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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
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,
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
"Belshazzar's grave is made, "His kingdom pass'd away, "He, in the balance weigh'd,
"Is light and worthless clay. "The shroud his robe of state, "His canopy the stone; "The Mede is at his gate,
"The Persian on his throne!"
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!
SUN of the sleepless! melancholy star!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed, to efface
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
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.
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, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now, Though Heav'n were to my prayer unheeding.
And is she dead?-and did they dare
My wrath but doom'd my own despair:
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.—
But thou art cold, my murder'd love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving