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On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT.
WE sate down and wept by the waters
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered 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 withered 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!
THE DESTRUCTION OF SEMNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 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,
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.