 | Fall of Babylon. The last day |  |
96
FALL OF BABYLON.
I
'Twas midnight hour—in that deep hourProud lights were up in Babylon;
Each palace-hall was pleasure's bower,
Yet sat the king as if alone:
His heart was touch'd with chill of stone,
He look'd around and knew not why;—
In farther halls the dance went on;
And circling nobles crowd his eye.
II
Yet sunk that eye half desolate:His glance relax'd its princely rein:—
Fell on his heart a gloomy weight
Like sense of sure nor distant pain.
Even beauty's eye was light in vain;—
The distant mirth was half a scream,
And bowing nobles seemed again
The figures in a ghastly dream.
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III
The tide of mirth that flow'd the scene,Seem'd broke with pauses fearfully;
And boding silence sunk between
Like deeps in the enridged sea.—
Thus bow'd by sense of near decree,
The monarch's heart forsook the hall—
That dreadful hour—came suddenly
A darkness blotting half the wall—
IV
And fiery signs in letter'd rowBegan to run along the gloom;—
Their spangled lightnings chase and show
An eager Hand and mighty plume.
Declare the lines and spell the doom—
The pen and Hand have pass'd away.—
A monarch's pride—his looks presume
To ask for more,—to scorn their stay:—
V
One moment—but the furrows tellOf trembling visage all he dreads:—
From round him like a garment fell,
The pomp of proud encircling heads.
And beauty hid her startled lids—
And boldest looks were smote to earth:—
The shudd'ring cry of horror spreads
And gains upon the distant mirth.—
VI
Their lustre smote his pallid brow,Till haughty glance he dar'd and took;
Then sunk their fires and seemed to bow
And court the monarch's steady look.
But who their calm control might brook?
And deeper sunk the monarch's head,
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And blaz'd impatient to be read.
VII
A pause like death—and far was heard,The coming sound of stately feet;—
High prophet old and mystic bard,
Hath left his nightly tranced seat.
Who dar'd the hour and bade them meet?
Bold virgin queen when men were dumb.—
A thousand hearts the vision greet,
The star-taught Chaldee sages come.
VIII
Their mystic garments strangely shoneBy lights eclips'd of steady flame
But rayless length—and sweeping on
Through lane of prostrate heads they came.
Embolden'd by the astral name,
A thousand aspects throng the hall;—
The monarch own'd their ancient fame
And pointed to the wall—the wall.
IX
The seers of age the front resign,—The younger have not dar'd to speak,—
The elements had there no sign,
The wisdom of the stars was weak:—
And horror blanch'd the monarch's cheek,
And half was wrath—“a sword might slay
These children of an idle freak”—
They bow'd, and look'd, and pass'd away.
X
“Yet sire again I dare to call,“Behold the seer of Judah's land,”—
99
A youthful front of deep command.
He turn'd,—his soul the words have scann'd—
In silence thrice:—“Proclaim abroad;—”
'Gainst proffer'd boon he wav'd his hand,
And boldly read the lines of God.
XI
“Thy scale is light, though fill'd with blood,“Thy kingdom is another's dower:—
“On high shore of Euphrates' flood
“A warrior stood in midnight hour;
“He ponder'd much on thrones and power,
“But God came down and rul'd his soul,—
“‘My sword 'gainst Babylon, devour’—
“This night is in that stern control.”
XII
Seem'd smote with dread, the marble stoneAs went the prophet's footsteps slow:
The lustrous lines against him shone,
And made him like an angel glow.
And thrice he turn'd and bow'd him low,
And thrice he wept for Babylon—
That shout of joy o'er murmur'd wo!—
The figures from the wall are gone.
XIII
A thousand, thousand thwarting criesOf multitudes confus'd and driven!—
“Cry—from Euphrates' bed they rise
“Like warriors of an angry heaven.”
With nearer shouts the palace riven—
And nearer crowds the danger bring—
The Persian swords!—nor space is given
To throng around their slaughter'd king.
100
THE LAST DAY.
It might be noon; but Time's dull tideOn the dial-stone is petrified:
The lines are stretch'd from side to side,
But no shadows on its visage glide.
Some crook'd eclipse with twilight gloom
Prepares the earth, like curtain'd room
Where men may see an acted doom;
And coming pangs through the desert boom.
A burst—a trump—that peal of fear!
The voice of God—his judgment near:—
Upstarted from expiring trance,
The sun with restless fiery glance.—
'Twixt east and west—from south to north,
Heaven's clouds before that blast went forth!
A thrill of death,—that piercing tone
Throughout all living bones hath gone.—
The highest birds of wind are down,
And drowsy shades their pinions drown;
The horrors of eternal sleep
Fall darkly on each ruffl'd heap.
The ship that sail'd in gallant pride
And trode the sea-waves down,
Now moveless hangs on the white dull tide,
Like a thin and spectral crown,—
And these that lean by the tall mast's side
To faces of bone are petrified.
All still in the valley,—
A man on the hills;
The last that can tell ye
Of earth's last ills!
For backward smote with awful thrill,
The hearts of men at once stood still;
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They seem to sit in death and hear.
The red sun glares
On each desert street,
And silence sits
At the dead men's feet.
The din of crowds, as crush'd by weight,
Hath died beneath each city gate.
Awake ye that slept,
For the days are summ'd,—
Cold shades that have wept
On the marbles benumb'd,
For years and for ages, are frighted away:
Old monuments rent
As with stroke of a wand;
The ashes long pent
Into being expand,—
White bundles of life from a handful of clay.
That peal smote the sea
And the dead of a thousand years were free.
Old ocean perplex'd
With all his waves,
Gave yearning forth
From his inmost caves.
Up rose like clouds the ocean crew,
And o'er the shudd'ring waters drew.
Pale sorrow wept
In each manly face,
So long to have slept
From his kindred race;—
But deeper thoughts each aspect bound,
Dim shores of living men around.
For the days are summ'd,—
Cold shades that have wept
On the marbles benumb'd,
For years and for ages, are frighted away:
Old monuments rent
As with stroke of a wand;
The ashes long pent
Into being expand,—
White bundles of life from a handful of clay.
That peal smote the sea
And the dead of a thousand years were free.
Old ocean perplex'd
With all his waves,
Gave yearning forth
From his inmost caves.
Up rose like clouds the ocean crew,
And o'er the shudd'ring waters drew.
Pale sorrow wept
In each manly face,
So long to have slept
From his kindred race;—
But deeper thoughts each aspect bound,
Dim shores of living men around.
Beneath each winged point of Heaven,
All empty are the graves of rest;
Their secrets to the Judge are given,
The world of beings stands confess'd—
He comes—He comes—
The clouds careering,
And fiery skirts
Of pomp appearing!—
Now hour of dread! what soul may stay!
What wing shall help to flee away!
Before, behind, and round about,
The terrors of the Lord are out—
The spheres let loose
Like a jarring wheel—
The sun and stars
Like drunkards reel.
Fierce arms of fire
Scroll the blue rivers up,
And the ocean shrinks
In his mighty cup.
With dreadful array,
The Heavens o'er flow;
Clear fires run round
From each end of His bow;—
And the ardours of Heaven
Are throng'd around,
With stern resolve
Their aspects bound—
The Judge above—the world below—
Each wilder'd heart is to and fro.
Each soul like a book,
With its leaves in air,
Is fiercely shook
And its thoughts laid bare.—
What soul dares reveal,
Yet what soul can forget;
When that Eye like a seal
On all spirits is set.
With writhing sense of endless task,
How would the wicked shelter ask!
Fain for a dream! their spirits sink
Even to annihilation's brink.
Yet whither shrink? and where be hid?
Chas'd by that Eye without a lid?
In fierce recoil like bended bow,
They rise instinct with life and wo
To meet the Judge and meet the blow.
The blow hath sped—a doom unseen—
Unheard—hath touch'd each stagg'ring heart;—
The gnawing thought of what hath been
Is half the sinner's living part.
In wavering shoals together driven
They sink beneath the eye of Heaven;—
Like hurrying draught of bitter cup
Th' eternal gulf hath drunk them up.
All empty are the graves of rest;
Their secrets to the Judge are given,
The world of beings stands confess'd—
102
The clouds careering,
And fiery skirts
Of pomp appearing!—
Now hour of dread! what soul may stay!
What wing shall help to flee away!
Before, behind, and round about,
The terrors of the Lord are out—
The spheres let loose
Like a jarring wheel—
The sun and stars
Like drunkards reel.
Fierce arms of fire
Scroll the blue rivers up,
And the ocean shrinks
In his mighty cup.
With dreadful array,
The Heavens o'er flow;
Clear fires run round
From each end of His bow;—
And the ardours of Heaven
Are throng'd around,
With stern resolve
Their aspects bound—
The Judge above—the world below—
Each wilder'd heart is to and fro.
Each soul like a book,
With its leaves in air,
Is fiercely shook
And its thoughts laid bare.—
What soul dares reveal,
Yet what soul can forget;
When that Eye like a seal
On all spirits is set.
With writhing sense of endless task,
How would the wicked shelter ask!
103
Even to annihilation's brink.
Yet whither shrink? and where be hid?
Chas'd by that Eye without a lid?
In fierce recoil like bended bow,
They rise instinct with life and wo
To meet the Judge and meet the blow.
The blow hath sped—a doom unseen—
Unheard—hath touch'd each stagg'ring heart;—
The gnawing thought of what hath been
Is half the sinner's living part.
In wavering shoals together driven
They sink beneath the eye of Heaven;—
Like hurrying draught of bitter cup
Th' eternal gulf hath drunk them up.
Forth came glad airs on Heavenly wind,
Th' uprising arch of saints to greet;
And glory like a cloud behind
Burn'd sweetly on their heavenward feet.
Th' uprising arch of saints to greet;
And glory like a cloud behind
Burn'd sweetly on their heavenward feet.
| Fall of Babylon. The last day | |