Wilt not tell me, too,
How Sarah in her old age bore a child,
To be a joy within her desolate house.
Go on-go on-recount each act of love,
Each merciful miracle, that we may know
How gracious God hath been to all-but us.
Hear her not, God of Israel!-oh, my son!
We must distract this frenzy, or 't will blight
Heaven's hoped for blessings to a barren curse,
And intercept some soft descending mercy.
What shall we do?-what say?-to dissipate
And back she glanced, and smiled, in blameless glee.
The cars, and helms, and spears, and mystic dance
By thee, O Lord, the gracious voice was sent
That bade the Sire his murtherous task forego:
When to his home the child of Abraham went
His mother's tears had scarce begun to flow.
Alas! and lurks there, in the thicket's shade,
The victim to replace our lost, devoted maid?
Lord, even through thee to hope were now too bold;
Yet 't were to doubt thy mercy to despair.
Her brooding thoughts? We'll take the harps that "T is anguish, yet 't is comfort, faint and cold,
Around us, and are used to feel the hand
Of sorrow trembling on their mournful strings.
When ye demand sweet Sion's songs to mock them,
Proud strangers, our right hands forget their cunning.
But ye revenge you, wringing from our hearts
Sounds that might melt your senseless stones to pity.
Oh, thou that wilt not break the bruised reed,
Nor heap fresh ashes on the mourner's brow,
Nor rend anew the wounds that inly bleed,
The only balm of our afflictions thou,
Teach us to bear thy chastening wrath, oh God!
To kiss with quivering lips-still humbly kiss thy rod!
We bless thee, Lord, though far from Judah's land;
Though our worn limbs are black with stripes and
chains;
Though for stern foes we till the burning sand;
for others' joy, the summer plains;
And reap,
We bless thee, Lord, for thou art gracious still,
Even though this last black drop o'erflow our cup
of ill!
We bless thee for our lost, our beauteous child;
The tears, less bitter, she hath made us weep;
The weary hours her graceful sports have 'guiled,
And the dull cares her voice hath sung to sleep!
She was the dove of hope to our lorn ark;
The only star that made the strangers' sky less dark!
Our dove is fall'n into the spoiler's net;
Rude hands defile her plumes, so chastely white;
To the bereaved their one soft star is set,
And all above is sullen, cheerless night!
But still we thank thee for our transient bliss-
Yet, Lord, to scourge our sins remain'd no way but this?
As when our Father to Mount Moriah led
The blessing's heir, his age's hope and joy,
Pleased, as he roam'd along with dancing tread,
Chid his slow sire, the fond, officious boy,
And laugh'd in sport to see the yellow fire
Climb up the turf-built shrine, his destined funeral
pyre-
Even thus our joyous child went lightly on;
Bashfully sportive, timorously gay,
Her white foot bounded from the pavement stone
Like some light bird from off the quiv'ring spray;
To think how sad we are, how blest we were!
To speak of her is wretchedness, and yet
It were a grief more deep and bitterer to forget!
O Lord our God! why was she e'er our own?
Why is she not our own-our treasure still?
We could have pass'd our heavy years alone.
Alas! is this to bow us to thy will?
Ah! even our humblest prayers we make repine,
Nor prostrate thus on earth, our hearts to thee resign.
Forgive, forgive-even should our full hearts break,
The broken heart thou wilt not, Lord, despise:
Ah! thou art still too gracious to forsake,
Though thy strong hand so heavily chastise.
Hear all our prayers, hear not our murmurs, Lord;
And, though our lips rebel, still make thyself adored.
The Front of the Temple.
PRIESTS WITHIN.
Hark! what dancing footsteps fall
Light before the Temple wall?
Who are ye that seek to pass
Through the burnish'd gate of brass?
Come ye with the gifts of Kings,
With the peacock's bright-eyed wings?
With the myrrh and fragrant spice?
With the spotless sacrifice?
With the spoils of conquer'd lands?
With the works of maidens' hands.
O'er the glittering loom that run,
Underneath the orient sun?
Bring ye pearl, or choicest gem,
From a plunder'd diadem ?
Ivory wand, or ebony
From the sable Indian tree?
Purple from the Tyrian shore;
Amber cup, or coral store,
From the branching trees that grow
Under the salt sea-water's flow?
PRIESTS, WITH BENINA.
With a fairer gift we come
To the God's majestic home
Than the pearls the rich shells weep
In the Erythrean deep.
All our store of ebony
Sparkles in her radiant eye.
Whiter far her spotless skin
Than the gauzy vestures thin,
Bleach'd upon the shores of Nile;
Grows around no palmy isle
Coral like her swelling lips,
Whence the gale its sweetness sips,
That upon the spice-tree blown
Seems a fragrance all its own;
Never yet so fair a maid
On the bridal couch was laid;
Never form beseem'd so well
The immortal arms of Bel.
PRIESTS, LEADING HER IN.
'Mid the dashing fountains cool,
In the marble vestibule,
Where the orange branches play,
Freshen'd by the silver spray,
Heaven-led virgin, take thy rest,
While we bear the silken vest
And the purple robe of pride
Meet for Bel's expected bride.
ALL THE PRIESTS.
Bridelike now she stands array'd!
Welcome, welcome, dark-hair'd maid!
Lead her in, with dancing feet,
Lead her in, with music sweet,
With the cymbals' glancing round,
And the hautboy's silver sound.
See the golden gates expand,
And the Priests, on either hand,
On their faces prone they fall
Entering the refulgent Hall.
With the tread that suits thy state,
Glowing cheek, and look elate,
With thine high unbending brow,
Sacred maiden, enter thou.
Chosen of Bel, thou stand'st within the Temple,
Within the first and lowest of our Halls,
Yet not least sumptuous. On the jasper pavement,
Each in his deep alcove, Chaldea's Kings
Stand on their carved pedestals. Behold them!
Their marble brows still wear the conscious awe
Of sovereignty-the mightiest of the dead,
As of the living. Eminent, in the centre,
The golden statue (5) stands of Nabonassar,
That in the plain of Dura, to the sound
Of harp, and lute, and dulcimer, received
The homage of the world. The Scythian hills,
The margin of the Syrian sea, the Isles
Of Ocean, their adoring tribes cast down;
And the high sun, at noonday, saw no face
Of all mankind turn'd upward from the dust,
Save the imperial brow of Nabonassar,
That rose in lonely loftiness, as now
Yon awe-crown'd image.
Cease, cease, nor tempt
The loving patience of the God too far!
Advance! and wind along the aspiring stair.
Haste! the fading light of day
Scarce will gild our lofty way.
Haste, nor tremble, tender maid!
To the sculptur'd balustrade
Cling not thus with snowy hand;
None but slaves around thee stand,
On thy footsteps proud to wait:
Hark! the slow-recoiling gate
Opens at our trumpets' call;
Enter now, our second Hall.
Well mayst thou hold thine alabaster hand,
Through which the rosy light so softly shines,
Before thine eyes, oh! maiden, as thou enterest
The Chamber of the Tribute. Here thou seest
The wealth of all the subject world, piled up
In order-from its multitude that seems
Confusion in each deep, receding vault,
O'er all the spacious pavement, 't is the same;
The flaming gold, and ivory, and the gems—
If all mankind were Kings, enough to crown
Each brow with an imperial diadem!
Oh, rapt Isaiah, were they not thy words-
How hath she ceased-the golden city ceased!
Will all that wealth but ransom thee an hour,
Or bribe the impartial and undazzled Ruin
One instant to suspend its swooping wing?
Breathe again the clear blue air;
Mount again the marble stair:
Still we mount-on high-on high,
To the exulting harmony!
Hark! the strain of triumph rings
In the Hall of Captive Kings.
Now pause again: yon chained images
Are those that ruled the world, or ere the Lord
Of great Chaldea took the all-ruling sceptre
Into his iron hand, and laid the pride
Of all the kingdoms prostrate at his feet.
O King of Judah, thou art there! Thy foes,
In charitable cruelty, did quench
Thy sightless eyes, lest thou shouldst see the dwelling
Which thou hadst changed for Sion's beauteous hill,
Lest thou shouldst more than hear thy sorrowing
people
Have ye wrought him too, Doom'd by thy sins, and by their own, to bondage.
As when he prowl'd the plain, th' associate
Of the brute herd that browsed around, nor own'd
The dread of a superior presence, beat
By the uncourtly rains and wintry winds
Upon the undiadem'd head?
Thou, Zedekiah, (6) didst desert thy God,
And wert of God deserted ;-nor to thee
Is given, withdrawn into a foreign grave,
To feel again soft Canaan's fragrant gales
On thy blind brow, almost persuading thee
That, in thy darkness, thou canst still behold
Some once-loved spot, or dim-remember'd scene.
The glad deliverance that comes to Judah
Comes not to thee. Alas! to sad Benina,
Oh, gracious God of Abraham, will it come?
Maid, again we lift the song;
Thy soft feet have rested long;
Nearer, nearer as we climb
To the highest Hall sublime,
Bride of the Immortal, thee
All the city throngs to see,
Floating, like a snowy dove,
In the azure clouds above.
Lo! the fourth of our abodes,
Chamber of the captive Gods!
Oh, Lord of Hosts! I dare not gaze around me,
Lest in yon heaps of monstrous forms uncouth
The scaly Dagon and the brute Osiris,
Moon-crown'd Astartè, or the Sun-like Mithra,
Some shape I should behold by the blind Gentile
Held worthy to enclose th' Illimitable
That fills the Heaven and Earth. The Cherubim,
Perchance, are here, behind whose golden wings
Thy fiery presence dwelt, but dwells no more.
I know that danger waits me on yon height,
But thither haste I rather than behold
Profaning Heathens scorn what thou hast glorified.
Lead on-
Half thy journey now is past;
Who shall wonder at thine haste:-
Dost not wish for wings to fly
To thy blissful destiny?
Yet, oh tread with footstep light
As the falling dews of night;
Like the gliding serpent creep
Where the gifted Dreamers sleep;
Fold thou close thy fluttering dress,
Even thy panting breath suppress,
Lest some glorious dream we break :-
Lo! 't is vain-they move-they wake!
Hark! hark! the foot-we hear the trembling foot,
With motion like the dying wind upon a silver lute:
Upon our sleep it came, as soft itself as sleep;
It shone upon our visions like a star upon the deep.
Lo! lo! the form, the graceful form we see
That seem'd, through all the live-long night, before
our eyes to be:
Above, the eyes of sparkling jet, the brow like marble fair;
And down, and o'er the snowy breast, the dark and wandering hair.
Hark! hark! the song-we hear the bridal song
What! are your dreams so soft; and saw ye nought
Of midnight flames, that clomb the palace walls,
And ran along the terrace colonnades,
And pour'd the liquid walls in torrent flames
Of dark asphaltus?-Heard ye not the wail
Of wounded men, and shrieks of flying women;
And the carved Gods dash'd down in cumbrous ruin
On their own shrines?
Great Bel avert the omen!
PRIESTS.
Hurry on, nor more delay;
Shadows darken on our way;
Only in the hall we tread;
Ask of those the stars that read,
Catching every influence
Their all-ruling orbs dispense.
From those silent Prophets bright
That adorn the vault of night,
Watchers of the starry sky.
Know ye, feel ye, who is nigh?
What planet rolls its pearly car,
What orb of mild or angry hue ?
The star of love, the silver star,
Glides lonely through yon depth of blue.
We see her sailing motion calm;
We hear the music of her sound;
We drink Mylitta's (7) breathing balm,
In odorous clouds distill'd around.
And calm, and musical, and sweet
Is she that star's mild influence leadsThe maid that, with her snowy feet, Even now the sacred pavement treads.
Enough of this! Oh! chaste and quiet stars,
And pure, as all things from infecting Earth
Removed, and near the throne of God; whose calm
And beautiful obedience to the laws
Of your great Maker is a mute reproach
To the unruly courses of this world,
Would they debase you to the ministers
And guilty favourers of their sinful purpose?
Now our toil is all but done;
Now the height is all but won;
By the High Priest's lonely seat,
By Kalassan's still retreat,
Where, in many a brazen fold,
The slumbering Dragon lies outroll'd,
Pass we on, nor pause. Nor thou
Gaze, oh Priest, with wondering brow!
Lovelier though her cheek appears
For her toil and for her tears;
And the bosom's vest beneath
Heaves the quick and panting breath.
Amid the listening stars it flows the sounding heavens More beautiful ne'er trod our marble stairs! along!
It follows the Immortal down from his empyreal sky,
Descending to his mortal bride in full divinity!
None! but still the maid dismiss
To her place of destined bliss:
That no mortal eye may see-
On! we may not follow thee;
Only with our music sweet
We pursue thy mounting feet.
Now, upon the topmost height,
Thou art lost to mortal sight!
Lo! the couch beside thee spread,
Where the Heaven-loved maids are wed.
Till the bridal midnight deep
Bow thy head in balmy sleep-
Sleep that shall be sweetly broken
When the God his bride hath woken.
Alone! alone upon this giddy height!
Yet, better thus than by that frantic rout
Encircled yet a while, and I shall breathe
With freedom. Oh! thou cool, delicious silence,
How grateful art thou to the ears that ring
With that wild music's turbulent dissonance!
By slow degrees the starlight face of things
Grows clear around my misty, swimming eyes.
Oh, Babylon! how art thou spread beneath me!
Like some wide plain, with rich pavilions set
'Mid the dark umbrage of a summer grove.
Like a small rivulet, that from bank to bank
Is ruffled by the sailing cygnet's breast,
Euphrates seems to wind. Oh! thou vast city,
Thus dwindled to our human sight, what art thou
To Him that from his throne, above the skies,
Beyond the circuit of the golden Sun,
Views all the subject world!
The parting day
To twilight and the few faint early stars
Hath left the city. On yon western lake
A momentary gleam is lingering still.
Thou 'rt purpling now, O Sun, the vines of Canaan,
And crowning, with rich light, the cedar top
Of Lebanon, where-but oh! without their daugh
Soon my sad parents shall return. Where are ye,
Beloved? I seek in vain the lonely light
Of our dear cabin on Euphrates' side,
Amid yon kindling fires. And have ye quench'd it,
That all your dwelling be as darkly sad
As are your childless hearts?-And thou-mine own,
I thought this morn, and called thee-Adonijah,
Art thou, too, thinking of that hour like this;
The balmy, tranquil, and scarce starlight hour,
When the soft Moon had sent her harbinger,
Pale Silence, to foreshow her coming presence;
To hush the winds, and smooth the clouds before her?
That hour, that, with delicious treachery, stole
The secret from Benina's lips she long'd,
From her full heart, t' unburthen? Better, now,
Had it been buried in eternal darkness,
Than thus have kindled hopes that shone so softly-
Were quench'd so soon, so utterly.-
Fond heart,
These soft, desponding, yet delightful thoughts,
Must not dissolve thee to mistrust in him
That fill'd thee as with fire, and touch'd my lips
With holy scorn of all the wealth and pride
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Shall not have faded, till great Bel come down Beneath that dimly canopied alcove
There's that within thy words I ought to fear:
But it should seem, that with the earth I've left
All earthly fears beneath me. I defy
Thee and thy Gods alike.
For sometimes doth the Mightiest not disdain
To veil his glories in a mortal shape,
Even great Kalassan's. Look on me, and say
If he could choose a nobler.
What! and fear'st not Thine own false Gods-thou worse than Idol worshipper?
Why even the senseless wood and stone might wake
To indignation, and their fiery vengeance
Break forth from Heaven. Alas! and what have they,
Whose name thou dost usurp to cloke thy sin,
To do with Heaven more than thy loathsome self?
Thine eyes, albeit so full of scorn, survey not My form in vain. I tell thee, Maid, I tread This earth so conscious that the best of Deity, The power and majesty reside within me, That I but stoop to win myself a bride Beneath another name: here 'mid the clouds I stand, as in mine own appropriate place.
The darkest pit of Tophet were too light For thine offence.
Oh! soft and musical voice,
Art thou so lavish of injurious words?
Erewhile thou 'It be as prodigal of fondness;
So now prepare thee: ere two hours are past
Thou wedd'st Kalassan, or Kalassan's God,
Or both, or either, which thou wilt. Farewell
A little while but I beseech thee, wear
When I return this soft becoming pride;
Nor imitate, as yet, the amorous slaves
That weary with officious tenderness.
Be as thou seem'st, a kindred spirit with mine,
And we will mate like eagles in the Heavens,
And give our children an immortal heritage
To bathe their plumage in the fiery sun.
BENINA (alone).
Did the earth bear thee, monster! or art thou
Th' Eternal Enemy in the human shape?
Oh! 't is the innocent's best security,
That the unrighteous pluck the thunderbolt
With such resistless violence on their heads.
Lord of the insulted Heavens! thou canst not strike
This impious man, without delivering me;
Me, else unworthy of thy gracious mercy.
But lo! what blaze of light beneath me spreads O'er the wide city. Like yon galaxy
Above mine head, each long and spacious street
Becomes a line of silver light, the trees
In all their silent avenues break out
In flowers of fire. But chief around the Palace
Whitens the glowing splendour; every court
That lay in misty dimness indistinct,
Is traced by pillars and high architraves
Of crystal lamps that tremble in the wind:
Each portal arch gleams like an earthly rainbow,
And o'er the front spreads one entablature
Of living gems of every hue, so bright
That the pale Moon, in virgin modesty,
Retreating from the dazzling and the tumult,
Afar upon the distant plain reposes
Her unambitious beams, or on the bosom
Of the blue river, ere it reach the walls.
Hark! too, the sounds of revelry and song
Upon the pinions of the breeze come up
Even to this height. No eye is closed in sleep;
None in vast Babylon but wakes to joy-
None-none is sad and desolate but I.
Yet over all, I know not whence or how,
A dim oppression loads the air, and sounds
As of vast wings do somewhere seem to brood
And hover on the winds; and I that most
Should tremble for myself, the appointed prey
Of sin, am bow'd, as with enforced compassion,
To think on sorrows not mine own, to weep
O'er those whose laughter and whose song upbraids
My prodigality of misspent pity.
I will go rest, if rest it may be call'd-
Not, Adonijah-not to think of thee.
Oh! bear a brief unwilling banishment
From thine own home, my heart; I cannot cope
With thy subduing image, and be strong.
CHORUS OF BABYLONIANS BEFORE THE PALACE.
Awake! awake! put on thy garb of pride,
Array thee like a sumptuous royal bride,
O festal Babylon!
Lady, whose ivory throne
Is by the side of many azure waters!
In floating dance, like birds upon the wing,
Send tinkling forth thy silver-sandal'd daughters;
Send in the solemn march,
Beneath each portal arch.
Thy rich-robed lords to crowd the banquet of their King.
They come! they come from both the illumined shores; Down each long street the festive tumult pours; Along the waters dark
Shoots many a gleaming bark,
Like stars along the midnight welkin flashing,
And galleys, with their masts enwreath'd with light,
From their quick oars the kindling waters dashing;
In one long moving line
Along the bridge they shine,
And with their glad disturbance wake the peaceful
night.
Hang forth, hang forth, in all your avenues,
The arching lamps of more than rainbow hues,
Oh! gardens of delight!
With the cool airs of night
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