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WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
WERE my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine The land and the life which for him I resign.
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE,
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 : Ah, couldst thou—thou wouldst pardon now,
Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
And is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my phrensy's jealous raving? My wrath but doom'd my own despair:
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.-But thou art cold, my murder'd love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving For her who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
She's gone, who shared my diadem;
She sunk, with her my joys entombing
This bosom's desolation dooming;
Which unconsumed are still consuming!
ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,
On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign; And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be, Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT
DOWN AND WEPT.
We sate down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
Made Salem's high places his prey;
oh her desolate daughters !
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rollid on in freedom below,
That triumph the stranger shall know !
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free,
But left me that token of thee:
With the voice of the spoiler by me!
THE DESTRUCTION OF SEM NACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.
3. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forevergrew still!