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, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, LORD BYRON. Song of the Captive Jews at Babylon. Go OD of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat Father of vengeance! that with purple feet, Like a full wine-press, tread'st the world below; Till Thou the guilty land hast sealed for woe. THE CAPTIVE JEWS AT BABYLON. 39 God of the rainbow! at whose gracious sign An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness; O'er Judah's land thy thunders broke, O Lord; O'er Judah's land thy rainbow, Lord, shall gleam, 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, Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand, Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves. 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. HENRY HART MILMAN. The Parallel. Lines written on reading an argument to prove that the Irish were de scended from the Jews. ES, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling, YE In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heart If 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, Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the forsaken," BUT WHO SHALL SEE? 41 Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow, 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 And a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover, THOMAS MOORE, But Who Shall See? UT who shall see the glorious day When pain shall cease, and every tear Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn 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. THOMAS MOORE. Address to the Mummy at Belzoni's Exhibition. A ND thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) In Thebes's 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, Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy; Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. -for doubtless thou canst recollect Tell us 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; |