Though now awhile thou suffer us to groan
Beneath a tyrant's yoke; when, gracious Lord,
O when shall we return? O when again
Shall Siloa's banks, and Sion's holy top,
Be vocal with thy name? Said not thy seer,
When seventy tedious moons had twelve times
waned,

We should again be free? Behold, the day
Approaches. God of Israel, hath ought changed
Thine everlasting counsel? wilt thou leave
Thy people yet in sad captivity,

And join thy prophet with the despised tribe
Of Babel's false diviners? Not to thee,
But to great Bel, Chaldæa's frantic priests
Waft clouds of incense. Soon as morning dawns,
With shouts the noisy revellers will proclaim
The triumph of their God; nor will they cease
To rouse their monarch's rage, should Judah dare
Resist his impious edict. Then, O then,
God of our fathers, rise; and in that day,
Even before night, whose vaulted arch now shines
With clustering stars, shall visit earth again,
Confound their horrid rites, and show some sign
That yet again thy prisoners shall be free."

He spake, and sudden heard a rushing noise,
As when a north-west gale comes hovering round
Some cape, the point of spacious continent,
Or in the Indian or Pacific main;

The sailor hears it whistling in his shrouds,
And bids it hail. Bright as the summer's noon
Shone all the earth. Before the prophet stood
Gabriel, seraphic form: graceful his port,
Mild was his eye; yet such as might command
Reverence, and sacred awe, by purest love
Soften'd, but not impair'd. In waving curls
O'er his arch'd neck his golden tresses hung;
And on his shoulders two broad wings were placed,
Wings, which when closed, drew up in many a fold,
But, when extended to their utmost length,
Were twice ten cubits. Two of smaller size
Cameshadowing round his feet, with which he trod
The elastic air, and walk'd o'er buoyant space,
As on firm ground. A tunic braced his limbs,
Blanch'd in the fields of light; and round his waist
Was clasp'd an azure zone, with lucid stars
All studded, like that circle broad which cuts
The equator, burning line. The astonish'd seer
With low obeisance bow'd his hoary head,
While thus in voice benign the cherub spake.

"Servant of God, that prayer was not unheard
In heaven. I caught it, as before the throne
I stood, within the emerald bow, and, mix'd
With fragrant incense, offer'd it to him,
The white-robed Ancient of eternal days,
Even on his golden altar. Forthwith sent
To thee, with speed impetuous, swifter far
Than travels light's meridian beam, through realms
Of space, studded with worlds, which neither thought
Of mortal can conceive, nor numbers count,
I come, God's messenger. Not twice the morn
Shall dawn, ere all the woes which Salem felt
Shall fall on Babylon. This, this is he,

Whose streamers now round these devoted towers
Wave to the western wind, whom God hath raised
His instrument of vengeance. Twice hath pass'd
A century, since him the prophet styled
Cyrus, the Lord's anointed. He shall say,
Cities of Judah, rise! He shall command,
And Solyma's unpeopled streets again
Shall throng with busy multitudes. To him
In vision, or in dream, shall God reveal
His secret purpose; or what other way
His power shall mould the victor's ductile will
To execute his promise. One day more
Shall proud Chaldæa triumph. In that day
Let not a knee in Benjamin be bow'd
Save to Jehovah. What though cruel pride
Inflame Belshazzar's soul! what though his wrath
Torments unknown prepare; a sign from Heaven
Shall blast each vain device, a sign obscure,
But terrible. Ask not what; for in that hour
Shall beam celestial knowledge on thy soul,
And thou shalt read the mystic characters
Of dark futurity. Fear not his frown;
But in the sight of his assembled peers
Hurl bold defiance at his throne; and speak
As fits a prophet of the living God."

He spake, nor ended here; but to the seer
Matters of import high disclosed, which lay
Deep in the womb of time. "And these,” he cried,
"Record to distant ages, but conceal
My present errand." Daniel prepared
Obedient answer; but before he spake,
Gabriel had furl'd his wings, and now had reach'd
The middle space 'twixt earth, and highest heaven.

FROM THE SAME.

Procession of the Chaldæans to the Temple of BelusRefusal of the Jews to worship the Idol-Rage of Belshazzar-The hand-writing on the wall of his palaceDaniel's prophecy.

Now Morn, with rosy-colour'd finger, raised
The sable pall, which provident Night had thrown
O'er mortals, and their works, when every street,
Straight or transverse,that towards Euphrates turns
Its sloping path, resounds with festive shouts,
And teems with busy multitudes, which press
With zeal impetuous to the towering fane
Of Bel, Chaldæan Jove; surpassing far
That Doric temple, which the Elean chiefs
Raised to their thunderer from the spoils of war,
Or that Ionic, where the Ephesian bow'd
To Dian, queen of heaven. Eight towers arise,
Each above each, immeasurable height,
A monument at once of eastern pride
And slavish superstition. Round, a scale
Of circling steps entwines the conic pile;
And at the bottom on vast hinges grate
Four brazen gates, towards the four winds of heaven
Placed in the solid square. Hither at once
Come flocking all the sons of Babylon,
Chaldean or Assyrian; but retire

With humblest awe, while through their marshall'd ranks

Stalks proud Belshazzar. From his shoulders flows
A robe, twice steep'd in rich Sidonian hues,
Whose skirts, embroider'd with meand'ring gold,
Sweep o'er the marble pavement. Round his neck
A broad chain glitters, set with richest gems,
Ruby, and amethyst. The priests come next,
With knives, and lancets arm'd; two thousand sheep
And twice two thousand lambs stand bleating round,
Their hungry god's repast: six loaded wains
With wine, and frankincense, and finest flour,
Move slowly. Then advance a gallant band,
Provincial rulers, counsellors and chiefs,
Judges and princes: from their essenced hair
Steam rich perfumes, exhaled from flower or herb,
Assyrian spices: last, the common train
Of humbler citizens. A linen vest

Enfolds their limbs; o'er which a robe of wool
Is clasp'd, while yet a third hangs white as snow,
Even to their sandal'd feet: a signet each,
Each bears a polish'd staff, on whose smooth top
In bold relief some well-carved emblem stands,
Bird, fruit, or flower. Determined, though dismay'd,
Judæa's mourning prisoners close the rear.

And now the unfolded gates on every side
Admit the splendid train, and to their eyes
A scene of rich magnificence display,
Censers, and cups, and vases, nicely wrought
In gold, with pearls and glittering gems inlaid,
The furniture of Baal. An altar stands
Of vast dimensions near the central stone,
On which the god's high-priest strews frankincense,
In weight a thousand talents. There he drags
The struggling elders of the flock; while near,
Stretch'd on a smaller plate of unmix'd gold,
Bleed the reluctant lambs. The ascending smoke,
Impregnate with perfumes, fills all the air.

These rites perform'd, his votaries all advance Where stands their idol; to compare with whom That earth-born crew, which scaled the walls of heaven,

Or that vast champion of Philistia's host,
Whom in the vale of Elah David slew
Unarm'd, were 'minish'd to a span. In height
Twice twenty feet he rises from the ground;
And every massy limb, and every joint,

Is carved in due proportion. Not one mine,
Though branching out in many a vein of gold,
Sufficed for this huge column. Him the priests
Had swept, and burnish'd, and perfumed with oils,
Essential odours. Now the sign is given,
And forthwith strains of mixed melody
Proclaim their molten thunderer; cornet, flute,
Harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, unite
In loud triumphal hymn, and all at once
The King, the nations, and the languages
Fall prostrate on the ground. But not a head,
But not one head in all thy faithful bands,
O Judah, bows. As when the full-orb'd moon,
What time the reaper chants his harvest song,
Rises behind some horizontal hill,

Flaming with reddest fire; still, as she moves,
The tints all soften, and a yellower light
Gleams through the ridges of a purple cloud :
At length, when midnight holds her silent reign,
Changed to a silver white, she holds her lamp
O'er the belated traveller; so thy face,
Belshazzar, from the crimson glow of rage,
Shifting through all the various hues between,
Settles into a wan and bloodless pale.

Thine eyeballs glare with fire. "Now by great Bel,"
Incensed, exclaims the monarch, "soon as morn
Again shall dawn, my vengeance shall be pour'd
On every head of their detested race."

He spake, and left the fane with hasty step, Indignant. Him a thousand lords attend, The minions of his court. And now they reach The stately palace. In a spacious hall, From whose high roof seven sparkling lustres hang, Round the perpetual board high sofas ranged Receive the gallant chiefs. The floor is spread With carpets, work'd in Babylonia's looms, Exquisite art; rich vessels carved in gold, In silver, and in ivory, beam with gems. 'Midst these is placed whate'er of massy plate, Or holy ornament, Nebassar brought From Sion's ransack'd temple; lamps, and cups, And bowls, now sparkling with the richest growth Of Eastern vineyards. On the table smokes All that can rouse the languid appetite, Barbaric luxury. Soft minstrels round Chant songs of triumph to symphonious harps. Propt on a golden couch Belshazzar lies, While on each side fair slaves of Syrian race By turns solicit with some amorous tale The monarch's melting heart. "Fill me," he cries, "That largest bowl, with which the Jewish slaves Once deck'd the altar of their vanquish'd God. Never again shall this capacious gold Receive their victims' blood. Henceforth the kings Of Babylon, oft as this feast returns, Shall crown it with rich wine, nectarious draught. Fill high the foaming goblet; rise, my friends; And as I quaff the cup, with loud acclaim Thrice hail to Bel." They rose; when all at once Such sound was heard, as when the roaring winds Burst from their cave, and with impetuous rage Sweep o'er the Caspian or the Chronian deep. O'er the devoted walls the gate of heaven Thunder'd, an hideous peal; and, lo! a cloud Came darkening all the banquet, whence appear'd A hand (if hand it were, or airy form, Compound of light and shade) on the adverse wall Tracing strange characters. Belshazzar saw, And trembled: from his lips the goblet fell : He look'd again; perhaps it was a dream; Thrice, four times did he look; and every time Still plainer did the mystic lines appear, Indelible. Forthwith he summons all The wise Chaldæans, who by night consult The starry signs, and in each planet read The dark decrees of fate. Silent they stand; Vain are their boasted charms. With eager step

Merodach's royal widow hastes to cheer
Her trembling son. "O king, for ever live ;
Why droops thy soul?" she cries; "what though this
Of sage magicians own their vanquish'd art, [herd
Know'st thou not Daniel? In his heart resides
The spirit of holy Gods; 'twas he who told
Thy father strange events, and terrible ;
Nor did Nebassar honour one like him
Through all his spacious kingdom. He shall soon
Dispel thy doubts, and all thy fears ally."
She spake, and with obeisance low retired.
"Then be it so ; haste, Arioch, lead him here,"
Belshazzar cries; "if he interpret right,
Even though my soul in just abhorrence holds
His hatred race, I will revoke their doom,
And shower rich honours on their prophet's head."
Nor long he waited, when with graceful step,
And awe-commanding eye, solemn and slow,
As conscious of superior dignity,

Daniel advanced. Time o'er his hoary hair
Had shed his white snows. Behind him stream'd
A mantle, ensign of prophetic powers,
Like that with which inspired Elisha smote
The parting waters, what time on the bank
Of Jordan from the clouds a fiery car
Descended, and by flaming coursers drawn
Bore the sage Tishbite to celestial climes,
Maugre the gates of death. A wand he bore-
That wand by whose mysterious properties
The shepherd of Horeb call'd the refluent waves
O'er Pharaoh and his host, with which he struck
The barren flint, when from the riven cliff
Gush'd streams, and water'd all the thirsty tribes
Of murmuring Israel. Through many an age
Within the temple's unapproached veil,

Fast by the rod, which bloom'd o'er Aaron's name,
Still did the holy relic rest secure.
At length, when Babylonia's arms prevail'd,
Seraiah saved it from the flaming shrine,
With all the sacred wardrobe of the priest,
And bore it safe to Riblah. Dying there,
The priest bequeath'd the sacred legacy
To Daniel. He, when summon'd to explain,
As now, God's dark decrees, in his right hand
Brandish'd the mystic emblem. "Art thou he,
Art thou that Daniel, whom Nebassar brought
From Salem, whom the vanquish'd tribes adore,
In wisdom excellent? Look there, look there;
Read but those lines," the affrighted monarch cries,
"And clothed in scarlet wear this golden chain,
The third great ruler of my spacious realm.”

He spake, and thus the reverend seer replied. "Thy promises, and threats, presumptuous king, My soul alike despises ; yet, so wills

Ne'er has it borne, since first it left the trunk,
Or bud or blossom: all its shielding rind
The sharp steel stripp'd, and to dry winds exposed
The vegetative sap; even so thy race
Shall perish from thy barren stock shall rise
Nor prince nor ruler; and that glittering crown,
Won by thy valiant fathers, whose long line
In thee, degenerate monarch, soon must end,
Shall dart its lustre round a stranger's brow."

"Prophet of evils! darest thou pour on me
Thy threats ill-ominous, and judgments dark?"
Incensed the monarch cries: "Hence to thy tribes;
Teach them obedience to their sovereign's will,
Of I will break that wand, and rend in twain
The mantle of thy God.-Or if these marks.
Thou wilt erase from that accursed wall,
Take half my realm." He spake, and fix'd his eyes
Wild staring on the mystic characters:
His rage all sunk at once; his fear return'd
Tenfold; when thus the man of God began.

"Go to the shady vales of Palæstine, Vain prince, or Syrian Lebanon, and tear The palms and cedars from their native mould Uprooted; then return, and break this rod. Believe me, far more arduous were the task: For it was harden'd in the streams of heaven; And though not dedicate to sorcerers' arts By magic incantation, and strange spells; Yet such a potent virtue doth reside In every part, that not the united force Of all thy kingdom can one line, one grain, Of measure, or of solid weight impair. Wilt thou that I revoke thy destined fate? Devoted prince, I cannot. Hell beneath Is moved to meet thee. See the mighty dead, The kings, that sat on golden thrones, approach, The chief ones of the earth. O Lucifer, Son of the morning, thou that vaunting said'st, "I will ascend the heavens; I will exalt My throne above the stars of God; the clouds Shall roll beneath my feet," art thou too weak As we art thou become like unto us? Where now is all thy pomp? where the sweet sound Of viol, and of harp?' with curious eye Tracing thy mangled corse, the rescued sons Of Solyma shall say, 'Is this the man That shook the pillars of the trembling earth, That made the world a desert?' all the kings, Each in his house entomb'd, in glory rest, While unlamented lie thy naked limbs, The sport of dogs, and vultures. In that day Shall these imperial towers, this haughty queen, That in the midst of waters sits secure, Fall prostrate on the ground. Ill-ominous birds Shall o'er the unwholesome marshes scream for And hissing serpents by sulphureous pools [food; Conceal their filthy brood. The traveller In vain shall ask where stood Assyria's pride: No trace shall guide his dubious steps; nor sage, Versed in historic lore, shall mark the site Of desolated Babylon." Thus spake The seer, and with majestic step retired.

FROM BOOK IV.

The City of Babylon having been taken by the Army of Cyrus, Belshazzar is found in his Pleasure Garden, and slain.

WITHIN the walls

Of Babylon was raised a lofty mound,
Where flowers and aromatic shrubs adorn'd
The pensile garden. For Nebassar's queen,
Fatigued with Babylonia's level plains,

Sigh'd for her Median home, where nature's hand Had scoop'd the vale, and clothed the mountain's side

With many a verdant wood; nor long she pined
Till that uxorious monarch call'd on art
To rival nature's sweet variety.

Forthwith two hundred thousand slaves uprear'd
This hill, egregious work; rich fruits o'erhang
The sloping walks, and odorous shrubs entwine
Their undulating branches. Thither flocks
A multitude unseen, and, 'mid the groves
And secret arbours all night long conceal'd,
Silent, and sad, escape the victor's sword.

Now the glad sound of loud triumphal notes,
Mix'd with the yells of terror and dismay,
Are wafted through the concave arch of night
To that imperial mansion, where the king
Lies revelling with his minions. Nitocris
First heard, and started. In that spacious room,
On whose rich sides was painted many a chase,
With all the warlike acts of Ninus old,
And great Semiramis, she sat, and wove
Her variegated web. Her slaves around
With sprightly converse cheer'd the midnight hour;
When sudden, chill'd with horror, in their arms
She sinks, a breathless corse. And now the noise
Invades Belshazzar's ear. A messenger,
And still another messenger arrives,
To tell him, all is lost. On the adverse wall
Instant his eye is fix'd: the characters,
Which yet remain, grow blacker, and increase
In magnitude tenfold: "Where, where," exclaims
The affrighted prince, "O where is Daniel? where
Is that interpreter of Heaven's decrees,
Whose curse prophetic on mine ear still sounds
More horrible, than these alarming peals,
Which, as I speak, nearer and nearer roll,
The harbingers of slaughter. Haste, arise!
Tell him, I spare the tribes ; tell him, I bow
To his Jehovah." Thus Belshazzar spake,
When sudden, with impetuous uproar,
Through the wide portals rush'd an armed band,
Persians and Medes. Gobryas, and Gadatas,
Breathing fierce vengeance, and inveterate hate,
Conduct the bloody troop. Where, monarch, where
Is now thy cruel wrath, thy pride, thy power?
Sunk on his knees behold Belshazzar bows
Before his rebel exiles! "Spare, O spare
My life," the coward tyrant, trembling, cries;
Let Cyrus wear my crown. To barren sands,
To regions never trod by human foot,
Banish me, where I ne'er again may know

Sweet social intercourse, but think, O think,
How fearful 'tis to die." Thus while he spake,
With sword uplifted, o'er their bending king
The victors stood. And now perhaps his prayers,
And eyes, which upward rolling, long'd for life
Though miserable, had stopp'd the fatal blow,
Had not his murder'd son forbad the rage
Of Gobryas to subside. On his arch'd neck
The ponderous falchion falls, and at one stroke
Smites from its spouting trunk the sever'd head
Of Babylonia's monarch. Ever thus
Perish fell cruelty, and lawless power!

FROM BOOK VI,

After the Capture of Babylon, the Jews having been permitted by Cyrus to rebuild their Temple, they reach Jerusalem-Renew the Feasts-Lay the Foundation of the Temple-The old Men weep.

Now dawns the morn, and on mount Olivet
The hoar-frost melts before the rising sun,
Which summons to their daily toil the world
Of beasts, of men; and all that wings the air,
And all that swims the level of the lake,
Or creeps the ground, bid universal hail
To day's bright regent. But the tribes were roused,
Impatient even of rest, ere yet the stars
Withdrew their feeble light. Through every street
They bend their way: some Ananiah leads,
Some Phanuel, or what elders else were driven
In early youth from Sion. Not a spot
Remains unvisited; each stone, each beam,
Seems sacred. As in legendary tale,
Led by magician's hand some hero treads
Enchanted ground, and hears, or thinks he hears,
Aerial voices, or with secret dread

Sees unembodied shades, by fancy form'd,
Flit through the gloom; so rescued Judah walk'd,
Amid the majesty of Salem's dust,
With reverential awe.

Howbeit they soon

Remove the mouldering ruins; soon they clear
The obstructed paths, and every mansion raise,
By force, or time, impair'd. Then Jeshua rose
With all his priests; nor thou, Zorobabel,
Soul of the tribes, wast absent. To the God
Of Jacob, oft as morn and eve returns,
A new-built altar smokes. Nor do they not
Observe the feast, memorial of that age
When Israel dwelt in tents; the Sabbath too,
New moons, and every ritual ordinance,
First-fruits, and paschal lamb, and rams, and goats,
Offerings of sin and peace. Nor yet was laid
The temple's new foundation. Corn and wine,
Sweet balm and oil, they mete with liberal hand
To Tyrian and Sidonian. To the sea

Of Joppa down they heave their stately trees
From Syrian Lebanon. And now they square
Huge blocks of marble, and with ancient rites
Anoint the corner-stone. Around the priests,
The Levites, and the sons of Asaph stand
With trumpets, and with cymbals. Jeshua first,

Adorn'd in robes pontifical, conducts
The sacred ceremony. An ephod rich
Purple, and blue, comes mantling o'er his arms,
Clasp'd with smooth studs, round whose meand'ring

. hem

A girdle twines its folds: to this by chains
Of gold is link'd a breastplate: costly gems,
Jasper and diamond, sapphire amethyst,
Unite their hues; twelve stones, memorial apt
Of Judah's ancient tribes. A mitre decks
His head, and on the top a golden crown
Graven, like a signet, by no vulgar hand,

Proclaims him priest of God. Symphonious hymns Are mix'd with instrumental melody,

And Judah's joyful shouts. But down thy cheeks,
O Ananiah, from thine aged eye,

O Phanuel, drops a tear; for ye have seen
The house of Solomon in all its pride,
And ill can brook this change. Nor ye alone,
But every ancient wept. Loud shrieks of grief,
Mix'd with the voice of joy, are heard beyond
The hills of Salem. Even from Gibeon's walls
The astonish'd peasant turns a listening ear,
And Jordan's shepherds catch the distant sound.

SIR WILLIAM JONES is not a great poet; but his name recalls such associations of worth, intellect, and accomplishments, that if these sketches were not necessarily and designedly only miniatures of biography, I should feel it a sort of sacrilege to consign to scanty and inadequate bounds the life of a scholar who, in feeding the lamp of knowledge, may be truly said to have prematurely exhausted the lamp of life.

He was born in London. His father, who it is said could trace his descent from the ancient princes of North Wales, and who, like his son, was no discredit to his lineage, was so eminent a mathematician as to be distinguished by the esteem of Newton and Halley. His first em. ployment had been that of a schoolmaster, on board a man-of-war; and in that situation he attracted the notice and friendship of Lord Anson. An anecdote is told of him, that at the siege of Vigo he was one of the party who had the liberty of pillaging the captured town. With no very rapacious views, he selected a bookseller's shop for his share; but finding no book worth taking away, he carried off a pair of scissors, which he used to show his friends, as a trophy of his military success. On his return to England, he established himself as a teacher of mathematics, and published several scientific works, which were remarkable for their neatness of illustration and brevity of style. By his labours as a teacher he acquired a small fortune; but lost it through the failure of a banker. His friend, Lord Macclesfield, however, in some degree indemnified him for the loss, by procuring for him a sinecure place under government. Sir William Jones lost this valuable parent when he was only three years old; so that the care of his first education devolved upon his mother. She, also, was a person of superior endowments, and cultivated his dawning powers with a sagacious assiduity which undoubtedly contributed to their quick and sur

prising growth. We may judge of what a pupil she had, when we are told that, at five years of age, one morning, in turning over the leaves of a Bible, he fixed his attention with the strongest admiration on a sublime passage in the Revelation. Human nature perhaps presents no authentic picture of its felicity more pure or satisfactory than that of such a pupil superintended by a mother capable of directing him.

At the age of seven he went to Harrow school, where his progress was at first interrupted by an accident which he met with, in having his thigh-bone broken, and he was obliged to be taken home for about a twelvemonth. But after his return, his abilities were so distinguished, that before he left Harrow, he was shown to strangers as an ornament to the seminary. Before he had reached this eminence at school, it is a fact, disgraceful to one of his teachers, that in consequence of the ground which he had lost by the accident already mentioned, he was frequently subjected to punishment, for exertions which he could not make; or, to use his own expression, for not being able to soar before he had been taught to fly. The system of severity must have been merciless indeed, when it applied to Jones, of whom his master, Dr. Thackery, used to say, that he was a boy of so active a spirit, that if left friendless and naked on Salisbury Plain, he would make his way to fame and fortune. It is related of him, that while at Harrow, his fellow-scholars having determined to act the play of the Tempest, they were at a loss for a copy, and that young Jones wrote out the whole from memory. Such miracles of human recollection are certainly on record; but it is not easy to conceive the boys at Harrow, when permitted by their masters to act a play, to have been at a loss for a copy of Shakspeare; and some mistake or exaggeration may be suspected in the anecdote. He possibly abridged the play for the particular occasion. Before