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Mix'd with the yells of terror and dismay,
Are wafted through the concave arch of night
To that imperial mansion, where the king
Lies revelling with his minions. Nitocris
First heard, and started. In that spacious room,
On whose rich sides was painted many a chase,
With all the warlike acts of Ninus old,
And great Semiramis, she sat, and wove
Her variegated web. Her slaves around
With sprightly converse cheer'd the midnight hour ;
When sudden, chill'd with horror, in their arms
She sinks, a breathless corse. And now the noise
Invades Belshazzar's ear. A messenger,
And still another messenger arrives,
To tell him, all is lost. On the adverse wall
Instant his eye is fix'd; the characters,
Which yet remain, grow blacker, and increase
In magnitude tenfold: “Where, where,” exclaims
The affrighted prince, “ O where is Daniel? where
Is that interpreter of heaven's decrees,
Whose curse prophetic on mine ear still sounds
More horrible, than these alarming peals,
Which, as I speak, nearer and nearer roll,
The larbingers of slaughter. Haste, arise !
Tell him, I spare the tribes; tell him, I bow
To his Jehovah.” Thus Belshazzar spake,
When sudden, with impetuous uproar,
Through the wide portals rush'd an armed band,
Persians and Medes. Gobryas, and Gadatas,
Breathing fierce vengeance, and inveterate hate,

Conduct the bloody troop. Where, monarch, where
Is now thy cruel wrath, thy pride, thy power?
Sunk on his knees behold Belshazzar bows
Before his rebel exiles! “ Spare, O spare
My life," the coward tyrant, trembling, cries;
« Let Cyrus wear my crown.

To barren sands,
To regions, never trod by human foot,
Banish me, where I ne'er again may know
Sweet social intercourse, but think, O think,
How fearful 'tis to die.” Thus while he spake,
With sword uplifted, o'er their bending king
The victors stood. And now perhaps his prayers,
And eyes, which upward rolling, long'd for life
Though miserable, had stopp'd the fatal blow,
Had not his murder'd son forbad the rage
Of Gobryas to subside. On his arch'd neck
The ponderous falchion falls, and at one stroke
Smites from its spouting trunk the sever'd head
Of Babylonia's monarch. Ever thus
Perish fell cruelty, and lawless power!

After the Capture of Babylon, the Jews having been permitted

by Cyrus to rebuild their Temple, they reach JerusalemRenew the Feasts--Lay the Foundation of the Temple The

old Men weep.


Now dawns the morn, and on mount Olivet
The boar-frost melts before the rising sun,

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Which summons to their daily toil the world
Of beasts, of men; and all that wings the air,
And all that swims the level of the lake,

creeps the ground, bid universal hail
To day's bright regent. But the tribes were rous’d,
Impatient even of rest, ere yet the stars
Withdrew their feeble light. Through every street
They bend their way: some Ananiah leads,
Some Phanuel, or what elders else were driven
In early youth from Sion. Not a spot
Remains unvisited; each stone, each beam,
Seems sacred. As in legendary tale,
Led by magician's hand some hero treads
Enchanted ground, and hears, or thinks he hears,
Aerial voices, or with secret dread
Sees unembodied shades, by fancy form’d,
Flit through the gloom; so rescued Judah walk'd,
Amid the majesty of Salem's dust,
With reverential awe, Howbeit they soon
Remove the mouldering ruins; soon they clear
The obstructed paths, and every mansion raise,
By force, or time, impair'd. Then Jeshua rose
With all his priests; nor thou, Zorobabel,
Soul of the tribes, wast absent. To the God
Of Jacob, oft as morn and eve returns,
A new-built altar smokes. Nor do they not
Observe the feast, memorial of that age
When Israel dwelt in tents; the Sabbath too,
New moons, and every ritual ordinance,
First fruits, and paschal lamb, and rams, and goats,

Offerings of sin, and peace. Nor yet was laid
· The temple's new foundation. Corn, and wine,
Swe balm, and oil, they mete with liberal hand
To Tyrian, and Sidonian. To the sea
Of Joppa down they heave their stately trees
From Syrian Lebanon. And now they square
Huge blocks of marble, and with ancient rites
Anoint the corner stone. Around the priests,
The Levites, and the sons of Asaph stand
With trumpets, and with cymbals. Jeshua first,
Adorn'd in robes pontifical, conducts
The sacred ceremony. An cphod rich
Purple, and blue, comes mantling o'er his arms,
Clasp'd with smooth studs, round whose meand'ring

A girdle twines its folds: to this by chains
Of gold is link'd a breastplate: costly gems,
Jasper, and diamond, sapphire, amethyst,
Unite their hues; twelve stones, memorial apt
Of Judah's ancient tribes. A mitre decks
His head, and on the top a golden crown
Graven, like a signet, by no vulgar hand,
Proclaims him priest of God. Symphonious hymns
Are mix'd with instrumental melody,
And Judah's joyful shouts. But down thy cheeks,
O Ananiah, from thine aged eye,
O Phanuel, drops à tear; for

have seen
The house of Solomon in all its pride,
And ill can brook this change. Nor ye alone,
But every ancient wept. Loud shrieks of grief,


Mix'd with the voice of joy, are heard beyond
The hills of Salem. Even from Gibeon's walls
The astonish'd peasant turns a listening ear,
And Jordan's shepherds catch the distant sound.


BORN 1746.-DIED 1794.

Sir William Jones is not a great poet; but his name recals such associations of worth, intellect, and accomplishments, that if these sketches were not necessarily and designedly only miniatures of biography, I should feel it a sort of sacrilege to consign to scanty and inadequate bounds the life of a scholar, who, in feeding the lamp of knowledge, may be truly said to have prematurely exhausted the lamp of life.

He was born in London. His father, who it is said could trace his descent from the ancient princes of North Wales, and who, like his son, was no discredit to his lineage, was so eminent a mathematician as to be distinguished by the esteem of Newton and Halley. His first employment had been that of a schoolmaster, on board a man of war; and in that situation he attracted the notice and friendship of Lord Anson. An anecdote is told of him, that at the siege of Vigo, he was one of a party who had the

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