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! And leaves my soul unworthy saving. III. 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 I have earn'd those tortures well, ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. I. FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome: 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. II. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, III. 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 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 I. WE sate down and wept by the waters When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, II. While sadly we gazed on the river III. On the willow that harp is suspended, And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. I. 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. II. 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. III. 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 for ever grew still! IV. 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, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. V. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brów, and the rust on his mail, And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. VI. And the widows of Ashur 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— Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; II. "Is man more just than God? Is man more pure (1) [The Hebrew Melodies, though obviously inferior to Lord Byron's other works, display a skill in versification, and a mastery in diction, which would have raised an inferior artist to the very summit of distinction. JEFFREY.] |