THE monarch held his banquet To music's pleasant sound, And the ruddy bowl That blinds the soul With the flashing wine was crowned; And beauty all unlovely With bright but hollow eye, In rapture wild Upon him smiled In his drunken revelry. A On the field of blood And what reward hath he? They circled him with glory— They called him, mighty Lord! They bent the knee His face to see, And they trembled at his word!→ But where is he, the mighty, And the glory he hath won?— With the conquered foe, Ere half his work was done. But the joy of the bounding pulse- They are found in the throng And the monarch's feast to share. What ho, what ho, the goblet! It hath held the holy wine; And prophets of old Have blessed the gold, And the gods have made it mine: When the dewy lip Of the fair doth sip As we lean on her snowy breast. He raised the goblet high, And the foaming juice ran o'er; And ever the bout Of the frantic rout Did shake the marble floor. The matron rent her veil As she tossed the beady wine, And even the queen To drink was seen With the reeling concubine. What ho, what ho, the goblet! He grasps it in his hands What ails the king While the minstrels sing, And the wine untasted stands? He hath dashed his jewelled crown, He hath rent his golden pall, For a finger dark On the wall doth mark, And an earthquake rocks the hall. Now fetch me my magicians, Upon him doth wait That the deadly scroll shall read. They have looked upon the scroll; Till stern and loud To the frightened crowd Spoke the voice of the Seer of Death. daughters of Ashur shall wail in the cry, e widows of Judah have sent to the sky. ast wasted the altar, and trod, in thy pride, rk for which princes and prophets have died; priest's hallowed rose, and the gem and the shrine, st cursed with the drunken pollution of wine. thou art weighed, and thy balance is light; hand of the Lord hath condemned thee to-night! entence of wrath that his finger hath wrote; word of the conqueror gleams at thy throat, Mede and the Persian shall sit in thy place, ehovah has scattered the house of thy race. Now crown the prophet straight; And chance may be, That I and ye Shall perish here to-night. But bid the banquet on, To the gods we leave the rest, For fear, at least, At the monarch's feast, Were a most unseemly guest. B |