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!

"They demanded the song."-The ancient celebrity of the Jews with regard to their musical powers, is strikingly set forth in this stanza; the words though different, have a close affinity to the original. The Jews, when carried captives to Babylon, and mourning the loss of their country and their holy mountain, were solicited by the Babylonians, who were well acquainted with their powers, to sing one of their songs of Zion, to which the captives replied, "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land," and with firmness reverted to the land they had left, saying, "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.”

Lord Byron observed, on my singing this melody, "Why, Nathan, you enter spiritedly into the oriental feeling; recollect, however, that although you captivate, you are no captive; and with all due submission to the Babylonians, I think their levity was ill-timed in trying to extort mirth from sorrow."

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 divine—

Jehovah'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;

All bloodless wax'd his look,

And tremulous his voice.

"Let the men of lore appear,

"The wisest of the earth,

"And expound the words of fear, "Which mar our royal mirth." 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.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,
"His kingdom pass'd away,
"He in the balance weighed,
"Is light and worthless clay.
"The shroud, his robe of state,
66 His canopy, the stone;
"The Mede is at his gate!

"The Persian on his throne!"

Lord Byron in this melody draws forth the whole rational faculties, and fixes them upon a supernatural phantom. A spacious hall decorated with all the splendour of eastern pomp, illuminated with a thousand lamps, the tables with massy cups of gold, and every luxury which King Belshazzar could procure for his guests: when lo, in the midst of festivity, the vision of a hand writing upon the wall excites terror in every breast, the monarch trembling with fear, conscious that it portended some great calamity; and his Lordship closes with a train of miseries; Belshazzar divested of the robe of state, stripped of his possessions, slain, and the Medes and Persians in possession of his kingdom.

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.

OH, 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, could'st thou-thou would'st pardon now, Tho' Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

And is she dead?-and did they dare
Obey my phrenzy's jealous raving?

My wrath but doom'd my own despair:

The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.

But thou art cold, my murdered love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving

For her who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

E