The Impious Feast :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Impious Feast

A Poem in Ten Books. By Robert Landor

Landor, Robert Eyres (1781-1869)

II.

III.

BOOK III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

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BOOK III.

When Morn arose on Babylon, she came
At first with dewy freshness, pale and chill:
Like beauty yet uncoloured by the flame
Which love soon lights and perfects with. The sun
Beyond his orient confine tarried still,
And in the misty azure, one by one,
Were all night's fires receding. Toward the east
Heaven kindles, and the tower which looks midway
'Twixt earth and sky—whence Bel's expectant priest
Sees ere the world yet wakes, his course begun

And hails an earlier dawn, a longer day—
Glows first among men's works, as most approved
Or mightiest, in the brightness of its god.

Safe on that mountain built with hands, her brood
The eagle leaves, and o'er their home beloved,
Where Bel gives all things refuge as his guests—
A sanctuary from human injuries—
Round and still round its crimson summit flies,
Or poised above, on even pinion rests
In the pure light and cool blue firmament—
City and plain unveiling to her eyes
The marble dome, the many-coloured tent
—Dispersed upon a sea of mist as isles—
Illumined groves and palaces. In air,
High as she soars, ascend earth's enmities
As high: the daily carnage that defiles,
Steams to her subtle nostril, with the scent
Of last night's blood, not undistinguished there.
Now speeds the turret's watchman from his post,
And early sandals sound along the street:

With robe succinctly girt, and resolute feet,
Followed by kind upbraidings from his host,
The traveller bids farewell, then hastes away:
His home is on the city's farthest side,
A full day's journey yet, though part be crost;
Prayed to relent, and flattered to abide,
He must no farther hear, he will no longer stay.

There was a naked greatness in those times
Hidden with the mist of ages, or descried
Dimly at best by us from far divided climes
Whence runs apace the never-refluent tide,
Bearing their mighty wrecks beyond our ken.
Parts—and fair parts—of this fair universe,
Nearer to nature were the works of men,
Themselves more like her children. Not averse,
Estranged, perverted, reprobate—as now
The populous city wakes to pant and toil
Midst loathsome trades, confused with noise and smoke:
Across the imperial brightness of her brow
There passed no cloudy stain, no sordid soil,

No shade impure when Babylon awoke,
No scowl, O queen! of care, no look like want hadst thou!

Before their thresholds, in the ruddy light,
Thy children swarm with fragrant boughs and flowers,
Suspending bridal coronets above:
The year begins, and spring is in her pride!
Spears are entwined with garlands—helmets bright
Gleam from the lintel—war in those soft hours
Reclines a willing guest at pleasure's side,
And lends his arms as ornaments to love.
The everlasting Serpent weds the Dove—
Thus idly dreams that old idolatry—
Bel celebrates a three-day's festival,
While pale Astarte casts the Cestus by,
Yielding the god her beauty. Earth and sky
With both rejoice, whose blessings reach to all—
Two potent sexes all their realms supply,
Whence nature hath its just fertility.

Their procreant fire both earth and heaven pervades,

Warming the watery shoals; and from the air
Its vagrant tribes, else free, to nest or hive
With soft compulsion forcing: through the shades
Of forest wild it spreads—o'er deserts bare—
To make life multiply, and all things live:
All but where life and death are one below—
The fierce accord, the fearful trust and pair,
Angel for angel burns, and brute for brute—
On soils subdued the genial harvests grow;
Those which man's foot ne'er trod conceive and bear—
The seed becomes a plant, the blossom turns to fruit.

Such Fables weave they shadowing truth, and this
No time to question falsehood. Bel begins
With larger pomp his customary feasts,
Triumphant yesterday. Who shares his bliss
Augments his glory—who loves temperance sins,
Envious against his honour and his priests,
That prosper not unless men learn to give:
The god is gracious when his servants thrive!
“Bring wine, build altars, burn the fat of beasts—

“Three morns and eves, augmenting till they close,
“Love may range wide at will—amidst their pride
“Bel has consumed his enemies! to-day
“Renewed in virgin youth, Astarte glows,
“Blushing with rosier beauty from his ray—
“Behold! the Bridegroom comes! approach with gifts the Bride!”

Thus teach they through the streets, where slowly ride
Grave herald's scarlet-clothed with chains of gold,
Deputed majesty, whose trappings flow
Even to their camel's feet. On either side
Bareheaded youths the gilded sceptres hold;
Judges before, and bearded elders go
Adorned with ivory wands and signet rings:
Still as they move, their light-toned cornets blow,
Then pause while thus the sovereign will is told:
“All tribes, all nations, languages, and kings!
“Three days Belshazzar makes his sacrifice—
“The third he feasts with Bel. Ye princes rise!
“Before his throne your hands ye people spread,

“Through whose good gift are spoils and victories;
“At whose rebuke the rebel Median fled.
“Sing round the altar—dance beneath the grove,
“Go forth to meet your beckoning deities!
“They leave for these their mansions in the skies:
“Atargatis ascends her golden bed!
“Let sighs be hushed, but prosperous lovers sighs!
“She yields to mightier Bel—the Serpent weds the Dove!”

Pleasure need call but once in Babylon:
Heart of this breathing world! whence hourly flow
All lusts, all vanities—the fire is gone
Which made thy pantings glorious—dimly glow
The mightier passions that disturb thee! Now
Pride only keeps her everlasting throne,
By cruel wrath sustained and impious hate;
The rest are warmed by luxury alone—
Lascivious love soon sated, jealousy
As soon forgot! The gods whose temple gate
Thy fickle children throng, are such as they,

Impure, unjust, the blindness of a lie,
Devotion kneels toward sin, prayer ends in strife or play—
Faith must be fed with feasts, and plethoric zeal
Asks wine for daily sustenance, or dies.

The brazen doors stand wide—within, the vow—
Without, the tumult: giddy dancers reel,
Scattering licentious looks from half-closed eyes,
While transient flushes tinge their breasts of snow,
Whose sighs are sorceries. All are gathered now
To mirth and revelry: boys, myrtle-crowned,
Bear in their hands the censors—dissolute age,
With fillets coiled about the shameless brow,
And broidered vestures trailing on the ground,
Sings to effeminate lyres Belshazzar's rage,
Soon quenched in victory—himself a god
Among their idols, has his priests and praise,
Proud fanes and long processions.

Some that trod
So late in silence through the same broad ways

With doubt upon their studious fronts, or stopt
To whisper prophecies and number days
Threatening the land—that, while they spake, looked round
With cautious mystery—whose words were dropt
Like stones in caverns; ere another fell,
The first was marked how deep, and what it found—
Hinting at signs in heaven themselves had seen,
And others visions with sealed eyes in hell;
All evil auguries, omens, prodigies!
A serpent burst, whose dead length spreads between
Belshazzar's throne and threshold—twofold suns,
Of which the brightest and the first in size
Wanes, while the least grows largest, then is lost—
A fount whence blood o'er steaming ashes runs—
Chaldæa's ensigns torn—subverted towers
Beheld amidst the clouds—through gulfs a host
With steeds and chariots passing—toward the north
A mighty balance midst the stars for hours
With beam inclined, whose nearest scale hangs light—

Some that had seen the ill-resting dead come forth,
Kings, princes, prophets, from their graves at night—
Men honour'd once on earth, heard statues groan
And cry, “Watch! watch!—Woe! woe! to Babylon!”
Lo! these be they—the immutable, the bold,
That sing their triumphs first—that hurry on
From street to street, that grasp the stranger's hand,
And sware how well they knew, how long foretold
An end, like this, of safety to the land,
To Cyrus shame and danger: these be they
That build the altar, lead the sacrifice,
Circle the bowl with flowers—the slow command,
The cold provoke, to merriment and play,
Reading their former signs with clearer eyes.

By granite terraces, on either side
Hedged in, his sounding stream Euphrates rolled,
Full to the brim—deep, turbulent, and wide,
Between Bel's temple and those gorgeous domes
Which Babylonian kings had lined with gold,
Squandering earth's wealth to ornament their homes.

So spacious were they that the courts might hold
Fair cities and high bulwarks; in the halls
Temples might stand, or royal palaces,
Enclosed entire by marble-pannel'd walls,
And roofed with fretted ivory. Lower and less
Is Man's chief labour since; yea, even the abode
Long after famous in imperial Rome,
Raised by usurping Cæsars, though it filled
The Palatine, and on its pavement glowed
All forms of grace reflected—whither come
Wanderers from every land—whence Princes build
Their habitations, digging in the dust
For sculptured cornices and capitals
Buried a thousand years—where nightly calls
Through painted Vaults, whose keys were kept by Lust,
Gilt Baths, and tessellated Chambers wide
Half lost beneath the gem-strewn soil—a cry
Heard daily midst that Palace in its pride,
But echo'd now by Time with mockery:
“Seest not how great and beautiful am I?”

Greater, and quite as fair, the house in which
Chaldæa throned her monarchs—farther spread
Rank after rank its columned porphyry:
All that the East could find most rare and rich
Blushed on the floor or glittered overhead;
Unsceptred Egypt hewed her quarries deep
To pave its halls with many-colour'd light;
India for emeralds searched the torrent's bed,
For pearls the ocean fathom'd; cave or steep
Hid nothing unexplored. And royally
That Palace bore aloft its gorgeous height,
Fronting the wave for miles. Nine gates of gold,
On which was wrought Chaldæa's history;
Nimrod and Belus, Gods and warriors old,
Looked down a hundred steps ere reached the stream—
A hundred steps or stages—each so wide
That fountains rested on them, beasts and men
Of huge proportions, such as sculptors dream,
But nature never made of bone and blood,
Or soon destroyed. Beyond the farther side,

Highest 'bove Earth of all Earth groaned with then,
Or hath sustained since then—Bel's Temple stood—
Though incomplete the highest—whence impious eyes
Strove to profane the sovereign rest of God,
And near at hand discern his mysteries—
Man's proudest thought and mightiest work! his road
To enter Heaven, his broad-stair through the skies!

These opposite: Euphrates flowed between,
King among rivers—yet the first subdued;
For none long afterwards beside had seen
From bank to bank a highway o'er its flood—
A path through air—dry ground aloof from land—
Above his waves, yet separate from his shores,
A bridge whose many arches seemed to chain
With links of adamant both stream and strand,
To grasp his strength, his swiftness to restrain,
And bind the struggling giant though he roars,
While dry-shod thousands pass and pass again.

Such common since, though less—a wonder then;
Unrivalled yet in height, depth, breadth, or length:

Of stately symmetry and ponderous strength,
Thronged by expectant myriads! Never lay
Stones by the surge more thickly strewn; nor grass
Grew closer when the fields were rank in May,
Than these were crushed and crowded—one quick mass
Of heated flesh! In vain both prayers and staves:
Despatchful looks were vain and threatening speed—
Chiefs, princes, counsellors, were mixed with slaves:
Loud sounds the scourge, and fiercely springs the steed.
The bridge, the steps, the terraces, the waves
—The waves themselves are hidden—so densely swarms
That clamorous multitude o'er land and stream—
The barge floats fast with garlands at its prow,
The snake-like gally gilds its length with arms:
Euphrates sees his scaly idols gleam,
And painted monsters scare the shoals below.

From infinite tongues one sound arises: so
When morn first breaks in autumn, at his door
The hind looks out toward heaven, whose winds are calm;
Scarce leans the dewy grain o'er-ripe; his trees

Sustain their fruit sore-burdened as before;
He sees the mountain oaks which skreen his farm
But slightly shake their summits in the breeze,
Yet not the more improvident of harm,
Discerns, far off, that melancholy roar
Continuous, deep—abroad, above, around,
On earth, in air—sad prophecy of storms—
Soon perfected—for ere he turns away
With louder voice the struggling forests sound,
Blast after blast his half-reaped field deforms;
His winter's cheer is lost—his hopes are marred to-day.

Such universal charm was deepening here,
Till from those golden gates the shrill trump spake,
And lo! Belshazzar's ensigns blaze on high!
Sparkling in glorious mail his Chiefs appear;
Steeds taught to seem unteachable, and shake
Their plume-trapped heads as if for mastery,
With Median captives fettered in the rear;
Then loud as Carmel's pines, or Sidon's waves,
Or storms on wintry Lebanon—toward the sky

With eyes upturned that mighty concourse raves—
Belshazzar—Lord! Belshazzar—Victory!

Before his face two sceptred despots ride,
Arabia's tributary king, and he
Who rules through Cappadocia: by his side,
Each with his kingdom's diadem and robe—
The Phrygian monarch and the ordained to be—
—While all men wish what almost all deride,
And so for ever—o'er this parcel'd globe,
In every language, learned wisdom hath,
A moral's close, a maxim's guarantee,
A child's example when he tutors pride,
A sage's proverb if he speak of death,
Or preacher's text to warn how riches flee—
The Lydian Crœsus blessed, till Death that bliss deride.

Each would have seemed Earth's Sovereign if alone:
In awful state and princely dignity
Majestic all; but o'er their brightness shone
Supreme indeed the star of Babylon—
Midst alien kings a king—his people's Deity.

These on their war-steeds mounted, through the press
Went proudly forth: above them, like a throne,
His chariot bore the breathing idol high,
Where millions gazed as if its lips could bless;
All knees were bent before the mighty one:
In manhood's prime or youth's blown perfectness
Ere strength usurps on beauty, such he rode,
As poets sometimes feign imperious Jove,
—When Saturn dispossessed had fled his son—
Through Ida passing, like the sovereign God,
Though young, nor formed for empire more than love.

A thousand Princes sees he at his feet,
Ten thousand slaves before him; to his ears
Uprise the shouts of that wide multitude;
While midst their gusty pauses, music sweet
Extols with songs the sceptre that he bears,
Incense is burnt, and precious stacte strewed:
Yet, like the god they call him, on his seat
He takes their servile offerings uninclined,
A service due from lips scarce worthy this—

Extorted awe, the breath of servitude;
His right, their debt, the worship of mankind!

Milder the next who followed—Nitocris—
More gracious, not less awful. She had been
The great correcting spirit, parental soul,
Whose wisdom strengthened empire, and subdued
With temperance, pride. Once dreaded as their Queen,
She governed all uncircumscribed and sole;
As wife before, and since as mother, stood
Beside the throne to make its justice feared,
Quenching its cruelties: and thus far good,
That nature, so elate—endured control,
Belshazzar, else obdurate, bent toward her;
Even when he hearkened not, he still revered.
The populace waited till she smiled, then raised
Their children to behold her; midst the stir
Some boasted to have reached her garment's hem,
Others were sure her eyes looked down toward them:
It was a claim to praise, thus to have loved and praised.

Like Vesta with her towery diadem,
She passed 'mid Virgin Choirs sublime, and rolled
Her slow wheels warily. Behind her blazes
Bel's empty chariot, framed of burnished gold,
Lustrous, with gems embossed: on adamas light
Sapphire and amethyst blent, the red sun gazes:
Rings of alternate rubies, and the stone
Serene, whose soft hues change to red or white:
Pearl, beryl, emerald, as the spokes fly round,
With rainbow glories from its bright wheels glow:
The naves chalcedony and chrysolite;
Of ductile gold the harness chains; but none
Dare rein the steeds which draw it o'er the ground:
Sacred are these, unsullied as the flake
Which falls on windy Libanus—taught to go,
To turn, to stop, and governed by a sound—
Augmenting marvels lest men's doubts awake,
And vulgar proof if faith seem scant or slow.

Bel's victims next; but ere approach the last
The first have reached his temple. About its base,

Coiled round its bulk, the bright procession climbs;
Eight spiral circles narrowing as they rise.
The Chorus faulters, and the trumpet's blast
—Toward all Heaven's regions turning—all Earth's climes—
Sounds feebly scarce midway. That glorious belt
Dissolves before it ends: beyond men's eyes,
Both steed and chariot, where they rest at last,
As summer insects in the azure melt:
Nothing is seen so high but smoke of sacrifice.
—Far different worship where that old man dwelt,
Long-exiled Sabra, midst the acanthus wild,
In cypress shades and ilex—silent groves
Abhorred by those whose deity is lust—
He, and the orphan maid, his brother's child.
—With folded arms, and foreheads toward the dust
Thither the Prince, the Priest, the Elder roves;
All save their chief and holiest—to his sight
Visions of changing empires, like the scene
Of some great theatre, were brought—and years

Assigned, when each would perish from its might!
A voice too spake Ulais' banks between,
And Daniel saw the angel. In his ears
Were dreadful revelations, such as drew
The astonished prophet's soul in fear away,
Though used to commune on Earth's mysteries
With spirits from Heaven. The rest, while last night's dew
Still hung on mossy briar and verdant spray,
Threading those mazes with distrustful eyes—
So many paths alike seduced to stray—
The ancient and the just assembled there:
And never since, in judgment, council, prayer,
Met synod more revered; though Rome may boast
Her senate lords, mistook for deities,
And Greece her schools of sages. Unadorned
The roof, and bare the walls of skill or cost,
But not unsanctified; since God loves most
The contrite spirit, the tear which pride hath scorned,
And mute humility.

Subdued at last
So far—if weak, yet humbler in their need,
The Elders sat; while Cyrus with his host
Remote, since dawn their rent pavilions cast
O'er safer pastures undisturbed. Lo! one
Tells what his eyes had witnessed, that the Mede—
Where forked Euphrates flows with equal streams,
Wide, rapid, deep, diverging as they run—
Narrows his armies to the space between,
Then camps them warily; nor this suffices,
But that he builds what like a rampart seems
From branch to branch, trenching the marshy green
With pits in front; discerned, but not begun
Since day; thus ever while the earth-mound rises,
The depth it grows from deepens. Can he fear?
This great besieger—doth he dread to be
Himself besieged? Is this the exile's trust?
Whose bulwarks from the city's heights appear
Like ill-fenced sheepcots on some dangerous lea
Spoiled of the wolf last night? Is God unjust!

Or Cyrus not his servant? Faith perplexed
Lives like a shadow to the things we see,
And as they perish perishes. Awake,
Dissembling Israel! mightier signs come next—
That trench thou scornest shall be a snare to take
Her feet who tramples on thee; through those pits
Shall flow deliverance. Safely, carelessly,
Above mischance, Bel's laughing harlot sits;
But One she sees not, sees the impiety,
Rendering her scorn even sevenfold back again,
And laughs the while at her!

Bel's dissolute priests
Were not unknown in Israel: Carmel drank
(Loud though they called from morn till eve) in vain
The blood which gushed so hotly from his priests,
By voice or fire unanswered! Many and rank
On mountain height, dim grove, or grassy glade,
His old pollutions—while the widow's wrong
Uprose to God. Then matrons undismayed
Practised their sorceries; oft to wanton song

They danced all day beneath the green tree's shade,
Inflamed with idols—under rocks and clifts,
In the cool vallies, and by every stream.
Elders were blinded by the oppressor's gifts
To hold their balance with unequal beam
Aslant from truth. Diviners learnt to dream
Of gold, nor woke they till the cup was near—
That typical cup, the cup of wine and wrath,
Which God in judgment made his Prophet bear—
Following their shadowy confines as he bade,
To every king and nation through the earth,
But first to Judah. They that drank grew mad;
Yet all did drink—both Egypt and the lands
Of Ekron, Azzah, Ashdod, Ashkelon:
None might refuse whom idol lusts defiled,
From Elam's pastures and Arabia's sands
To Zidon's populous coasts or islands lone—
The realms of frost and fire—the city and the wild.

This they remembered sorrowing. Sabra too,

Whose zeal till now, when others flag'd, benighted,
Uncertain in their cheerless passage, grew
Bright as a spark midst flax, whose hot breath blew
Extinguished faith, enkindling what it caught,
Who urged the tired, and led the dimly-sighted,
Himself seemed ill-composed in spirit; his thought
Dwelt on the terrors of that destined Maid,
—A Queen—if fraud may reach to fathom truth,
Or Hell instruct by fallacies! Alone
So used were these—she walked beneath the shade
With others equal-aged—for grief from youth
Soon passes, and the spirit-healing morn
Breathed peace. Around the Virgin, where she shone
Too high for rivalry, their light steps thronging
Brought early blossoms from the scented thorn
With buds of Spring's first roses intertwined;
And gave that genial tribute which the free
—As nature points to nature's choice belonging—
Present nor envy. Thus the forest herd
Feel when surpassing beauty decks their kind,

And instinct forces homage; taught to flee,
Or turn, as one may lead them: thus the bird
Sports with its lustrous tribe o'er mead and hill,
Or carries winged dominion on the wind,
Followed by more than love. In grief, her soul
Seemed like Bethulia's clouded waters—still,
Inscrutable, unfathomable, full:
But light, in pleasure, as the azure air,
Whose hues are those of space and purity;
So calm, men look for heaven through such a sky—
No earthly shade is seen, no threatening image there.

But not from him who sat within his gate
Departed grief so lightly. Midst the Old,
Of Bel's detested Sorceress—what befell,
All he had heard with breathless dread so late,
His lips at large to shuddering hearers spake—
How warned, how comforted—both what he told
Last night; and much beside he feared to tell,
Lest terror from the astonished soul might shake
That strength, secure in ignorance of ill,

Which profits oft, though wisdom's weapons break,
And vigilance shields no longer.

“In her face
“Twice have mine eyes discerned the signs of woe,”
He said; “nor tardier than her merciless will
“Death once fore-ran—once followed. Two remain,
“This frighted maid and I, of all our race;
“Because the imperious threatener's steps were slow,
“I thought that they had passed us—but again
“She ends her circle, and with backward pace
“Looks full this way.

“There are of those I see
“Some that may yet remember what I say,
“And him who was my brother too, the sire
“Of this poor child. Life's larger half from me,
“Hurried by many cares—was gone: the ray
“Of his far calmer spirit maintained its fire
“Unquenched, but duly tempered: in degree
“We seemed to stand as son and father—thus
“In years we might have been—for young was he.

“—Ezekiel dwelt by Chebar; on the side
“Of those great waters captive: to enquire
“From God, through him, your will made choice of us:
“Grace little merited yet not denied!
“But Hazer loved to folly in excess;
“And now, so soon a father, quite to sin.
“The year before had brought him home a bride—
“—Behold the parents of this threatened maid!
“Yet was she such as made his frailties less,
“Meek, gracious, innocent. His strife within
“To quit the babe new-born and her that bore,
“Was hard, but well endured—so both obeyed—
“With many sighs the anxious man set forth.

“A week sufficed to reach that river's shore
“Apart from both its sabbaths: three days there
“God answered by his Prophet—on the fourth
“A milder revelation met our prayer;
“We rose, brake bread, bethought us of our vow,
“Then gladly turned our faces from the North.

“My brother's heart was yearning toward his child,
“And her so much beloved—a mother now—
“Left ill at ease, yet joyful though in pain.
“Bel's blasted summit all our haste beguiled,
“Seen day by day before us, dark and high
“Encreasing still, though slowly, o'er the plain:
“At last we reached it. Night was near her noon
“Midway on that fair belt which zones the sky,
“Before we trod our starlit grove again;
“But through its well known mazes silently
“We hurried as the tired are wont—and one
“—Pressed by impatient thoughts of love and pride—
“Wondered to see his parting cautions vain,
“The bolts all drawn, and outward gate thrown wide!

“Hazer went first, then paused awhile—with eye
“Turned back he beckoned: stooping down, we cast
“The sandals from our feet—while near his side
“I heard the panting heart and ill-drawn breath—
“Yet neither spake. But when the court was past,
“A lamp shone brightly where we rest us now:

100

“In sleep—for such it seemed—in sleep or death
“We saw reclined the mother with her child.
“Some flowers had withered on that tranquil brow
“Fair as it ever was—one arm still prest
“The babe, whose slumbers parted while it smiled,
“And turned its small cheek from her naked breast;
“One loosely lapsing touched the floor beneath.
“A woman, with her back toward us, stood by
“Holding the light above them. She was not
“Of Israel's daughters—o'er her clouded vest
“Were likenesses portray'd from earth and sky;
“Asps, snakes—suns, stars—as native in the place,
“She seemed to wait our coming undismayed:
“Nor when we entered, did her dreadless face
“At first look round, or vary from the spot.
“One finger on her hard-closed lip she laid,
“Then slowly gazed upon us. ‘Lo! they sleep,’
“To Hazer whispered she—and next to me
“‘Do thou take this,’ in louder accents said,
“So gave the lamp. I heard the infant weep,

101

“The mother's arm lay stiff and heavily—
“Perplexed we feared to speak—while both obeyed,
“This fiend was fled.

“His babe the sire released,
“And strove with gentlest tones to soothe its cries:
“Again composed, the feeble wailings ceased,
“But she who seemed to rest, her long-lashed eyes
“No more upraised. Guest, sister, solace, pride!
“Nor sounds disturbed, nor silence could awake.

“Then first his thoughts misgave him—at her side
“He knelt—with tremulous voice her loved name spake—
“Paused, and where beat the heart, or used to beat,
“Laid both his lip and palm—its fount was dried!
“It moved no more. Ah, wretched! thus to meet!
“Alas, the mother! woe! ah, woe the bride!

“I knelt with Hazer near her—if I tried
“To rouse or comfort, grief my speech supprest,
“And elder far than he—his soul I knew:
“The wretch gazed on that face till morning's prime,
“Yet spake no more but thus:—‘Thy will be blest,

102

“‘This was mine idol! it was I that slew,
“‘Who loved so much and worshipped.’ From that time,
“Tired as he seemed, sleep never gave its rest—
“He turned away from bread. The grave was new,
“—Ye passed beside it in your path to-day,
“A bank of moss, where palm and ilex threw
“Their darker shadows round Zemira's clay—
“When those who loved us came to weep once more:
“His spirit had burst its cords and passed away—
“So God was pleased to grant, whose ways are just!—
“It was at night, by torch-light, that we bore
“My brother's body forth: beyond the gate
“Amongst our mourners tarrying, on the dust
“Digged from that double pit, a woman sat,
“Veiled, and unmarked, till o'er its brink we rested.
“Then, as she rose, her wicked visage thrust
“Again toward mine—the same beheld so late—
“‘Watch well their child,’ whispered that voice detested,
“And she was gone.”

103

The Elder ended here,
But wisdom tried to ease his heart of fear,
Lifting its thoughts toward Providence, and turning
Grief from himself on cares which compassed all:—
Bel's mastering Hosts, or Zion's broken wall—
That ancient error, still in part the same—
The curse at length fulfilled, the Temple burning:
Till sorrow wakened melody, and wrong
Spake in alternate strains 'twixt grief and shame
From many a voice and harp through court and hall—
And this the imperfect echo of their song.

HYMN.

Ye hills! and O ye vallies! fruitful hills,
And vallies, in whose shady depths were seen
By streams then hallowed, founts, and pebbly rills,
The flocks of Israel graze his pastures green;
While mellowing harvests laughed and sang with corn,
And olives waved, or vineyards glowed between—
O! peaceful then at eve! O! sweet at morn!

104

The nations round you point their hands in scorn,
The Arabian wanders where your pride hath been!

FIRST SEMICHORUS.

Swift flow thy waters here, and deep—
Those waters on whose willowed side
The exile came to sit and weep—
Bel's walls are strong—his waters wide!
The mighty spurn—the base deride:
Ah! who shall teach to praise or bless!
In such a Land, midst strife and pride,
What melody in heaviness!

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

God's Priests and holier Prophets trod,
O Zion! once thy sacred hill,
His earthly throne—his blessed abode—
His pleasure then—his pity still!
In joy or grief—in good or ill—
If I forget to mourn and love,
May this right hand forget its skill!
My harp to sound—my tongue to move!

105

HYMN.

Abhorred, afflicted, solitary, thou
The seat which Mercy filled, the shrine she fled
—Till wisdom left thy king's adulterous brow,
Earth's future trust—its present gaze and dread!
Thy precious things are scattered as a prey,
Thy pleasant courts with all pollutions spread,
Thy children love thee still—but far away,
Idols accursed may boast thy spoils to-day!
Will God forget thee yet? Will wrath pursue the dead?

FIRST SEMICHORUS.

Chaldæan mistress! in thine eyes
No tear was seen—no mercy shone,
When Edom mocked at Judah's cries,
And bade thee do—as thou hast done!
She heard his wasted children's moan.
Lord! in thy wrath she strove to wound,
“Regard not—spare not—let them groan,”
And “down! down with them to the ground!”

106

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

Deep flow thy waters—broad and deep—
Those waters on whose willowed side
The captive exile sat to weep—
Thy walls are strong—thy waters wide!
Thou drunk with glory! mad with pride!
The weak oppress—the poor despise—
Till God shall rouse his strength defied,
And wake thee to thy miseries!

Ουχ οραας οιος καγω καλος τε μεγας τε. Suetonius Domitian.

Daniel viii. 16.

Jeremiah xxv. 15.

Ezekiel xiv. 1.