And where shall Israel lave her bleeding And Judah's melody once more rejoice Tribes of the wandering foot and weary How shall ye flee away and be at rest! VI. ON Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep: There where thy finger scorch'd the tablet- Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! VII. JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE Our country, our God-Oh, my Sire! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And of this, oh, my Father! be sure- Though the virgins of Salem lament, When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, VIII. OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away; we know that tears are vain, Or make one mourner weep the less? IX. My Soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, "Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain: But bid the strain be wild and deep, And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, X. I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze As clouds from yonder sun receive Their own pure joy impart; XI. THY Days are done, thy fame begun; Though thou art fall'n, while we are free The generous blood that flow'd from thee Thy spirit on our breath! Thy name, our charging hosts along, Thy fall, the theme of choral song Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, "Why is my sleep disquieted? To thy heart thy hand shall guide: THOU, whose spell can raise the dead, King, behold the phantom-seer!" XIV. "ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER." FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, I strive to number o'er what days Would lure me to live over. There rose no day, there roll'd no hour The serpent of the field, by art And spells, is won from harming; Nor music's voice can lure it; XV. WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, | It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey? Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, A thought unseen, but seeing all, Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, Fix'd in its own eternity. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill: And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw-but knew no more. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that night, The morrow proved it true. Is light and worthless clay. The Persian on his throne!' XVII. SUN of the Sleepless! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far, That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, How like art thou to joy remember'd well! 80 gleams the past, the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold, Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh how cold! XVIII. WERE my bosom as false as thou deemst it to be, I need not have wander'd from far Galilee; It was but abjuring my creed to efface The curse which, thou sayst, is the crime of my race. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free! If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high, Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine The land and the life which for him I resign. XIX. And now on that mountain I stood on that day, HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. But I mark'd not the twilight-beam melting Он, Mariamne! now for thee The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeeding. Oh, Mariamne! where art thou? Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading: Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now, Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. And is she dead?-and did they dare But thou art cold, my murder'd love! And leaves my soul unworthy saving. She's gone, who shared my diadem; She sunk, with her my joys entombing; I swept that flower from Judah's stem Whose leaves for me alone were blooming; And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, This bosom's desolation dooming; And I have earn'd those tortures well, Which unconsumed are still consuming! XX. ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome I beheld thee, oh SION! when render'd to Rome: 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And forgot for a moment my bondage tocome; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign; And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be, Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee. XXI. WE sat down and wept by the waters Were scatter'd all weeping away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which roll'd on in freedom below, They demanded the song; but, oh never That triumph the stranger shall know! May this right hand be wither'd for ever, Ere it string our high harp for the foe! On the willow that harp is suspended, Oh Salem! its sound should be free; And the hour when thy glories were ended, But left me that token of thee: And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me! For the Angel of Death spread his wings | And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; on the blast, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, XXIII. FROM JOB. A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld And there it stood,-all formless but divine: "Is man more just than God? Is man more pure Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you,and are ye more just? Things of a day! you wither ere the night, Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!" |