HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE I OH, Mariamne! now for thee The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeeding. Oh, Mariamne! where art thou? Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading: II And is she dead ?—and did they dare The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.— But thou art cold, my murder'd love! For her who soars alone above, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. III She's gone, who shared my diadem ; And I have earn'd those tortures well, ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS I ΙΟ 20 FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, II I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, III IO On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed IV And now on that mountain I stood on that day, V But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT I WE sat down and wept by the waters And ye, oh her desolate daughters! II While sadly we gazed on the river 20 ΙΟ III On the willow that harp is suspended, Oh Salem! its sound should be free; And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB I THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, II Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, III ΙΟ For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, IV And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride; V And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 20 VI And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail, A SPIRIT PASS'D BEFORE ME FROM JOB I A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine— II "Is man more just than God? Is man more pure STANZAS FOR MUSIC THERE be none of Beauty's daughters And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing And the lull'd winds seem dreaming: And the midnight moon is weaving So the spirit bows before thec, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. STANZAS FOR MUSIC "O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros GRAY'S Poemata. ΙΟ THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; ΙΟ That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. |