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Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strewn.

For the Angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved—and forever grew still

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride ;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
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.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !


Song of the Captive Jews at Babylon.

OD of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat GI

The fiery winds of desolation flow;
Father of vengeance ! that with purple feet,

Like a full wine-press, tread'st the world below;
The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay,
Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey,
Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way,

Till Thou the guilty land hast sealed for woe.



God of the rainbow! at whose gracious sign

The billows of the proud their rage suppress;
Father of mercies! at one word of thine

An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness;
And fountains sparkle in the arid sands,
And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands,
And marble cities crown the laughing lands,

And pillar'd temples rise thy name to bless.

O'er Judah's land thy thunders broke, O Lord;

The chariots rattled o'er her sunken gate ;
Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian's sword;

E'en her foes wept to see her fallen state.
And heaps her ivory palaces became;
Her princes wore the captive's garb of shame;
Her temples sank amid the smouldering flame;

For thou didst ride the tempest-cloud of fate.

O'er Judah's land thy rainbow, Lord, shall gleam,

And the sad city lift her crownless head;
And songs shall wake and dancing footsteps gleam

Where broods o'er fallen streets the silence of the dead.
The sun shall shine on Salem's gilded towers,
On Carmel's side our maidens gather flowers,
To strew at blushing eve their bridal bowers,

And angel feet the glittering Sion tread.

Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand,

And Abraham's children were led forth for slaves;
With fettered step we left our pleasant land,

Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves.
The stranger's bread with bitter tears we steep,
And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep,
'Neath the mute midnight we steal forth to weep,

Where the pale willows shade Euphrates' waves.

The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy;

Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead thy children home; He that went forth a tender yearling boy

Yet ere he die to Salem's streets shall come ; And Canaan's vines for us their fruits shall bear; And Hermon's bees their honeyed stores prepare; And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer, Where o'er the cherub-seated God full blazed the irradiate dome.


The Parallel.

Lines written on reading an argument to prove that the Irish were de scended from the Jews.


TES, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling,

In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same “ cup of trembling,"

Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.

Like thee doth our nation lie conquered and broken,

And fallen from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, desolation hath spoken,

And “while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning,

Die far from the home it were life to behold;
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,

Remember the bright things that blessed them of old.

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, “the forsaken,"

Her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are slaves ; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,

Have tones ’mid their mirth like the wind over graves !



Yet hadst thou thy vengeance—yet came there the morrow,

That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, When the scepter that smote thee with slavery and sorrow

Was shivered at once, like a reed, in thy sight.

When that cup, which for others the proud golden city

Had brimmed full of bitterness, drenched her own lips; And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity,

The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships.

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, And a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover, The Lady of kingdoms lay low in the dust.


But Who Shall See?

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UT who shall see the glorious day

When, throned on Zion's brow,
The Lord shall rend that veil away

Which hides the nations now?
When earth no more beneath the fear

Of his rebuke shall lie ;
When pain shall cease, and every tear

Be wiped from every eye.

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn

Beneath the heathen's chain ;
Thy days of splendor shall return,

And all be new again.
The fount of life shall then be quaffed

In peace, by all who come;
And every

wind that blows shall waft
Some long-lost exile home.


Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's

ND thou hast walked about (how strange a story)

In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,

And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.

Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy;

Thou hast a tongue-come--let us hear its tune;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy,

Revisiting the glimpses of the moon-
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features.

Tell us—for doubtless thou canst recollect

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect

Of either pyramid that bears his name?
Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer?
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ?

Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden

By oath to tell the secrets of thy tradeThen say what secret melody was hidden

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? Perhaps thou wert a priest--if so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles.

Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat,

Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass; Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat;

Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass;

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