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And now farewell !—'tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee !
My erring Absalom!"
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
To my soul
THE RUINED CITY.t The days of old though time has reft :
The dazzling splendour which they cast,
To shadow forth the past.
The lyric torrent strong and free,
Like twilight on the sea.
And blasted empires in their pride,
Till men by nations died.
* Destroyed B.C. 606. + This beautiful American Poem has an especial reference to the
ruins of Nineveh.
A thousand summer suns have shone,
Till earth grew bright beneath their sway,
Wert rendered to decay.
For ages clad thy fallen mould,
But they grew wan and old-
That even these should veil thy gloom ;
In token of thy doom.
With the bright vesture of thy prime,
Who hailed thy summer chime.
And all that won thy childrens' trust!
Pale city of the dust!
When twilight broods upon thy waste,
Thy structures swell upon the eye,
In triumph through the sky.
By those who view thy lonely gloom;
O'er slave and lordly tomb.
The warrior's strength and beauty's glow,
Compose the dust below!-ECKHARD.
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. The King was on his throne, the Satraps throng'd the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone o'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, in Judah deem’d divineJehovah's vessels hold the godless Heathen's wine ! In that same hour and hall, the fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall, and wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man ;-a solitary hand Along the letters ran, and traced them like a wand.
The monarch saw, and shook, and bade no more rejoice;
THE HISTORIC PROCESSIONS.
(SUGGESTED BY THE COURTS OF THE CRYSTAL PALACE.) Marching came a swarth procession, mustering from the banks of
Nile, Abject-eyed believers, marshalled by stern priests with eyes of guile; And with mystic types and symbols, were their garments studded
o'er; And the awful veil of Isis was the banner that they bore. Following trod a prouder army, striding on with martial tread, From a city, lost for ages, that had yielded up her dead; And a grim and giant monster stalking fiercely in the van, 'Twas a winged beast-more dreadful that it wore the face of man. Next a graceful throng went by me, from a classic region fair, Chiselled features, flowing garments, laurel wreaths in golden hair; And a god and goddess led them, glorious types of war and peace, Neptune and Minerva ever watching o'er their well-loved Greece. From their seven-hilled home eternal, then the haughty swordsmen
came, Lictor's fasces, gory ax-head, and the she-wolf's glance of flame; And four ever famous letters borne on high in that array, Told a world that Rome was present-proudly bade the world obey. Whose luxurious pomp succeeds them, who in smiling throng
* B.C. 538.
advance, Glistening in that flowery raiment, tripping as to feast and dance ? So they glistened, so they revelled, so was struck the sparkling lyre, On the day Pompeii perished, shrieking in yon mountain's fire. Some come mourning, come as those whose brightest day hath shone
and fled. March they from Byzantium's rampart, where a hero-king lies deadFrom the noblest fane that glows beneath an oriental skyRaised to Christian wisdom-bearing now the symbol of a lie. Came the Church in purple glory and a wealth of gems and gold, Steel-clad knights in soldier splendour, banners of emblazoned fold, Armourer, herald, jester, hawker, planet-reader, squire and page, Chivalry's thrice gorgeous chapter from her proudest middle age. Art's procession followed, calmly, lofty as their port should be, Who had dashed down feudal shackles, and proclaimed that Art is
free. Gazing on their deeds of beauty, who but scorns the bigot prate That assails their noble mission with a Goth’s fantastic hate ? What a glorious train came after, every lofty face a Fame, All whose Thought our age inherits, or our age itself shall claim. Those whose names, in self made light are burning still on honour's
scrolls, Those to whom the world is debtor-shall be debtor while it rolls.
TO A MUMMY.
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
And time had not begun to overthrow
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Of either pyramid, that bears his name?
Has oft caroused with Pharaoh glass to glass ;
Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,