And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him,
If that which served him for a soul were still
Within its husk, 'twould still be-dirt to dirt.
S. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him
For industry and honourable wealth,
A bright example.
Gets him no other praise. But come this way
Some twelve-months hence, and you will find his virtues
Trimly set forth in lapidary lines;
Faith, with her torch beside, and little Cupids
Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.
To the feast! To the feast! 'tis the monarch commands.—
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands,
As reckless of all the high vaunts of the foe,
As of the weak zephyrs around her that blow;
With her walls and her bulwarks, all power she defies;
Like the cliffs of the mountain, her turrets arise;
And swift through her ramparts, so deep and so wide,
Euphrates now rolls his unfordable tide.
Then on to the feast;-'tis the monarch commands;
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands!
With silver and gold are her treasuries stored,
And she smiles with disdain at the arrow and sword;
With the choicest of wheat all her granaries teem,
Her oil and her wine in broad rivulets stream;
For twenty long winters no famine she dreads,
For twenty long summers her banquet she spreads:
Then on to the feast;-'tis the monarch commands;
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands!
A thousand bright cressets the palace illume;
A thousand rich censers are wafting perfume;
The festival halls heap'd with luxury shine,
High piled are the cates, deep flows the red wine;
The fruits of a province the tables unfold,
The wealth of a kingdom there blazes in gold:
And hark! the loud flourish of trumpet and drum
Announces aloud, that the monarch is come.
Had all these public virtues which you praise.—
But the poor man rung never at his door;
And the old beggar, at the public gate,
Who, all the summer long, stands, hat in hand,
He knew how vain it was to lift an eye
To that hard face. Yet he was always found
Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers,
Your benefactors in the newspapers.
His alms were money put to interest
In the other world,-donations, to keep open
A running charity-account with heaven:-
Retaining fees against the last assizes,
When, for the trusted talents, strict account
Shall be required from all, and the old Arch-Lawyer
Plead his own cause as plaintiff.
Believe you, sir:-these are your witnesses,
These mourners here, who from their carriages
Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind
Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their
Some decent rheum. The very hireling mute
Bears not a face blanker of all emotion
Than the old servant of the family!
How can this man have lived, that thus his death
Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief!
T. Who should lament for him, sir, in whose heart
Love had no place, nor natural charity?
The parlour spaniel, when she heard his step,
Rose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside
With creeping pace; she never raised her eyes
To woo kind words from him, nor laid her head
Upraised upon his knee, with fondling whine.
How could it be but thus? Arithmetic
Was the sole science he was ever taught.
The multiplication-table was his Creed,
His Pater-noster, and his Decalogue.
When yet he was a boy, and should have breathed
The open air and sunshine of the fields,
To give his blood its natural spring and play;
He, in a close and dusky counting-house,
Smoke-dried and sear'd and shrivell'd up his heart.
So, from the way in which he was train'd up,
His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd,
Poor muck-worm! through his threescore years and ten;
And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him,
If that which served him for a soul were still
Within its husk, 'twould still be-dirt to dirt.
S. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him
For industry and honourable wealth,
Gets him no other praise. But come this way
Some twelve-months hence, and you will find his virtues
Trimly set forth in lapidary lines;
Faith, with her torch beside, and little Cupids
Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.
To the feast! To the feast! 'tis the monarch commands.—
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands,
As reckless of all the high vaunts of the foe,
As of the weak zephyrs around her that blow;
With her walls and her bulwarks, all power she defies;
Like the cliffs of the mountain, her turrets arise;
And swift through her ramparts, so deep and so wide,
Euphrates now rolls his unfordable tide.
Then on to the feast;-'tis the monarch commands;
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands!
With silver and gold are her treasuries stored,
And she smiles with disdain at the arrow and sword;
With the choicest of wheat all her granaries teem,
Her oil and her wine in broad rivulets stream;
For twenty long winters no famine she dreads,
For twenty long summers her banquet she spreads:
Then on to the feast;-'tis the monarch commands;
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands!
A thousand bright cressets the palace illume;
A thousand rich censers are wafting perfume;
The festival halls heap'd with luxury shine,
High piled are the cates, deep flows the red wine;
The fruits of a province the tables unfold,
The wealth of a kingdom there blazes in gold:
And hark! the loud flourish of trumpet and drum
Announces aloud, that the monarch is come.
Surrounded with all the proud pomp of his court!
How kingly his tread! how majestic his port!
The rose, and the myrtle, and laurel, combined
In a fillet of gold, round his temples are twined;
In robes starr'd with jewels resplendently bright,
He moves like a god, in a circle of light;
And now he has taken his seat at the board,
As God he is honour'd, as God is adored;
While crowding in thousands, the satraps so gay,
With their ladies all glittering in costly array,
Exulting like eaglets approaching the sun,
By their stations are rank'd, and the feast is begun.
Now let the loud chorus of music ascend;
All voices, all hearts, and all instruments blend;
The flute's mellow tone, with the cornet's shrill note,
The harp and the drum and the trump's brazen throat.
And Captains and Nobles and Ladies so bright,
To swell the loud anthem of triumph unite.
Come-make deep libations to honour the king,
Now let our high cheering re-echoing ring,
Yet louder and louder! the monarch commands;
Secure in her strength, the proud Babylon stands!
High praise to our gods of brass, iron, and stone;
But most to great Belus, the guard of the throne:
All gorgeous they stand in our temples displayed,
With gold and with elephant richly inlaid;
Our strength and our glory in city and field,
In peace our advisers, in battle our shield.
To them, mighty rulers of earth and of heaven,
Ail honour, and power, and dominion, be given;
By them shall proud Babylon, towering sublime,
Stand fast in her strength till the dotage of time!
Now giving full wing, in the festival hour,
To the thoughts of his heart, and the pride of his power,
The monarch desires the rich vessels of gold,
The pride of high Salem, before she was sold,
To be brought to the banquet.-And now hands profane, And idolatrous lips, their bright purity stain.
All dim, in the service of idols abhorr'd,
Grows the chalice that once shone so bright to the Lord. But lo! in the hand of the monarch it foams,
As his eye, round the walls, half-inebriate roams;
And hark! he exclaims-" This fair chalice, so proud,
Was once that Jehovah's whose throne is a cloud;
But, by Babylon torn from his temple and shrine,
Is consecrate now to her glory and mine!
Ye satraps."-
Amazement!-'tis dash'd from his hand,
As if struck by some potent invisible wand.-
His soul what dire horror has suddenly wrung,
That palsies his nerves, and relaxes his tongue?-
His visage grows pale with the hues of despair,
And his eye-balls congeal with an ominous glare;
For see!-on the wall-what strange characters rise!
Some sentence transcribed from the book of the skies,
By fingers immortal!-How suddenly still
Grows the noise of the banquet!-all fear-struck and chill
Sit the revellers now-bound up is their breath,
As though they had felt the cold vapour of death.
All dimm'd is the glory that beam'd round the throne,
And the god sits the victim of terrors unknown.
At length, words find utterance-" Oh haste, hither call
The Augurs, Chaldeans, Astrologers, all!-
Whoever that sentence shall read and expound,
A chain of bright gold on his neck shall be bound;
The third of my realm to his power I bestow,
And the purple of kings on his shoulders shall glow."
The Astrologers come-but their science is vain;
Those characters dark may no mortal explain,
Save one who to idols ne'er humbled his heart,
Some Seer to whom God shall his spirit impart;-
And that one exists-of the captives a sage,
Now grey with the honours and wisdom of age,
A Hebrew, a Prophet-to him it is given
To read and resolve the dark counsels of heaven.
O haste! let that sage this strange secret unfold,
And his be my power with the purple and gold."
While the king and his nobles, distracted in thought, Their doubts are revolving-the captive is brought; But not in that visage, and not in that eye, A captive's dejection and gloom they descry: For he breathes, as he moves, all the ardour of youth, The high soul of freedom, the courage of truth.See!-o'er his warm features, and round his fair head, A glory divine seems its radiance to shed;
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