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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,
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,