With richer zest the banquet may be fraught,

A loftier theme may swell th' exulting strain!

The Lord of nations spoke, and forth were brought

The spoils of Salem's devastated fane:

Thrice holy vessels!-pure from earthly stain,

And set apart, and sanctified to Him, Who deigned within the oracle to reign,

Revealed, yet shadowed; making noonday dim,

To that most glorious cloud between the Cherubim.

They came, and louder pealed the voice of song,

And pride flashed brighter from the kindling eye,

And He who sleeps not heard th' elated throng,

In mirth that plays with thunderbolts,

defy

The Rock of Zion!-Fill the nectar

The measured dance to music wildly sweet,

That speeds the stars their joyous course along;

Away! nor let a dream disturb the fes

tal throng!

Peace yet again!-Hark! steps in tumult flying,

Steeds rushing on as o'er a battlefield!

The shout of hosts exulting or defying, The press of multitudes that strive or yield!

And the loud, startling clash of spear and shield,

Sudden as earthquake's burst!-and, blent with these,

The last wild shriek of those whose

doom is sealed

In their full mirth!-all deepening on the breeze,

As the long stormy roar of far-advancing seas!

And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling,

Loud, shrill and savage, drowning every cry!

And lo! the spoiler in the regal dwelling,

Death bursting on the halls of revelry!

Ere on their brows one fragile roseleaf die,

The sword hath raged through joy's devoted train,

Ere one bright star be faded from the sky,

Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and fane,

Empire is lost and won, Belshazzar with the slain.

Fallen is the golden city! in the dust Spoiled of her crown, dismantled of

her state,

She that hath made the Strength of Towers her trust,

Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate!

She that beheld the nations at her gate,

Thronging in homage, shall be called

streets once more,

City of God! shall pass the bridal

train,

And the bright lamps their festive radiance pour,

And the triumphal hymns the joy of youth restore!

FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1835).

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.

OVER Babylon's sandy plains
Belshazzar the Assyrian reigns;
A thousand lords at his kingly call
Have met to feast in a spacious hall,
And all the imperial boards are spread
With dainties whereon the monarch
fed.

Rich cates and floods of the purple grape;

And many a dancer's serpent shape Steals slowly upon their amorous sights Or glances beneath the flaunting lights; And fountains throw up their silver

spray,

And cymbals clash, and the trumpets bray,

Till the sounds in the archèd roof are

hung,

And words from the winding horn are flung:

And still the carvèd cups go round, And revel, and mirth, and wine abound. But night has o'ertaken the fading day;

And music has raged her soul away: The light in the bacchanal's eye is dim; And faint is the Georgian's wild lovehymn.

"Bring forth" (on a sudden spoke the king,

And hush'd were the lords' loud rioting),

"Bring forth the vessels of silver and gold,

Which Nebuchadnezzar, my sire, of old, Ravish'd from proud Jerusalem;

And we and our queens will drink from them."

And the vessels are brought, of silver and gold,

Of stone, and of brass, and of iron old, And of wood, whose sides like a bright gem shine,

And their mouths are all filled with the

And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine,

While the trumpets bray, and the cymbals ring,

"Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!"