 | Eclogues and monodramas |  |
121
DANIEL BEFORE BELSHAZZAR.
Why have ye led me to this impious hall?
Thy face, O King, is altered from the joy
Of feasting, and thy mighty ones no more
Carouse, but mutely tremble: blank their eyes
As yonder idiot faces carved in stone
For worship. Hath God spoken at the last?
Patient too long, O God, thou speakest now
To trace a flaming sentence on the wall
Full in the staring of those idols' eyes.
The secret words, O King, thou canst not read,
Nor find interpretation of their fear.
If I declare the writing it shall make
Your feast as dust before you: yonder wine
Shall burn your lips as poison from the cups
Of hallowed gold, whose desecrated use
Hath drawn a vengeance from the eternal King
Of angels down.
Thy face, O King, is altered from the joy
Of feasting, and thy mighty ones no more
Carouse, but mutely tremble: blank their eyes
As yonder idiot faces carved in stone
For worship. Hath God spoken at the last?
Patient too long, O God, thou speakest now
To trace a flaming sentence on the wall
Full in the staring of those idols' eyes.
The secret words, O King, thou canst not read,
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If I declare the writing it shall make
Your feast as dust before you: yonder wine
Shall burn your lips as poison from the cups
Of hallowed gold, whose desecrated use
Hath drawn a vengeance from the eternal King
Of angels down.
Why should I read alone?
Where are thy wise Chaldeans? Theirs the craft
To read the faces of the silent stars,
Assuring smooth dominion to thy pride:
They change the map of the eternal heaven
Into a lying oracle. Behold
The writing: let them read it: there is store
Of gold and purple for their ready lies,
At such a needful time why are they dumb?
Or, if these fail, make incense to your gods,
Sweet odours, more libation: in your hour
Of prosperous feast they heard your hymns of praise;
And now they must requite their worshippers
For adoration: surely they can save,
For they are gods indeed, not wood or stone.
Behold I am a stranger, and alone
Where are thy wise Chaldeans? Theirs the craft
To read the faces of the silent stars,
Assuring smooth dominion to thy pride:
They change the map of the eternal heaven
Into a lying oracle. Behold
The writing: let them read it: there is store
Of gold and purple for their ready lies,
At such a needful time why are they dumb?
Or, if these fail, make incense to your gods,
Sweet odours, more libation: in your hour
Of prosperous feast they heard your hymns of praise;
And now they must requite their worshippers
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For they are gods indeed, not wood or stone.
Amid the pride of Babylon: my race,
The children of captivity, were led
From Judah by thy father in his war,
Mean captives of the sword; and who am I
To stand alone amid thy thousand lords,
And read thee to thy face the words of fear?
And yet, O King, the writing is not hard:
Search out the haughty annals of thy reign,
For thy recorded empire must ensure
This sequel, surely as night draws the day.
To godless pride there is but one result,
And he who bears himself against high God,
Dooms in that hour his own devoted head.
Thy gifts be to thyself and not for me.
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Shall I presume to barter recompence
If I interpret this divine decree?
The prophet is no merchant of his craft,
Nor sells his inspiration. Learn and hear.
Who gave thy father majesty beyond
The nations in his glory? Whose right arm
Clothed him with terrible fear, and set the necks
Of alien kings beneath his wrathful feet?
Who gave thy sire his conquest and his throne?
Who built secure dominion round his rest,
And made him King indeed: a King to slay
Or keep alive the nations as he chose,
To cancel or establish with his nod?
The most high God, the King of kings, gave all,
And prospered in thy father's hand a time
His delegated sceptre that he throve:
Until his heart was lifted in his pride,
And God eternal heard his impious joy.
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For pleasure on his palace-roof, to view
His large metropolis beneath his feet—
‘Is not this city Babylon the great,
Which I have builded for my realm's abode,
The house of all my kingdom, founded sure
As an eternal empire in the might
Of my great glory; this majestic work
For my continual honour till the end?’
But while the word was in his throat there fell
A voice from heaven upon him in his pride,
‘Thy kingdom is departed:’ and they drave
The madman from his palace: and he dwelt
With beasts and grazed their herbage, as the dews
Of heaven were wet upon him: till he knew
That the high God, to whom man's kings are dust,
Rules in the kingdom of the sons of men,
And delegates His power to whom He will.
This hast thou known, Belshazzar, yet refused
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To lift thyself against the Lord of heaven.
Thou hast defiled the vessels of His house
With idol wine, and given in these the praise
To gods of stone and silver; in whose mouth
There is no speech nor seeing in their eyes.
But the high God thou hast not glorified:
Is not thy breath as vapour in His hand,
And all thy ways as nothing in His sight?
Then came the hand of anger from the Lord,
And in thy feasting hour against the wall
It wrote; and word by word I will declare
The writing and assurance of thy doom.
Mene.
Thy kingdom God hath numbered out
And finished it henceforward from the earth.
Tekel.
Thou in the balances art weighed,
And God hath found thee wanting utterly.
Peres.
Thy kingdom is divided: God
Hath given it to the Persians and the Medes.
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Or chain of honour. Why should I desire
A barren title in a falling realm?
This and thy splendour are no longer thine.
The alien armies even now have scaled
Thy rampart, or have dried to their device
The mighty river's arm, and taught its wave
Another course. I forge no idle dream:
And even as I speak my words are deed.
Is there no sound upon the whispering night
Beyond this impious hall? Pale are ye now.
I hear the tread of armies: thou, O King,
Art nothing, for the Median will not spare.
Ye stand like sheep, and herd about the base
Of each dumb idol: surely these shall save,
For these are gods indeed, and they shall wake
From stony sleep and hurl the intruding host
Beyond Euphrates. They are gods indeed!
Down on thy knees, Belshazzar, for thy time
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Thy sceptre is departed evermore:
Entreat for mercy thine insulted God.
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