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3. 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."

4. Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill? And the unknown letters slood

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.

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The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,-

The morrow proved it true.

6.
“ Belshazzar's grave is made,

“ His kingdom pass'd away,
“ He, in the balance weigh’d,

“ Is light and worthless clay. 66 The shroud his robe of state,

the stone; « The Mede is at his gate,

The Persian on his throne !"

“ His canopy

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SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sus of the sleepless ! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to joy remember'd well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
A night-bearn Sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh, how cold !

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU

DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

1. Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, I need not have wander'd from far Galilec; It was but abjuring my creed, to efface The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

2. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin, then thou art spotless and free? If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high, Live on in thy faith; but in mine I will die.

3. I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth kouw; 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.

1. On, 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.

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2. 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 murder'd love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving
For her who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

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