Judah restored a poem. In six books. By Dr. Roberts ... In two volumes |
 | I, II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | BOOK V. |
| VI. |
 | Judah restored |  |
45
BOOK V.
47
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.
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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.
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,
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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
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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 ”.
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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.
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,
53
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,
54
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
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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.
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
56
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
57
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
58
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.
‘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,
59
‘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.
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.
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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.”
‘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
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“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.
The tepid tear of soft affection ran
Impetuous. Nathless they prepare to seethe
The flesh, or broil it on the living coals,
62
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
63
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,
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‘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.
‘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
65
‘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,
66
‘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.
‘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;
67
‘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,
68
‘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,
69
‘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
70
‘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
71
‘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
72
‘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,
73
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!’
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
74
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,
75
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
76
‘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.
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
77
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
78
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.
| Judah restored | |