice twelve cities own'd his sway,
With all their villages. O'er Mizpah's field,
Thro Hammon, and thro Rekob, to the walls
Of ancient Hebron, thence to Cabul's plain,
Where Hannathon o'erlooks the heritage
Of Zebulun, they came. Thro the low vale
Of Jipthah-el they wind their narrow way,
By Galilæan Cana, to the heights
Of Tabor, where the gentile chiefs of old
Zeba, and fierce Zalmunna, slew the tribes.
They in dark dens, and caverns, hid their heads
Inglorious: but the sword of Gideon soon
Aveng'd his slaughter'd friends, hot with the blood
Of Midian's Kings. Downward they turn their eyes,

And all around them view the pleasant plains
Of Esdräèlon; to the east appears
Tiberias; to the west the Tyrian main.
Hence too they see the walls of Nazareth,
Then mean, obscure; since honour'd by the name
Of him, whom there the spotless virgin bore,
Oershadowed by the highest. Here will I pause,
And while I look with holy rapture down
From this high mountain on those favour'd fields,
Where erst thy feet in childhood stray'd, implore
Thine interceding grace for me, for all,
O Saviour of the world! There, till the Spirit
Descended, as a dove, and the loud voice
From open'd heaven proclaim'd thee son of God,
What time the Baptist of the wilderness

100

Plung'd thee in Jordan's stream, thy days were spent
In innocence, and peace. Within those walls
The virgin saw thee with maternal pride
Increase in stature, as in wisdom's lore;
Those walls, which now, as down his side they march,
The vast opaque of Tabor intercepts
From Judah's host, who pass the shallow ford
Of ancient Kishon, on whose southern bank
Beneath his burthens in a pleasant land
Crouch'd Issachar. Twas there Abinoam's son
Drove Canaan's routed legions, in his creeks
Tho Asher skulk'd, tho Dan unfurl'd his sails,
Tho Reuben heard the bleating of his fold
Inglorious. Jezreel next receiv'd their steps,

101

Whose walls, whose streets, were sprinkled with the blood
Of Ahab's painted queen. The vineyard still
Remain'd, where Naboth by the tyrant's gate
Possess'd his fatal heritage. Thro half
Manasseh's portion, and thro Ephraim's lot,
By Shechem, and by Jacob's antient well,
With hearts elate, with winged feet they march
To that high mount, where Jeroboam carv'd
His golden idols, where the line divides
Israel from Judah. Far as eye can reach
They see fair Sion's hill, the mount of God,
Object of all their wishes, all their toil,
Turn his broad shoulders to the western sun
Above the horizon's arch. ‘Jerusalem!’
Cries Phanuel, and at once the shouting host

102

‘Jerusalem! Jerusalem!’ replies,
With heart, with voice united. Not such sound
Is heard, when prison'd in a mountain's side
The impetuous winds burst forth; or from the top
Of some steep precipice the torrent pours
Loud-roaring cataracts: the sailor furls
His shrouds, tho distant many a league, and fears
His shatter'd bark will ill sustain the rage
Of heaven's artillery. Thro thy pleasant fields,
O Benjamin, they move, by Ramah, seat
Of Samuel, and by Beer, where Jotham fled
The fierce ambition of Abimelech
Drench'd in fraternal blood. Thro olive groves,
Thro vineyards, and soft pastures, on they march,
And catch delicious odours, as they pass,

103

Sweet-scented balm, and honey's fragrant dew.

And now appears the ruin'd fane. The tribes
Unbidden on the venerable earth
Fall, and awhile in silent extasy
Lie prostrate. Eager to survey the scene
Of desolation, and with pious lips
To kiss the holy ground, again they rise,
And with uncovered head, and naked foot,
Approach Jehovah's hill. It was a sight
Of horrour; arches, towers, and battlements,
Lay undistinguish'd: here and there appear'd
A beam half burnt, whose shape, whose use, they strove
To trace in vain. Yet on the ruin'd heap
The tribes in rapture gaze; some the firm stones,
Some the loose cement, some the mouldering wood
Embrace, thrice precious relics. With more awe

104

Their fathers bow'd not in that holy house
Towering in all its pride, and fill'd with light,
Untemper'd radiance of the eternal God.

Now the dense vapours rise; now evening draws
Her exhalations from the lap of earth,
When Ananiah, son of ninety years,
Than whom, since Misael dead, no ancient claim'd
More unreserv'd obedience, thus accosts
The tribes. ‘Thrice welcome, ye redeem'd of God,
‘To this your heritage: I bid you hail
‘To Salem's holy walls. Nor do I blame
‘Your eager joy; the occasion well deserves
‘This transport, and the rivers of the soul
‘Will oft o'erflow their channel. But, my friends,
‘Tis not enough to clasp these sacred stones,
‘And chaunt triumphal hymns; tis not enough

105

‘To tread this hallow'd earth; to pour the blood
‘Sacrifical of goat, or paschal lamb;
‘To celebrate your harvests; to renew
‘The long-neglected sabbath: these, all these,
‘Demand your reverence: but the eternal laws
‘Immutable of justice, and of truth,
‘Of mercy, and of spotless purity,
‘Grave on your inmost souls. And O beware
‘Lest base idolatry seduce your faith
‘From Israel's living strength; twas hence your sires
‘Were driven from Canaan's fields; twas hence ye bore
‘A tedious exile in a stranger's land.
‘That sin repeated will call down from heaven
‘Repeated punishment. Your jealous God,
(‘His name is jealous,) will again avenge
‘His injur'd honour, nor will deign to share

106

‘His praise with ought created. What tho now
‘Proud Babylon be fallen; tho Persia's king
‘Hath torn the diadem from Belshazzar's brow,
‘And not a remnant of Nebassar's race,
‘Your scourge, be left; yet think not God's right hand
‘Is slacken'd, or disarm'd. His vengeance sleeps,
‘But sin will rouse it; and who knows the extreme
‘Of wrath omnipotent? Around his throne,
‘Waiting his sovran nod, his ministers
‘Ay stand, for speed succinct; the impetuous storm,
‘The roaring thunder, and the lightening wing'd,
‘His fierce companion; famine, pestilence,
‘And fire, and sword. All these in evil hour
‘Our sires have felt; and if we e'er forget
‘His everlasting laws, another host
‘Will rase our walls, another Babylon

107

‘Insult our sorrows: or perhaps despis'd
‘Even by the gentile nations, we may rove
‘From coast to coast, a vagrant crew, and bear
‘Thro many an age the marks indelible
‘Of God's predicted wrath. As when on some
‘High floor, the indented timber, o'er the sheaves
‘Drawn by slow oxen, parts the solid grain
‘From the light chaff, which on the mountain's top
‘The whistling wind bears with his wings away;
‘As when the joyful hind with naked foot
‘Treads on his purple vintage; so your God
‘Oer heaps of slain, o'er mountains of the dead,
‘Will ride triumphant; on the slaughter'd pile
‘His steeds will trample, and his flaming wheels
‘Drip with the blood of millions. But, my friends,
‘So nature wills, it is the time, when worn

108

‘By toil the wasted spirits seek recruit
‘From food, from sleep. Prepare your evening meal,
‘And spread your tents. These half-demolished walls
‘Untenanted, where springs the bladed grass,
‘Sad mark of desolation, ill can lodge
‘A band so numerous. When the morning dawns
‘Myself will lead you to each once-lov'd scene,
‘And shew what yet remains, if ought remains,
‘Of Judah's ancient glory. Not a spot
‘But what for pious act, or high exploit,
‘Stands registered. With reverential awe
‘O tread the holy ground; for in these walls
‘Each step ye take will lead ye to your God.’

Thus spake the reverend ancient. They with sighs
Of deep contrition, and with vows sincere
Of faith, of trust, obedience unreserv'd,

109

Stand fix'd in silence. Then with haste they dress
Their evening meal, and satiate their desire
Of wine, of food. Beneath their tents they lie
Steep'd in the dews of sleep, while airy dreams,
Celestial visions cheer the gloom of night.

Now dawns the morn, and on mount Olivet
The hoar-frost melts before the rising sun,
Which summons to their daily toil the world
Of beasts, of men; and all that wings the air,
And all that swims the level of the lake,
Or creeps the ground, bid universal hail
To day's bright regent. But the tribes were rous'd,
Impatient even of rest, ere yet the stars
Withdrew their feeble light. Thro every street
They bend their way: some Ananiah leads,
Some Phanuel, or what elders else were driven

110

In early youth from Sion. Not a spot
Remains unvisited; each stone, each beam,
Seems sacred. As in legendary tale,
Led by magician's hand some hero treads
Enchanted ground, and hears, or thinks he hears,
Aerial voices, or with secret dread
Sees unembodied shades, by fancy form'd,
Flit thro the gloom; so rescued Judah walk'd
Amid the majesty of Salem's dust
With reverential awe. Howbeit they soon
Remove the mouldering ruins; soon they clear
The obstructed paths, and every mansion raise,
By force, or time, impair'd. Then Jeshua rose
With all his priests; nor thou, Zorobabel,
Soul of the tribes, wast absent. To the God

111

Of Jacob, oft as morn and eve returns,
A new-built altar smoaks. Nor do they not
Observe the feast, memorial of that age
When Israel dwelt in tents; the Sabbath too,
New moons, and every ritual ordinance,
First fruits, and paschal lamb, and rams, and goats,
Offerings of sin, and peace. Nor yet was laid
The temple's new foundation. Corn, and wine,
Sweet balm, and oil, they mete with liberal hand
To Tyrian, and Sidonian. To the sea
Of Joppa down they heave their stately trees
From Syrian Lebanon. And now they square
Huge blocks of marble, and with ancient rites
Anoint the corner stone. Around the priests,
The Levites, and the sons of Asaph stand
With trumpets, and with cymbals. Jeshua first,

112

Adorn'd in robes pontifical conducts
The sacred ceremony. An ephod rich
Purple, and blue, comes mantling o'er his arms,
Clasp'd with smooth studs; round whose mæandring hem
A girdle twines its folds: to this by chains
Of gold is link'd a breast-plate: costly gems,
Jasper, and diamond, sapphire, amethyst,
Unite their hues; twelve stones, memorial apt
Of Judah's ancient tribes. A mitre decks
His head, and on the top a golden crown
Graven, like a signet, by no vulgar hand,
Proclaims him priest of God. Symphonious hymns
Are mix'd with instrumental melody,
And Judah's joyful shouts. But down thy cheeks,
O Ananiah, from thine aged eye,

113

O Phanuel, drops a tear; for ye have seen
The house of Solomon in all its pride,
And ill can brook this change. Nor ye alone,
But every ancient wept. Loud shrieks of grief,
Mix'd with the voice of joy, are heard beyond
The hills of Salem. Even from Gibeon's walls
The astonish'd peasant turns a listening ear,
And Jordan's shepherds catch the distant sound.

Meanwhile with mantle rent, and streaming hair,
Enlarg'd in size, in features, with his eye
Uprear'd, as tho it pierc'd that azure veil,
Which parts the regions of this nether world
From heaven's angelic choir, Haggai advanc'd:
His voice, his colour chang'd. Such 'mid the cliffs
Of Delphi, or thy shrine, Ammonian Jove,
Feign'd inspiration; or in that dark cave,

114

Where dwelt the Sibyl of Campania's shore,
Groan'd with the pressure of the incumbent God.

‘Weep not, ye fathers of Jerusalem’
The prophet cries. ‘What tho that ark be lost,
‘ Where lay the law, where on the mercy-seat
‘Shone uncreated light; what tho this house
‘In proud magnificence shall never vye
‘With that, which by barbarian hands destroy'd
‘Ye mourn with bitter tears; the day shall come
‘When this, whose deep foundation now ye lay
‘With better auspicies, this shrine shall rise
‘ More glorious than the former. On this spot
‘Shall stand the hope of Israel. Here shall come
‘The messenger of God, the promis'd seed
‘Of Abraham, and of David. From his mouth

115

‘Shall flow celestial eloquence. Disease,
‘And Death, last-vanquish'd warrior, at his word
‘Shall flee; while even to earth's remotest bounds
‘His undivided empire shall extend,
‘Salvation, peace, and everlasting love.’

Thus while the prophet speaks, each bosom heaves
With rapture heaven-inspir'd; each ancient turns
His tears to joy. The labourers speed their toil
With tenfold zeal; and while the Levites strike
Their harps, their cymbals, to triumphal airs,
Sonorous trumpets join their martial sound.

END OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

Gen. xiv. 15.

Josh. xix. 24–31.

Josh. xiv. 14.

Judg. vi. 2.

Judg. viii. 19–21.

Luke i. 35.

Luke iii. 22.

Luke ii. 52.

Gen. xlix. 14, 15.

Judg. iv. 15.

Judg. v. 16, 17.

2 Kings ix. 33.

1 Kings xxi. 1.

1 Kings xii. 28.

1 Sam. viii. 4, &c.

Judg. ix. 21.

Ibid. 5.

Ezra iii. 1–13.

Exod. xxxix. 1–31.

1 Kings viii. 9.

Haggai ii. 9.

117

TO THE JEWS.

Ye sons of Abraham, who, from shore to shore,
Examples of predicted vengeance, roam;
And still, as erst your sires in days of yore,
Sigh for Jerusalem, your ancient home;

Behold them weeping in the willowy vale,
Where smooth Euphrates leads his silver train;
And while their Sion forms each plaintive tale,
Mute is the lyre, and dumb the vocal strain.

Their lot is yours. Insulted, scorn'd, ye rove,
Far from Judæa's fields, a vagrant crew:
Your sires from Salem foul rebellion drove;
Tis foul rebellions points God's wrath at you.

118

They fell by false idolatries enticed;
For you stiff pride, and hatred spread the snare;
They chain'd the prophets, but ye slew the Christ ;
They ston'd the servants, but ye kill'd the heir.

Yet ah! repent; Jehovah still is good;
With pitying eye he sees you from above.
O come, and drink your dear redeemer's blood;
O kneel with reverence at the feast of love!

So to your heritage, the promis'd land,
Your God once more his scatter'd tribes shall bring;
Again on Moriah's mount his shrine shall stand,
And Christ shall reign, an universal King.

On rim e a les oreilles, et non pas a les yeux.