Thou, of the world so early left, hast known Nought but the bloom and sunshine-and for thee, Child of propitious stars! for thee alone, The course of love ran smooth,* and brightly free Not long such bliss to mortal could be given, It is enough for earth, to catch one glimpse of heaven. XX. What though, ere yet the noonday of thy fame Daughter of Kings! from that high sphere look down, Where still in hope, affection's thoughts may rise; And, in their hours of loneliness-be near! Blest was thy lot e'en here-and one faint sigh, Oh! tell those hearts, hath made that bliss eternity! Nov. 23, 1817. BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.t 'Twas night in Babylon: yet many a beam, Of the soft night-breeze through her terrace- Bore deepening tones of joy and melody, towers. But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall, ↑ Originally published in Mr Joanna Baillie's collection of Poems from living A-thers. Had showered around all treasures that expand Beneath the burning East;-all gems that pour The sunbeams back;-all sweets of many a land, Whose gales waft incense from their spicy shore, -But mortal pride looked on, and still demanded more. With richer zest the banquet may be fraught, The spoils of Salem's devastated fane: bim. They came, and louder pealed the voice of song, And pride flashed brighter from the kindling eye, And He who sleeps not heard th' elated throng In mirth that plays with thunderbolts, defy The Rock of Zion!-Fill the nectar high, High in the cups of consecrated gold! And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die, And bid the censers of the Temple hold Offerings to Babel's gods, the mighty ones of old! Peace!-is it but a phantom of the brain, There are pale cheeks around the regal board, Shrinks from the Dread Unknown, th' avenging But haste ye!-bring Chaldea's gifted seers, Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies. It hath no language 'midst the starry train, Earth has no gifted tongue Heaven's mysteries to explain. Then stood forth one, a child of other sires, To earth; a being sealed and severed from mankind. Yes!-what was earth to him, whose spirit passed Time's utmost bounds?-on whose unshrinking sight Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast Their full resplendence ?-Majesty and might, Were in his dreams;-for him the veil of light Shrouding heaven's inmost sanctuary and throne, The curtain of th' unutterably bright Was raised!-to him, in fearful splendour shown, Ancient of days! e'en thou mad'st thy dread presence known. He spoke the shadows of the things to come decreed 'Tis The conqueror's hands thy kingdom shall divide, The stranger to thy throne of power succeed! The days are full, they come;-the Persian and the Mede!" There fell a moment's thrilling silence round, Away! not let a dream disturb the festal throng! The last wild shriek of those whose doom is sealed And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling, Ere one bright star be faded from the sky, Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and fane, Empire is lost and won, Belshazzar with the slain. Fallen is the golden city! in the dust Spoiled of her crown, dismantled of her state, She that hath made the Strength of Towers her trust, Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate! Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er;-What widowed land shall now her widowhood deplore? Sit thou in silence! Thou that wert enthroned On many waters! thou whose augurs read, The language of the planets, and disowned The mighty name it blazons!-Veil thy head, Daughter of Babylon! the sword is red From thy destroyers' harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud!—for thou hast said, "I am, and none beside!"-Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke. But go thou forth, O Israel! wake! rejoice! Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day! Renew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice, The mirth of timbrels!-loose the chain, and say God hath redeemed his people!--from decay And lift thy head!-Behold thy sons returning, City of God! shall pass the bridal train, And the bright lamps their festive radiance pour, In their ful! mirth!-all deepening on the breeze, And the triumphal hymns the joy of youth ro As the long stormy roar of far-advancing seas! store! THE CHIEFTAIN'S SON. Yes, it is ours!--the field is won, A dark and evil field! Lift from the ground my noble son, And bear him homewards on his bloody shield! Let me not hear your trumpets ring, Swell not the battle-horn! Thoughts far too sad those notes will bring, When to the grave my glorious flower is borne! Speak not of victory!-in the name There is too much of wo! Hushed be the empty voice of Fame- Speak not of victory!-from my halls Must sink ere long-I had but him-but one! Within the dwelling of my sires The hearths will soon be cold, With me must die the beacon-fires That streamed at midnight from the mountainhold. And let them fade, since this must be, My lovely and my brave! Was thy bright blood poured forth for me, And is there but for stately youth a grave? Speak to me once again, my boy! Wilt thou not hear my call? Thou wert so full of life and joy, I had not dreampt of this-that thou couldst fall! Thy mother watches from the steep For thy returning plume; How shall I tell her that thy sleep Is of the silent house, th' untimely tomb? Thou didst not seem as one to die, With all thy young renown! -Ye saw his falchion's flash on high, In the mid-fight, when spears and crests went down! Slow be your march!-the field is won! Lift from the ground my noble son, And bear him homewards on his bloody shield. THE TOMBS OF PLATEA. FROM A PAINTING BY WILLIAMS. AND there they sleep!-the men who stood In arms before th' exulting sun, And bathed their spears in Persian blood, They sleep!-th' Olympic wreaths are dead, Th' Athenian lyres are hushed and gone; The Dorian voice of song is fled-Slumber, ye mighty! slumber deeply on! They sleep, and seems not all around The heavens are loaded with a breathless gloom. And stars are watching on their height, Thou seest no pastoral hamlet sleep, But by his dust, amidst the solitude. And be it thus!-What slave shall tread When their bright land sits weeping o'er her chains: Here, where the Persian clarion rung, And where the Spartan sword flashed high, From year to year swelled on by liberty! Here should no voice, no sound, be heard, Or the shrill trumpet, pealing up through heaver! Rest in your silent homes, ye brave! No barvest o'er your war-fields wave. THE VIEW FROM CASTRI FROM A PAINTING BY WILLIAMS. THERE have been bright and glorious pageants here, Where now gray stones and moss-grown columns lie; • A single tree appears in Mr. Williams's impressive pie. And taught the earth how freedom might be won. ture. There have been words, which earth grew pale to hear, High hopes o'erthrown!-It is, when lands rejoice When cities blaze, and lift th' exulting voice, Breathed from the cavern's misty chambers nigh: And wave their banners to the kindling heaven' There have been voices, through the sunny sky, And the pine-woods, their choral hymn-notes When mirth o'erflows, then tremble!-'T was a Fear ye the festal hour! sending, night And reeds and lyres, their Dorian melody, With incense-clouds around the temple blending, Of gorgeous revel, wreaths, and dance, and light, And throngs, with laurel-boughs, before the altar bending. 'There have been treasures of the seas and isles With inspiration yet; and each dim haze, When through the regal bower The trumpet pealed, ere yet the song was done, Young voices, through the blue Athenian sky, Fearless and free, the sword with myrtles bound “ Through Rome a triumph passed. With shout and trumpet-blast. Had lent the laurels, which in waving play, Or golden cloud which floats around thee, seems-O'er his own porch, meantime, the cypress hung, As with its mantle, veiling from our gaze The mysteries of the past, the gods of elder days! Away, vain phantasies!—doth less of power crest! Let the great rocks their solitude regain! THE FESTAL HOUR. that shake the startled earth ?-When wakes the foe, Wo for the dead!-the father's broken flower! A sound of lyre and song, Whose waves, by many an old mysterious pile, 'T was Antony that bade Shook Alexandria through her streets that night, The sword of Harmodius. Paulus Æmilius, one of whose sons died a few days be While the friend sleeps!-When falls the traitor's fore, and another shortly after, his triumph on the conquest blow? When are proud sceptres riven, This, with the preceding, and several of the following oteces, have appeared in the Edinburgh Magazine. of Macedon, when Perseus, king of that country, was led in chains. * See the description given by Plutarch, in his life of Antony, of the supernatural sounds heard in the streets of Alex andria, the night before Antony's death. Bright 'midst its vineyards lay Joy was around it as the glowing sky, A cloud came o'er the face Of Italy's rich heaven!-its crystal blue As with the wings of death!-in all his power Such things have been of yore, On the grape-clusters pour; And where the palms to spicy winds are waving, Turn we to other climes! Far in the Druid-Isle a feast was spread, Were chanted to the harp; and yellow mead |Have veiled the sword!-Red wines have sparkled fast From venomed goblets, and soft breezes passed, SONG OF THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN. "In the year 1315, Switzerland was invaded by Duke Leopold of Austria, with a formidable army. It is well attested, that this prince repeatedly declared he 'would trample the audacious rustics under his feet;' and that he had procured a large stock of cordage, for the purpose of binding their chiefs, and putting them to death. "The 15th October, 1315, dawned. The sun darted its first rays on the shields and armour of the advancing host; and this being the first army ever known to have attempted the frontiers of the cantons, the Swiss viewed its long line with various emotions. Montfort de Tettnang led the cavalry into the narrow pass, and soon filled the whole space between the mountain (Mount Sattel) and the lake. The fifty men on the eminence (above Morgarten) raised a sudden shout, and rolled down heaps of rocks and stones among the crowded ranks. The confederates on the mountain, perceiving the impression made by this attack, rushed down in close array, and fell upon the flank of the disordered column. With massy clubs they dashed in pieces the armour of the enemy, and dealt their blows and thrusts with long pikes. The narrowness of the defile admitted of no evolutions, and a slight frost having injured the road, the horses were impeded in all their motions; many leaped into the lake; all were startled; and at last the whole column gave way, and fell suddenly back on the infantry; and these last, as the nature of the country did not And Britain's hearths were heaped that night in allow them to open their files, were run over by the fugitives, vain. For they returned no more! They that went forth at morn, with reckless heart, In that fierce banquet's mirth to bear their part; And on the rushy floor, and many of thein trampled to death. A general rout ensued, and Duke Leopold was, with much difficulty, rescued by a peasant, who led him to Winterthur, where the historian of the times saw him arrive in the evening, pale, sullen, and dismayed."-Planta's History of the Helvetic Confederacy. And the bright spears and bucklers of the walls,THE Fear ye the festal hour! Ay, tremble when the cup of joy o'erflows! Tame down the swelling heart!—the bridal rose, And the rich myrtle's flower wine-month shone in its golden prime, And the red grapes clustering hung, But a deeper sound through the Switzer's clime. Than the vintage music, rung. A sound, through vaulted cave, A sound, through echoing glen • Herculaneum, of which it is related, that all the inha- And a trumpet, pealing wild and far, bitants were assembled in the theatres, when the shower of ↑ Stonehenge, said by some traditions to have been erected 'Midst the ancient rocks was blown, Till the Alps replied to that voice of war, With a thousand of their own. Wine-month, the German name for October. |