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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 read it on that night,-
"Belshazzar's grave is made,
The Persian on his throne!"
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!
UN of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
ERE 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!
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.