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CHE subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird for a Selection

of Hebrew Melodies.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face ; Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints shat glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

How welcome those untrodden spheres!

How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from carth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so : 'tis not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares; With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !



The harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven ! It soften d men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne.

The wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground:
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by:
A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair. The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone! More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.
But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

It told the triumphs of our King,

It wasted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love, Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can not renove.



OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn--where their God hath dwelt, the godless


IF that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherish a heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tears

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?

And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
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!

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.


ON JORDAN'S BANKS. ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there--even there-0 God! Thy thunders sleep There-where Thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone! There-where Thy shadow to thy people shone! 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 oppressor's spear: How long by tyrants shall Thy land be trod ? How long Thy temple worshipless, O God!

My soul is dark-oh! quickly string

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling

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

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 nursed,

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst,

And break at once-or yield to song.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE our Country, our God-oh, my sirc! Demand that thy daughter expire ; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now!


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 sinile-the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays

That fill'd that glance of thine.

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, O 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 !

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That !ightens 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 !


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!

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,

My goblets blush'd from every vine,
Shall be the battle-word !

And lovely forms caress'd me :
Thy fall, the theme of choral song

I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
From virgin voices pour'd!

And felt my soul grow tender;
To weep would do thy glory wrong:

All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Thou shalt not be deplored.

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 rolld no hour

Of pleasure unembitterd;
And not a trapping deck'd iny power

That galld not while it glitter'd.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harining; 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.

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 shroud.
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was wither'd, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare ;
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like cavernd winds, the hollow accents came.
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, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold :
Such are mine; and sucl. shall be
Thine to-inorrow, 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!'



WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah! whither strays the iinmortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Then, unenibodied, 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 recall :
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.



WARRIORS and chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path;
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet !
Mine be the doom which they dared not to ineet.
Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart !
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day.

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 cternity.

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.


FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine,

And health and youth possess d me;


The King was on his throne,

WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
The Satraps throng'd the hall :

I need not have wandered from far Galilee;
A thousand bright lamps shone

It was but abjuring my creed to efface
O'er that high festival,

The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deein'd divine

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
Jehovah's vessels hold

If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
The godless Heathen's wine.

If the exile on earth is an outcast on high,
In that same hour and hall,

Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.
The fingers of a hand

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
Came forth against the wall,

As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; And wrote as if on sand:

In His hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine
The fingers of a man ;-

The land and the life which for Him I resign.
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;

OH, Mariamne! now for thee
All bloodless wax'd his look,

The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding :
And tremulous his voice.

Revenge is lost in agony,
Let the men of lore appear,

And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
The wisest of the earth,

Oh, Mariamne! where art thou ?
And expound the words of fear,

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading :
Which mar our royal mirth,

Ah! couldst thou—thou wouldst pardon now,

Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;

And is she dead?-and did they dare
And the unknown letters stood

Obey my frenzy's jealous raving?
Untold and awful still.

My wrath but doom'd my own despair:
And Babel's men of age

The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.
Are wise and deep in lore

But thou art cold, my murder'd love !
But now they were not sage,

And this dark heart is vainly craving
They saw-but knew no more.

For her who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,

She's gone, who shared my diadem;
He heard the king's command,

She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
He saw that writing's truth.

I swept that flower from Judah's stem,
The lamps around were bright,

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming ;
The prophecy in view ;

And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
He read it on that night,

This Losom's desolation dooming;
The morrow proved it true.

And I have earn'd those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consuming!
· Belshazzar's grave is made,

His kingdoin pass'd away,
He, in the balance weigh'd,
Is light and worthless clay ;

The shroud his robe of state,

His canopy the stone;

FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
The Mede is at his gate!

I beheld thee, O Sion, when render'd to Rome: The Persian on his throne

Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy


Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS! SUN of the sleepless ! melancholy star!

I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,

And forgot for a moment my bondage to come ; That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, How like art thou to joy remember'd well!

And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in So gleams the past, the light of other days,

vain. Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed Distinct, but distant-clear, but oh, how cold? Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed ;

While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy That host with their banners at sunset were seen: shrine.

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath

blown, And now on that mountain I stood on that day,

That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strewn. But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away! Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass d ; But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane And thie eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign;

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew And scatter'd and scorn'd as Thy people may be,

still Our worship, O Father I is only for Thee.

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, BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
We sat down and wept by the waters

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
Of Babel, and thought of the day

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters! And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,

Made Salem's high places his prey ; The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And ye, O her desolate daughters !
Were scatter'd all weeping away.

And the widow's of Ashur are loud in their wail,

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, They demanded the song, but, oh, never

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 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,

O Salem ! its sound should be free;

A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld
And the hour when thy glories were ended

The face of imınortality unveild-
But left me that token of thee :

Deep sleep came down on every eye save mineAnd ne'er shall its soft tones be blended

And there it stood-all forinless, but divine:
With the voice of the spoiler by me !

Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;

And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake: THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

Is man more just than God? Is man more pure THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure? And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! And tae sheen of their spears was like stars on the The moth survives you, and are ye more just ? soa,

Things of a day! you wither ere the night, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!'

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