 | Eclogues and monodramas |  |
127
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
128
Thy sceptre is departed evermore:
Entreat for mercy thine insulted God.
| Eclogues and monodramas | |