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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 frenzy's jealous raving?

My wrath but doomed my own despair:

The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.

But thou art cold, my murdered 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;

I swept that flower from Judah's stem

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming, And mine's the guilt and mine the hell,

This bosom's desolation dooming;

And I have earned those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.

THE King was on his throne,
The Satraps thronged the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deemed divine-
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless Heathen's wine!

In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,

And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;-

A solitary hand

Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxed his look,
And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,

Which mar our royal mirth."

Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still.

And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore,

But now they were not sage, They saw but knew no more.

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,-
The morrow proved it true.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom passed away,
He, in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud, his robe of state,

His canopy the stone;

The Mede is at his gate,

The Persian on his throne."

18*

OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S

BLOOM.

OH! snatched 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 disturbed the dead!

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,

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Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

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!

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free,
Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdained to sink beneath :
Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices poured!

To weep would do thy glory wrong;
Thou shalt not be deplored.

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