And fountains throw up
their silver spray,And cymbals clash,—and the trumpets bray Till the sounds in the arched roof are hung; And words from the winding horn are flung: And still the carved cups go round,
And revel and mirth and wine abound.
But Night has o'ertaken the fading Day;
And Music has raged her soul away:
The light in the Bacchanal's eye is dim;
And faint is the Georgian's wild love-hymn.
Bring forth”—(on a sudden spoke the king, And hushed were the lords loud-rioting,)—
Bring forth the vessels of silver and gold,
Which Nebuchadnezzar, my sire, of old
Ravished from proud Jerusalem;
And we and our Queens will drink from them."
And the vessels are brought, of silver and gold,
Of stone, and of brass, and of iron old,
And of wood, whose sides like a bright gem shine,
And their mouths are all filled with the sparkling wine.
Hark!--the king has proclaimed with a stately nod,
Let a health be drank out unto Baal, the God."They shout and they drink :-but the music moans,
And hushed are the reveller's loudest tones:
For a hand comes forth, and 'tis seen by all
To write strange words on the plastered wall!
-The mirth is over;-the soft Greek flute
And the voices of women are low-are mute;
The Bacchanals' eyes are all staring wide:
And where's the Assyrian's pomp of pride ?—
-That night the monarch was stung to pain.
That night Belshazzar, the king, was slain!—
-Many a silent age the prow
Of untiring Time-(dividing
Years and days, and ever gliding
Onwards) has passed by :-And now,
Where's thy wealth of streets and towers?
Where thy gay and dazzling hours?
Where thy crowds of slaves,—and things
That fed on the rich breath of kings?
Where thy laughter-crowned times ?—
Thou art-what ?-a breath, a fame,
In the shadow of thy name
Dwelling, like a ghost unseen;
Grander than if laurels green
Or the massy gold were spread,
Crown-like, upon thy great head:
Mighty in thy own undoing,
Drawing a fresh life from ruin
And eternal prophecy :—
Thou art gone, but cannot die.
Like a splendour from the sky
Through the silent ether flung,
Like a hoar tradition hung
Glittering in the ear of Time,
Thou art,—like a lamp sublime,
Telling from thy wave-worn tower
Where the raging floods have power,
How ruin lives,-and how Time flies,-
And all that on the dial lies.
ARE the white snows which crown thy hills untrodden,
Are thy sons valiant still,―thy daughters pure,
Ceraunia?-or hath War, which makes the world
Blush in its blood, stained all thy hills and valleys?
Awake! The Turk is coming:-from his den
Where he once slept, lustful, intemperate,
He comes mad as the sea, and blind with hate.
Awake! Bare all your weapons till their light
Dazzles the sky, now sick with coming woe.
Awake! The Turk is on your heart. Awake!
Awake! 'tis the terror of war;
The Crescent is tossed on the wind;
But our flag flies on high like the perilous star
Of the battle. Before and behind,
Wherever it glitters, it darts
Bright death into tyrannous hearts.
Who are they that now bid us be slaves?
They are foes to the good and the free:
Go bid 'em first fetter the might of the waves;
The Sea may be conquered,—but we
Have spirits untameable still,
And the strength to be free,—and the will.
The Helots are come: In their eyes
Proud hate and fierce massacre burn, They hate us,--but shall they despise ?
They are come ;-shall they ever return? O God of the Greeks! from thy throne Look down, and we'll conquer alone.
The world has deserted our need:
The eagle is prey to the hound;
It may be; but first we will battle and bleed,
And when we have crimsoned the ground,
We'll shout at the slaves of the earth,
And die.-'tis the chance of our birth.
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