University of Virginia Library

The Eastern Shepherds mixed their tales with truth,
And wisdom breathed the melodies of song:
“Hear us,” they cried, “ye happy!—let the strong
“Distrust their might, their boastfulness the proud—
“Power leads its captives midst the tears of ruth,
“And glory's halo circles but a cloud;
“Grief tracks the feet of love, and death stands near to youth!”

Who drinks in faith with us shall never thirst!—
From wells less pure and more remote, they drew:
And yet alike those living streams at first
Rose on the hill where heaven's perennial dew
Descended holiest—but the devious flood
Came down polluted, and its course went forth
Abundant, though defiled. Their thoughts were good;
And still from Him the moral of the tale
In whom good ends, begins, and has its worth—
Who showered the pleasant soil, and blessed the air
With health and fruitfulness: or while the gale
Breathed o'er their twilight fields, reclining there
By old Euphrates, on his farthest side,
In that Chaldæan plain where Babel stood;
They told her impious strength, and blasted pride,
And why those towers were desolate.

For me
A harder task—to join with holier names
More doubtful fables: but the spirit is free
Which neither asks nor dreads men's thanks nor blames,
And means no wrong—spreading its venturous wings
—Irresolute, indeed, yet not afraid,
And joyful in its own just liberty—
Above the level of recorded things,
Though few shall mark its flight, and most of those upbraid.

To you the mournful tale—for ye are blest—
Whose hearts are prone to pity! Feigned or true,
It speaks the terrors of presumptuous power;
How soon the strong may stoop, how frail the best;
Apostate innocence, with late remorse
Hopeless and unassuaged; afflictions new,
And all the thunders of that impious hour,
While tears repentant fell to quench the curse—
Such tears will not be lost, ye merciful, with you!

Still in her native glory, unsubdued,
And indestructible by force or time,
That first of mightiest cities, mistress, queen,
Even as of old, earth's boast and marvel stood;
Imperious, inaccessible, sublime:
If changed, she might be all that she had been;
No conscious doubts abased her regal eye,
Rest had not made it weak but more serene—
Those who repell'd her power, revered her majesty.
Full, at her feet, wealth's largest fountain streamed,
Dominion crowned her head; on either side
Were sceptre'd terror and armed strength—she seemed
Above mischance imperishably high:
Though half the nations of mankind defied,
They raged but could not harm her—fierce disdain
Beheld the rebel kingdoms storm in vain—
What were their threats to her, Bel's daughter and his pride!

Once more, and high as ever, her triumphs swell!
The tumult rises in her streets—a cry
Of rash and dissolute multitudes—their sound
O'errules the trumpet, and the maddening shell
Seems hoarse midst those shrill blasts of victory:
The encumbered chariots groan, the war-steeds bound
Unheard by those who guide them—“Bel! great Bel!
“Descends to bruise the kings that hate his reign—
“O'er Media's shame lift we his ensigns high!
“Belshazzar rides a conqueror from the plain—
“He shall subdue the earth, and Bel possess the sky!”
While such their song, as chorus to the strain
Ambiguous truth, though ill-distinguished there,
Renews untired the two-faced prophecy,
—“Chaldæa ends the last of all her wars.”
From lip to lip it floats upon the air,
But not one heart interprets or discerns.
Night gems the glowing infinite with stars,
And westward, where they tend, the moon returns
With slenderest horns first visible yet clear:
The purple firmament around her burns,
While all its worshipped hosts like gods appear,
Not dimly, as to us in this chill clime,
But brighter orb'd, unsullied, large, and near:
Even from the fount of light their radiant urns
Are filled, and less, but quenchless lustre given,
Which still they carry through the abyss of time,
Each scarce a spark to all, yet all at large in Heaven.

No leisure now for wisdom—he who tried
—Whether his arts were turned toward good or ill—
To learn, that he might serve, or thwart their will,
And from some lonely pinnacle espied
Their nightly wanderings o'er his head, descends,
Leaving his task imperfect. From the roof
Too high, and jutting cupola obscure,
While by her lamp the diligent matron bends,
Shadowing Chaldæan flowers o'er Sidon's woof—
From Astoreth's latticed balconies impure,
Whose lust has altars—from the domes of pride,
The hall and chamber, old and young come down.
Now questions lost ere answered, haste, surprise,
Ignorant belief, much told and little known;
The sounding streets are full, though fair and wide
They bear aloft their structures to the skies,
Interminable, numberless, direct;
Built as by mightier hands than those of man
They seem, by more than human architect,
For giant habitants designed—the plan
Of one who mocks decay and never dies.

Yet is the porch filled full, the broad-paved way
Thronged and oppressed throughout: processions roar,
Struggling from god to god. In long array
Priests robed, or virgin choirs, with lamps before
And sacred fires, go forth. Their bright heads wear
The wreaths of triumph: in their hands they bear
Gifts meet for victory.—“Almighty king!”
They cry, “immutable in love, in wrath
“Implacable, now manifest in both,
“Receive the gifts thy thankful children bring,
“Almighty Bel!”—From Bel begins the strain,
Their first and holiest; Nebo follows next;
And then Adrammalech, and Sheshach old,
With captive Rimmon here adored again;
And Benoth, mother of the gods—perplext
The fable which her dreaming priests uphold,
Yet still believed, where nothing seems impure,
And nothing false but innocence and truth:
Worshipped as Bel's great parent and his queen
With jarring attributes and rites obscure,
In spring begins her renovated youth,
Which fades ere ends the year—unchaste, obscene,
Of twofold sex and double nature she.—
These were Chaldæa's boast, to such as these
The Babylonian virgins bowed their knee—
Long-served or late-adopted deities!
Egypt had taught her faith, and lent her worms—
Nile's snake was sculptured with its brazen coils,
And Tyre's scaled serpent: Asmadai upreared
His star-topped sceptre: every kingdom's spoils
Furnished an idol whom the conqueror feared.

And some had human, some had bestial forms,
Fowl, fish, or reptile—all had worshippers!
In crimson ephod rich with pearls and gold,
And blazing midst the light of sacrifice,
The priest, profuse of incense, leads their prayers.
Diviners, dreamers, prophets, false yet bold,
Watching escapes from fraud; astrologers
—Themselves perplexed by their own subtilties—
Ascribing skill to chance; soothsayers that tell
What demons teach them, lend their lips to lies,
Yet feared as true—Chaldæa learns too well
Such dubious wisdom by worse means; and here
Mingling their claims with hers—as for their sake,
And through their arts, her triumph—they partake
Of glory with the idols. Such appear
The fanes of sleepless Babylon—without,
Even worse and wilder still! Belshazzar! Bel!
Each has his priests and praises; but their strain
Toils to exalt its equal gods in vain—
Nor marked, nor heard above the enduring shout
Of infinite tongues agreed alone to tell
What none regards. Shame tarries there no more;
Awe, scared, flies fast away; irreverend sport
Turns straight to malice; what was mirth before,
Unbridled, now seems violence; reproof, retort,
Burn on contentious spirits like sparks; the jest
Is echoed back by louder scorn again:—
Mixed with the frolic laugh that stuns their feast,
Shouts of fierce strife arise, defiance, pain,
And outrage done or suffered.

One indeed,
Of holier aspect, more sedate, appeared
Unsocial midst the crowd, and bent on speed
So to escape it: but his gait was weak,
Threading those dangerous labyrinths alone;
Age had made white like wool the abundant beard
That spread between his girdle and his cheek—
And grief, which takes time's form, yet ever keeps its own;
Both left their tokens marked upon his head.
Alien he seemed, like Israel in the street
Of envious Egypt, when his house came down
—Where famine first had sent his sons for bread—
From Canaan and its fruitless fields, to meet
The lost, the long-deplored, and most beloved.

Like him, and of his seed, the Elder moved
With angry haste in spiritual bitterness;
As if pollution reached from what he saw,
Poisoning both eyes and heart, though disapproved.
His soul abhorred, lax wisdom's feigned distress
Worn down to ill conformity—the thaw
Of zeal once fixed—tired honour's last excuse
While righteous scorn dissolves from less to less,
Through custom's might or nature's feebleness—
Fixed in the observant love of that dread law
Which spake so loud from Sinai, daily use
A daily goad applied, and forced to draw
Fresh hate of sins so foul from their excess.

He could remember Salem ere she fell;
His feet in childhood o'er her pavement strayed—
Sorrow and time will ever paint too well
The lost when hopeless, all things loved in vain.
Fair as she was indeed, by these portray'd
More fair appeared her image!—She would reign
Beyond the reach of enmity and Bel—
Her children seek her, laden with the spoil,
And holier courts a purer offering see—
Here in the high place of pride, lust's citadel,
Where round his wrists had burnt the accursed chain,
And coward threats pursued him to his toil,
His home still is, his sepulchre must be!

Thus midst a faithless world to grieve and gaze
Walked Noah ere it perished. Askance he viewed
Their gaudy idols borne—plebeian gods
Of wondrous forms and attributes, pursued
With vulgar welcome through the clamorous ways.
Each had his emblems—fishes, doves, or rods—
Unhoused and vagrant deities at most:
Phœnician Derce, Adad, Nergal, Rach
And Merodach, the brutal Suburbs praise:
Both these, and more, whose names themselves are lost,
Pass on with bellowing thousands at their back;
Familiar deities, oft the undreaded joke
Of their own ministers, now a popular show,
Marks set for wantonness—their fame is heard,
Their altars crowd the streets, their priests provoke
Lascivious worship in the frantic herd,
Blaspheming and adoring as they go.

The offended Elder casts his eyes below,
And feels the abomination, nor abstains
From wishes muttered through his teeth hard closed,
Some instant curse, or old prophetic woe—
“Would Ekron's boils were here, with Egypt's blains!”
It seems uncleanness to be near their lusts,
Foul sin, to have seen such sins, and not opposed.
Old, and in peril both, amidst the gusts
Of wrath or sport unheeded, he went by;
If any saw, they harmed him not—even there
Awful he passed in age and sanctity:
And thence to safer darkness, from the glare
Of fires and torches, toward his home he turns;
But first looks back, as one constrained to fly
By those he deeply hates, and fain would dare;
Reluctant shame with fiercer anguish burns;
Pride waxes prouder in its misery.

Wisdom with better thoughts prevailed; aloof
From streets where madness walked 'twixt mirth and dread,
Though but a little space, his dwelling stood,
Lonely, obscure, and silent. O'er its roof,
And round its walls, the giant cedar spread,
Ilex and cypress mixed with palms—a wood
Of myrtle undergrowth: for shadowy grove,
Cool glade, and thicket wild had room enough,
With many a sylvan maze, and verdant solitude,
Enclosed within that mighty city's bound;
Where undisturbed the consecrated dove
Labours his hoarse endearments all day long.
And all the night yet louder strains resound—
More sweetly thrills the hereditary wrong:
That lonely bird, whose notes are grief and love,
With iterated plaints deplores her young,
Listening the cadence as it died around,
Strives to surpass herself, and still resumes the song.

Time seemed himself a willing captive there;
The many-figured zone which girt him round
Was marked with suns and stars for weeks and hours;
A host of gods deformed his calendar:
All nature claimed a place, and welcome found—
All climes paid tribute of their best—with flowers
The garden bloomed, the vineyard and the mead
Were thickly strewn midst palaces and towers:
In groves the gods were worshipped, in the shade
Of ancient trees their bellowing victims bled,
And such they sanctified: but oft beneath
Those gloomy boughs was wrought some work of dread,
Or omen feigned by fraud upon its knees,
Which made them cursed and impious—violent death,
Of what before was hallowed, strife, a sound
From unknown oracles, the lightning's scath,
Self-slaughter, incest,—these, and such as these
Untrodden left the desecrated ground:
The wisest passed it with suspended breath,
Marked by malignant gods, a place ordained for wrath.

So where this old man dwelt the loftiest trees
Had once been scorched from Heaven, and all who feared
Adrammalech or Bel fled thence: but he
Loved most what most they hated. Enough for him
That in those shades no idol face appeared,
No altar's smoke, no suppliant's gift could be—
Amidst its tufted shrubs and pathways dim,
From branch to branch no fluttering garlands hung,
Nor ever had the cymbal's sound been heard
With dance or hymn, while laughing voices sung
Lascivious praise to some foul deity.

Old as its palms, yet scarcely half so high,
The abode was like the site, obscure and grave:
One narrow entrance pierced the outward wall,
Whose granite shafts and ponderous architrave
Were all its ornaments. The court within
Sufficed for light and air, though dim and small;
A mossy cistern crowned above the brim
With large leaved water-blossoms, and a well
Circled by seats of stone. At morn the din
From bees and early birds uprose, the smell
Of flowers and spice shrubs filled the dewy air—
Sacred he thought the place; it was to him
A shelter safe from pride, a temple pure from sin.

Whatever in this world seemed holiest, all
He honour'd as most just, most wise, most rare,
The princes of his tribe, the approved of God,
Priests, Nobles, Elders, Chiefs, assembled there.
Two Prophets blessed the solitary hall,
An aged and contrite king its threshold trode;
Love turned the easy gate to need and care,
And mercy made its court her chief abode.

Ill feet kept wide—thus superstition reigned
And did through fear the offices of love,
Sheltering its enemies. That blasted grove
Had such a light to cheer its shades, as feigned
Of gems in caverns, where the sorcerer needs
Nor lamp nor fire, but walks his confines drear,
Perfects strange works, and mystic wisdom reads,
Lit by no ray beside. From envious eyes,
Like meaner wealth kept secretly, was here
—Of Earth, indeed, yet spotless, if below
Were any pure—and human by the tear
That proves us holy in our sympathies—
With meek endurance marked upon her brow,
Of all his race the last—his brother's child—
One out of many left to help him now;
In this unsocial world an orphan guest,
From death to life an offering undefiled;
Escaped the pitiless hour which ends in rest,—
The boughs are torn but this fair blossom thrives;
A single lamb is rescued from the wild,
His present hope, his solace, pride, and trust:
It is for her he cares, through her he lives,
—Still cherished as the last and loved the best—
By whose young mirth the impatient heart beguiled
Endures its tedious absence from the dust:
Captivity grew easier when she smiled,
Whate'er she did seemed good, where'er she dwelt was blest.

The palm-branch murmurs overhead, the gale
Flutters a moment as it passes bv
Midst leaves more fragrant bathed in dew; while pale
With panting heart, and large dilated eye,
Breathless, half-raised, she deems his footsteps near—
Then lapsing on the languid couch again,
Resolves to grieve no longer, with a sigh;
And feels, through lonely thoughts repelled in vain,
That hope will sometimes sicken into pain,
And men may listen till they dread to hear.

At last it is his voice, the incredulous ear
So oft deceived scarce trusts it—yet her grasp
Rests trembling on the bolt undrawn. Again,
In louder tones he calls her—from the door
With rattling links on earth devolves the chain,
The oaken bar is lifted from its hasp;
His steps are guided o'er the unequal sill:—
Both safe within, the thankful Elder says—
“Distrust like this is wisdom in the poor;
“Such wariness shall thrive—the perilous ways
“Are filled with idols; Bel's intemperate crowd
“Go forth to violent deeds.” The virgin still
Surveyed the brightness of those glorious skies
Whose soft breeze languished round her glossy hair
And idly toiled to lift it from her eyes—
Beneath the else stainless azure, one small cloud
Lay lightly floating through the midnight air,
A sail becalmed between that world and this:
“Night hears them not”—she said—“they reach not there!
“They cannot vex her silence with their cries:
“Regardless nature slumbers still in bliss—
“Those stars shine clear despite their blasphemies.
“Like isles they seem, indeed, as some believe,
“Where happier kinds, in everlasting rest
“Observe their sabbaths undisturbed, and live
“With God, remote from sin: these sure are blest!
“All things appear in peace but where man is.
“I trespass now, yet Sabra do the wise,
“Alone, at such an hour, look out for injuries?”

She ended here, the gracious Elder smiled,
Replaced both bar and chain, then following went
Within, sat down, and spake—“Alas! my child,
“We need not wander far to find offence:
“Such household thrift, as if the oil were spent
“In useless vigils while I tarried hence,
“With gentle rule, becomes the housewife mild.
“I would approach thee now, and strive to tell
“How sights of slaughter kept me where I strayed—
“How triumphs the oppressor yet, and hell
“Prevails for Babylon!” The wondering maid
Looked as prepared to speak, but ere desire
Found words, or thought could frame its questions well,
Like one that prays in grief, the Elder said—
“Spare us, Lord God!—forsake us not! Our cry
“Is here, as in the wilderness, unjust—
“Abstain as thou didst then! To thee so high,
“Lord! what is man?—the hills appear as dust—
“The everlasting stars are sparks of fire
“Which thou canst quench, who kindled: near thee stand
“Spirits whose glory it is to worship there,
“And bliss to do thy will—his thoughts are lust,
“His flesh corruption kneaded from the mire;
“His life itself but breath—and breath but air—
“Air soon dispersed; his presence on the land
“An unimpressive shade of grief and care
“Which leaves no track! O child, let us confess
“Thus far—be this our scant ascription still!—
“Gladly rememb'ring what we are, and what
“Unasked he grants though recompensed with ill,
“Nor tires in doing good. He hath inclined
“Some who despised us once to help and bless,
“And tongues which did blaspheme, at length do not:
“This too is much—we wander where we will,
“Unharmed since night I passed the mad and blind.”

“Thou spakest of slaughter, Sabra—and the sight
“Of triumph to the oppressor,” thus replied,
When space was given, the maid: “by fears beguiled
“Our thoughts aim wrong, and here was none to guide:
“Bel's feast begins to-morrow with the light;
“In chase of shades my erring doubts ran wild.
“Methought the days were changed, if counted right,
“And that the first was come.”—“A dream—a lie
“They serve,” he says: “to sinfulness and pride
“They make continual sacrifices, child!—
“Nor ever ends the feast of vanity.
“Some special triumph now their hearts contrive,
“And how to mingle glory with delight:
“But mark thou what I saw since eve, then strive
“To keep back doubts. Our Elders have a place,
“—Since daily custom now hath made it ours,
“And he, whose charge it is, God's proselyte
“In this, and all things, gracious toward our race—
“For cooler breathing when the sultry hours
“Oppress, 'twixt noon and eve: perchance as high
“Above the city walls its dizzy height,
“As they above the earth. Hard toil to climb,
“But well repaid! the unobstructed sight
“Extends its vision from that post sublime
“O'er all this world's delight and potency—
“From tower to tower as large, and gate to gate,
“Each like a city, such as happier days
“Admiring saw in Israel, and misdeemed
“Till lost, impregnable. 'Twas thus we sat
“While the sun tarried with its level rays
“Dazzling the dewy pastures. All things seemed
“Coloured with ruddier beauty in the glow
“O'er all suffused, and in that crimson haze
“Which smoked as incense toward the temperate eve
“From off the earth's green altar. Thick below
“The strength and pride of many nations trode—
“Where Median tents lay scattered infinite,
“Like flocks new washed for shearing, when they leave
“Vales less secure to congregate at night—
“Or sheaves in harvest o'er the autumnal fields:
“Ensigns emblazoned as the stars of God,
“Robes stiff with woven gold, resplendent shields,
“Pavilions, steeds—the turbulent stir and heat
“Of armies disarrayed, with all the cries
“Of all those restless multitudes—behind,
“Where swarmed the city's millions at our feet,
“On crowded roofs, and gilded balconies,
“Along the walls and gates—from every street,
“Or court or grove—we heard the tumult rise,
“And seemed to count the remnant of mankind—
“A part more numerous than the whole combined
“To raise Bel's tower accursed above the skies,
“So soon confounded—and the tongues they spoke
“Were scarce less loud or dissonant.

“The wind
“Pressed on Euphrates lightly, and awoke
“With strength to bend the sacrificial steam
“From verdant altars built along his side;
“To struggle faintly round the fluttering tent
“Beyond unfixed—or swell above the stream
“Sails ill-sustained and feebly amplified.
“War forced to rest, seems willing to relent—
“The populace keep their leisure as a feast,
“And every pause affords its holiday:
“We saw the sacrifice, the loose-robed priest,
“The dance impure, the games of venturous youth,
“—Armed as they were in many-tinctured mail—
“And ill-restrained contention. Swerved away
“From God—through ignorance alien to his truth—
“All nature's mysteries furnish but a tale
‘Obscure, and loosely credited at most.
“Not idol shapes alone they serve—the gale
“Which cools—the fire which warms—Love—Hate—Life—Death—
“Things seen, unseen, imagined, are their boast:
“Even unsubstantial ill, as what they fear,
“And casual good their benefactor—here
“Are worshipped gods!

“Along the river's bank
“High midst its osiers climbed they—and beneath
“Their naked sports were dangerous in its reeds:
“Part swam from shore to shore—with resolute breath
“To sound its depth, the headlong diver sank:
“Others far off in studious ease reclined
“—These chiefly seemed the old—on grassy meads
“Where grew the herbage thickest: peaceful they
“And more retired, their mighty schemes designed
“Of laws and empires. From the palm-trees shade,
“To rouse their lazy votaries whence they lay,
“Loud sackbuts piped, or noisier timbrels brayed,
“Provoking merriment. Let loose by care,
“So near were these, strewn lightly o'er the green,
“Through daily custom long abused, or wine
“Whence mirth will oft grow mad—the flowers were seen
“That cooled their bowls, or crowned with wreaths their hair.
“Traced far away, till narrowed to a line,
“The royal river rolls its ample tide—
“In smoother channels, sparkling as they glide,
“'Twixt fields refreshed, he sends his progeny
“Diffused like tangled branches from the vine.

“With clamorous throat outstretched, unheard so high,
“The bittern flies afar, yet finds no rest
“Nor where to stoop—a tent is o'er the place
“In which she built her solitary nest—
“But God will render all she lost, again—
“Deep pools and sedgy fens her home shall be,
“More sheltered room to multiply her race,
“A larger choice of silence on the plain,
“Range wide enough from human injury!
“Within these walls the island beast shall dwell,
“Owls cry, satyrs dance, all evil things increase,
“All doleful creatures roam the house of Bel,
“And dragons fill their pleasant palaces!”

As one self-tired with early haste, stands still,
Or turns to look behind him, and survey
By so much distance since he paused o'ercome,
How far as yet his progress up the hill
Whose summit once attained is rest and home—
Leans on his staff awhile, with aching knee,
Then breathed, takes heart, and straight pursues his way—
Thus stopped, but soon with lighter spirit he.

“'Twixt earth and sky, as resting on the line
“Which seems a limit to them both, descends
“The ill-worshipped sun—when first God's sovereign ray
“Touched the fresh orb with fire, and made it shine,
“—Our greater light—no more—though great it be—
“Set to divide the hours, not snare mankind—
“At once, behold! that mighty concourse bends,
“All hushed, those noisy myriads turn and pray!

“O skilled to render doubts and prophecies!
“Priests—sages—seers! far-sighted midst the blind!
“Soothsayers that teach men prescience—great are ye!
“Behold, your trust is present to your eyes!
“Before you, where ye kneel, Bel's chariot shines,
“The summit of his temple smokes behind!
“Look back—what means that cloud? ye read less signs!
“This most behoves to know—interpret this—
“Awake—stand up! who turns or tarries—dies!
“Ten thousand arrows fly, and none can miss—
“Now swiftly speed your wheels!—from every gate
“Chaldæa's princes urge their steeds with cries.
“—Ah, what avail their oracles! the shield
“Is lost, or cast aside, or found too late!
“Belshazzar's ensigns glitter in the field—
“Their craft ends here—who fastest flees is wise!

“Rash boasts erewhile! vain menaces! by fear
“The herald's summons dwindles to a scream;
“And prayer breaks off, till safer hours delayed—
“No more to soft and amorous songs we hear
“The lute or viol sounding by the stream,
“With distant murmurings in the large-leaved shade:
“Their vessels and their flowery crowns half-twined,
“Are all deserted; on the ground they lie
“With scattered robes stained red in wine and blood.
“The champion casts his challenge on the wind,
“And turns his chariot wheels in haste to fly;
“The wrestler leaves his garland where he stood—
“The priest forsakes his God—the victim springs
“From off the altar—trappings, standards, beds
“Are mixed and overthrown! O now for wings!
“Now for the griffin's scales—the swallow's speed—
“So to escape above the infinite heads
“Of tardier multitudes confused! The steed,
“Wild with their cries, bursts through—Belshazzar spreads
“His slaughters thick behind him, till the star
“Is brightening where the blue light fades—abroad,
“By many an inroad deep, we trace his car
“Driving their flocks in heaps. The Median sword
“Can scarce at last, with all its subject kings,
“Turn from those dim pavilions where it waves
“Pollution and the bloody edge of war:
“High even there Chaldæa's trumpet rings;
“Till night hides all, the dubious conflict raves
“Awhile without spectators uninclined.
“Neither did Cyrus follow when the host
“Returned with trophies gathered by the way—
“Arms, garments, chariots, captives left behind,
“And cups for divination—gods were lost
“As well as priests—so vain their flight to-day!

“Bel's image meets the conqueror at his gates:
“Loud music goes before, and herald's loud
“To-morrow's feast proclaiming—with the boast
“Of ever-during peace henceforth. The towers
“Are crowned with light—some new procession waits:
“Street after street encompassed by the crowd—
“Matrons with hymns, and virgins bold as they,
“Dance round the chariot wheels, or deck with flowers
“The steeds which bring them victory. In their song,
“‘To Bel the holiest, first, is praise assigned—
“‘And, next, to him who fills our fanes with prey,
“‘To thee, Belshazzar, glory—endless hours
“‘Of youth and bliss—for gods are blessed and young—
“‘Hail! earth's almighty Lord! hail! patron of mankind!’”