How are ye now a smooth and royal way
For th' army of God's vengeance! Fellow slaves,
And ministers of the Eternal purpose,
Not guided by the treacherous injured sons
Of Babylon, but by my mightier arm,
Ye come, and spread your banners, and display
Your glittering arms as ye advance, all white
Beneath th' admiring moon. Come on! the gates
Are open-not for banqueters in blood
Like you! I see on either side o'erflow
The living deluge of arm'd men, and cry
Begin, begin, with fire and sword begin
The work of wrath. Upon my shadowy wings
I pause and float a little while to see
Mine human instruments fulfil my task
of final ruin. Then I mount, I fly,
And sing my proud song, as I ride the clouds,
That stars may hear, and all the hosts of worlds,
That live along the interminable space,
Take up Jehovah's everlasting triumph!
The Streets of Babylon.
ADONIJAH, IMLAH.
ADONIJAH.
Imlah! this way he motion'd me to pass.
My son! (alas! I ever call thee son,
Though my old childless heart but bleeds the more
At that fond name,) the broad Euphrates lies
That way, nor boat nor bark is wont to moor
By that inhospitable pier; he meant
Toward the Temple-that way leads not thither.
Father, the Lord will make a way, where'er
His Prophets do direct our feet. Thou saw'st not
As I; they led him at the king's command
Along the streets, in scarlet clad, and made
Their trumpets clamour, and their voices shout
Before great Daniel; but it seem'd he mark'd
Nor trumpet sound, nor voice of man: the garb,
Th' array, the triumph touch'd not him: he held
A strange, elate, and voiceless intercourse
With some dark being in the clouds; for now
I saw him, as the torches shone upon him-
"T was rashly, madly spoken-but my spirit Is wrung almost to find a deadly pleasure In madly uttering what the heart abhors. I'll on with thee.
He did-and he must be obey'd: farewell,
Dear youth-dear son! if thou shouldst meet with her
Cast forth in scorn, and groveling on the earth,
Chide her not, Adonijah-speak not to her,
Lest thy compassion seem to mock her shame :
But, pray thee, lead her to the old man's home-
To the old man's heart, that will not love her less,
Though his love have less of pride and more of sor.
I'll go wander on Through the dusk streets. Poor Naomi! I left thee, Thy wretchedness had wrought its own relief, Asleep. Oh thou, if thou shouldst never wake, Thrice bless'd. Beloved, I should mourn for thee, But envy while I mourn'd.
Great King of vengeance, God of my fathers! thou art here at length. Behold! behold! from every street the flames Burst out, and armed men, proud conquering men, Move in the blaze they 've kindled to destroy. Are ye the avenging Spirits of the Lord, Descended on the blast, and clouding o'er The Heavens, as ye come down, with that red cope Deeper than lightning? No-it is the Mede, The ravaging, the slaughtering, merciless Mede, This way they fly, with shrieks, and clashing arms, And multitudes that choke th' impassable streets, Till the fierce conqueror hew his ruthless way. Shall not I fly? and wherefore? Oh! waste on And burn, triumphant stranger! trample down Master and slave alike!there is one house Thou canst not make more desolate: thou canst not Pour ills on any of these guilty roofs,
His brow like some crown'd warrior's, when his hosts So hateful as have burst on mine.Who comes?
Are spreading, in their arm'd magnificence,
Over a conquer'd realm; and now he seem'd
To count impatient the slow time; and now
He look'd, where in the distant darkness rose
The Temple, now where still the palace shone
With its rich festal light, as though he watch'd
And listen'd for some earthquake to o'erthrow them.
His ominous looks were terrible with ruin;
The majesty of God's triumphant vengeance
Was in his tread: even thus the Patriarch look'd,
When, mounting in his ark, he saw the deluge
Come sweeping o'er the doom'd yet heedless world.
Something, be sure, the hand of God prepares
To rescue, to revenge.
My son! my son! I heard the cries-I saw
The flames; I rush'd through all the shrieking palace
To seek him-and I found him not; and sprang
To find him, where I thought not, where I knew not.
One moment do I plunge into the gloom
Of some dark court, to shun the foe-the next,
I bless the angry and destroying light,
Because I think it may disclose the face,
The beauteous face of mine Imperial Boy.
I've pass'd by widows, and by frantic mothers,
That howl and tear their hair o'er their dead chil
I cannot find my child, even to perform
That last sad duty of my love--to mourn him.
I've cried aloud, and told them I'm their queen;
They gaze on me, and mock me with their pity,
Showing that queens can be as desolate
The plunderer wars upon the gilded palace,
Not the base hovel. There's a mother there
As sad as thou, and sleep may be as merciful
As slaves: and sometimes have I paused and stoop'd To thee as her.
O'er dying faces, with a hideous hope
Of seeing my son! I dare not cry Belshazzar,
Lest he should hear me, and come forth and meet
The slaughtering sword. Ye Gods! his very beauty
And majesty will mark him out for slaughter:
And the fierce Persian, that in weary pride
May scorn to flesh his sword on meaner heads,
Will win himself an everlasting glory,
By slaying th' unarm'd, the succourless Belshazzar.
Here's one-hast seen him? Slave, I'll give thee gold,
I'll give thee kingdoms-ah! what gold or kingdoms
Hath the sad queen of captive Babylon
To give? but thou hast haply known the love
That parents bear to those who have been a part
Of their own selves, whose lives are twined with theirs
So subtly, that 't were worse than death to part them.
Hast seen the king-my son-the pride of kings-
My peerless son?
I had a child this morn,
Beautiful as the doe upon the mountains,
Pure as the crystal of the brook she drinks;
And when they rent her from her father's heart,
To death-oh no!-to deeper woe than death,
The queen of Babylon swept proudly by,
Nor stoop'd to waste her pity on the childless.
Oh ye just Gods! but cruel in your justice!
And never met ye more?
I own your equal hand: the bitter chalice
That we have given to others' lips, our own
Must to the dregs drink out. So, never more
Shall I behold thee-not to wind thy corpse-
To pour sweet ointments on thy clay-cold limbs.
Alas! and what did Nabonassar's daughter
In the dark streets alone? when there were men
To rally, arms to array-my voice, my look,
The hereditary terror that is said
To dwell on mine imperial brow, had pour'd
Dismay and flight upon the conquering Mede.
Semiramis, for empire, cast away
The woman, and went forth in brazen arms.
I could not for my son!
Bleed where I move; and on my crownless head
(For what have I to do with crowns?) beat cold
The chilling elements; till but now I felt not
My loose, and thin, and insufficient raiment.
Well, there's enough to shroud the dead; and thee
To colder nakedness, my son! my son!
The spoiler will have stripp'd-
For taunting her distress! Rest here, oh queen!
Under this low and wretched roof thou art safe;
Sleep! sleep! with Babylon
In flames around me; Nabonassar's realm,
The city of earth's sovereigns rushing down,
The pride of countless ages, and the glory,
By generations of triumphant kings
Rear'd up my sire's, my husband's, and my son's,
And mine own stately birth-place perishing:
The summer gardens of my joy cut down;
The ivory chambers of my luxury,
Where I was wed, and bore my beauteous son,
Howl'd through by strangers! No-I'll on, and find
Death or my son, or both! My glorious city!
My old ancestral throne! thou 'It still afford
A burial fire. I've lived a queen, the daughter
Of kings, the wife, the mother-and will die
Queen-like, with Babylon for my funeral pile!
Oh thou dread night! what new and awful signs
Crowd thy portentous hours, so calm in heav'n,
With all thy stars and full-orb'd moon serene
Sleeping on crystal and pellucid clouds!
How terrible on earth! as I rush'd down
The vacant stair, nor heard a living sound,
Save mine own bounding footstep, all at once
Methought Euphrates' rolling waters sank
Into the earth; the gilded galleys rock'd,
And plunged and settled in the sandy depths;
And the tall bridge upon its lengthening pier
Seem'd to bestride a dark, unfathom'd gulf.
Then, where blue waters and the ivory decks
Of royal vessels, and their silver prows,
Reflected the bright lights of heav'n, they shone
Upon the glancing armour, helms, and spears
Of a vast army: then the stone-paved walls
Rang with the weight of chariots, and the gates
Of brass fell down with ponderous clang: then sank
O'er the vast city one sepulchral silence,
As though the wondering conqueror scarce believed
His easy triumph. But ye revellers
That lay at rest upon your festal garments,
The pleasant weariness of wine and joy,
And the sweet dreams of your scarce-ended pleasures,
Still hanging o'er your silken couches! ye
Woke only, if ye woke indeed, to see
The Median scimitar that, red with blood,
Flash'd o'er you, or the blaze of fire that wrapt
In sulphurous folds the chambers of your rest.
Oh Lord of Hosts! in thine avenging hour
How dreadful art thou! Pardon if I weep
When all my grateful heart should beat with joy
For my deliverance.
KALASSAN, BENINA.
KALASSAN.
All is lost! Great Bel,
Thus, thus dost thou avenge thy broken rite!
Come What's here? Oh pardon that my jealous fears misdoubted
Thy pure, thy proud, thy holy love! Come on! Come to thy parents' home that wait for thee, And change thy voiceless house of desolation To an abode of joy, as mute.
Beauteous as her that with her timbrel pass'd
Along the Red Sea depths, and cast her song-
Upon the free airs of the wilderness-
The song of joy, of triumph, of deliverance!
The Streets of Babylon in flames.
I cannot fight nor fly: where'er I move,
On shadowy battlement, or cloud of smoke,
That dark unbodied hand waves to and fro,
And marshals me the way to death-to death
That still eludes me. Every blazing wall
Breaks out in those red characters of fate;
And when I raised my sword to war, methought
That dark-stoled Prophet stood between, and seem'd
Rebuking Heaven for its slow consummation
Of his dire words.
I am alone: my slaves
Fled at the first wild outcry; and my women
Closed all their doors against me-for they knew me
Mark'd with the seal of destiny: no hand,
Though I have sued for water, holds a cup
To my parch'd lips; no voice, as I pass on,
Hath bless'd me; from the very festal garments, That glitter'd in my halls, they shake the dust: Ev'n the priests spurn'd me, as abhorr'd of Heaven. Oh! but the fiery Mede doth well avenge me!
My Father's God, thou show'dst thyself of old,
By smiting water from the stony rock,
And raining manna on the desert sands!
They're strew'd beneath my feet-though not in Here is thy best-most gracious miracle!
Oh death death! death! that art so swift to seize
The conqueror on his triumph day, the bride
Ere yet her wedding lamps have waned, the king
Where all mankind are kneeling at his footstool-
Thou 'rt only slow to him that knows himself
Thy fated prey, that seeks within the tomb
A dark retreat from wretchedness and shame.
From shame!-the heir of Nabonassar's glory!
From wretchedness!-the Lord of Babylon-
Of golden and luxurious Babylon!
Alas! through burning Babylon! the fallen,
The city of lamentation and of slaughter!
A fugitive and outcast, that can find,
Of all his realm, not even a grave!—so base,
That even the conquering Mede disdains to slay him!
Before the House of Imlah. IMLAH, ADONIJAH, BENINA, NAOMI.
Naomi! Naomi! look forth-she's here!
I know she is in dreams: through all the night
I've seen her, gliding from the fountain side
With the pure urn of water, or with lips
Apart, and bashful voice, that faintly breathed
One of her country's songs! I've seen her kneeling
In prayer, alas! that ne'er was heard on high!
And thou hast scared my vision's joys away-
To see-all heav'n on fire, and the vast city-
Imlah! what mean those massy clouds of smoke,
Those shrieks and clashings?- and that youth
Why stand they there? we need no sad remembran
With such cold salutation welcome home Her child?
No! no! ye can no more delude me! Twice have I woken, and heard that voice, and
But hast not folded to thy bosom, As thus, thy child, thy lost, thy loved Benina!
"T is living flesh! it is a breathing lip!
And the heart swells like-Oh no!-not like mine!
Oh! thon twice born! the sorrow and the joy
That I endured to bring my beauteous babe
Into the world were nought to this!
May I ne'er cost thee bitterer tears than these
And bid the snowy-handed maidens fan
The dull, hot air around me. 'Tis not well-
This bed-'t is hard and damp. I gave command
I would not lie but on the softest plumes
And nestle his young cheek in this full bosom,
That now he shrinks from! No! it is the last
Convulsive shudder of cold death. My son,
Wait-wait, and I will die with thee-not yet-
That the birds bear. Slaves! hear ye not?'t is Alas! yet this was what I pray'd for—this—
Behold! behold, they rise;
Feebly they stand, by their united strength
He's breathing still-spread o'er him that bright Supported. Hath yon kindling of the darkness,
A strange, sad use for robes of sovereignty.
The above, NITOCRIS.
Why should I pass street after street, through flames
That make the hardy conqueror shrink; and stride
O'er heaps of dying, that look up and wonder
To see a living and unwounded being?
Oh! mercifully cruel, they do slay
The child and mother with one blow! the bride
And bridegroom! I alone am spared, to die
Yon blaze, that seems as if the earth and heaven
Were mingled in one ghastly funeral pile,
Aroused them? Lo, the flames, like a gorged serpent
That slept in glittering but scarce-moving folds,
Now, having sprung a nobler prey, break out
In tenfold rage.
ADONIJAH.
How like a lioness,
Robb'd of her kingly brood, she glares? She wipes
From her wan brow the grey discolour'd locks
Where used to gleam Assyria's diadem ;
And now and then her tenderest glance recurs
Remote from all-from him with whom I've cher- To him that closer to her bleeding heart
A desperate hope to mingle my cold ashes!
"Tis all the daughter of great Nabonassar
Hath now to ask!-I'll sit me down and listen,
And through that turbulent din of clattering steel,
And cries of murder'd men, and smouldering houses,
And th' answering trumpets of the Mede and Persian,
Summoning their bands to some new work of slaugh-
Anon one universal cry of triumph
Will burst; and all the city, either host,
In mute and breathless admiration, lie
To hear the o'erpowering clamour that announces
Belshazzar slain!-and then I'll rise and rush
To that dread place-they'll let me weep or die
Upon his corpse!-Old man, thou'st found thy child?
I have I have-and thine. Oh! rise not thus,
In thy majestic joy, as though to mount
Earth's throne again. Behold the King!
On the cold earth-not there, but on my bosom-
Alas! that's colder still. My beauteous boy,
Look up and see▬▬▬▬
I can see nought-all 's darkness!
Too true: he'll die, and will not know me! Son!
Thy mother speaks-thy only kindred flesh,
That loved thee ere thou wert; and, when thou'rt
gone,
Will love thee still the more!
Have dying kings vers or kindred? Hence! disturb me not.
I disturb thee, crouching by thy side ie with thee? Oh! how he used to turn
Ay, o'er both the fire
Mounts like a conqueror: here, o'er spacious courts
And avenues of pillars, and long roofs,
From which red streams of molten gold pour down
It spreads, till all, like those vast fabrics, seem
Built of the rich clouds round the setting sun-
All the wide heavens, one bright and shadowy pet
ace!
But terrible here-th' Almighty's wrathful hand
Every where manifest!-There the Temple stands,
Tower above tower, one pyranid of flame;
To which those kingly sepulchres by Nile
Were but as hillocks to vast Caucasus!
Aloof, the wreck of Nimrod's impious tower
Alone is dark; and something like a cloud,
But gloomier, hovers o'er it. All is mute:
Man's cries, and clashing steel, and braying trumpet-
The only sound the rushing noise of fire!
Now, hark! the universal crash-at once
They fall-they sink-
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