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And where shall Israel lave her bleeding
And when shall Sion's songs again seem

And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary

How shall ye flee away and be at rest!
The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country_Israel but the grave!


ON Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep:

There where thy finger scorch'd the tablet-
There—where thy shadow to thy people

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Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire:
Thyself-none living see and not expire!

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear!
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppres-
sors' spear:
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod!
How long thy temple worshipless, oh God!



SINCE Our country, our God-Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!


OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

Away; we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou--who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.


My Soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string
And let thy gentle fingers fling
The harp I yet can brook to hear;

If in this heart a hope be dear,
Its melting murmurs o'er mine car.

That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, "Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain:

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, Minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And break at once-or yield to song.


I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
It could not match the living rays
Beside thee ceased to shine;
That fill'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow die,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Can banish from the sky,

Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.


THY Days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath :
Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath!

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin-voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong!
Thou shalt not be deplored.

Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,

Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents


Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, oh King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, but for a day;
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow:
And the falchion by thy side

To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul!"

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THOU, whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, behold the phantom-seer!"
Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his



FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,
And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.

I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays

Would lure me to live over.

There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
Of pleasure unembitter'd;
And not a trapping deck'd my power
That gall'd not while it glitter'd.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,

Nor music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.


WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; His hand was wither'd and his veins were dry; Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, | It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,
Shall it survey, shall it recal:
Each fainter trace that memory holds,
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes,

Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, Fix'd in its own eternity.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,

It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.

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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 heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,

The morrow proved it true.
"Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away,
He in the balance weigh'd,

Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy, the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne!'


SUN 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! 80 gleams the past, the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold, Distinct, but distant-clear-but, oh how cold!


WERE my bosom as false as thou deemst it to be,

I need not have wander'd from far Galilee; It was but abjuring my creed to efface The curse which, thou sayst, is the crime of my race.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin, 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.

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.


And now on that mountain I stood on that day,

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. But I mark'd not the twilight-beam melting

Он, 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 Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

And is she dead?-and did they dare
Obey my phrensy's jealous raving?
My wrath but doom'd my own despair:
The sword that smote her 's o'er me

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.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing; I swept that flower from Judah's stem

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming; And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, This bosom's desolation dooming; And I have earn'd those tortures well, Which unconsumed are still consuming!




FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome

I beheld thee, oh SION! when render'd to Rome: 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,

And forgot for a moment my bondage tocome; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,

And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed

Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;

While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,

And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!

But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane

The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign; And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be,

Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.


WE sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate Daughters!

Were scatter'd all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river

Which roll'd on in freedom below, They demanded the song; but, oh never

That triumph the stranger shall know! May this right hand be wither'd for ever, Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

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!

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For the Angel of Death spread his wings | And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; on the blast, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

And breathed in the face of the foe as he


And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,

But through it there roll'd 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,



A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld
The face of Immortality unveil❜d—
Deep sleep came down on every eye save

And there it stood,-all formless but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake:

"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you,and are ye more just? Things of a day! you wither ere the night, Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"

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