Belshazzar’s Feast

Twas night in Babylon: yet many a beam,Of lamps far glittering from her domes on high,Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates’ streamWith the clear stars of that Chaldean sky,Whose azure knows no cloud: each whisper’d sighOf the soft night-breeze through her terrace bowers,Bore deepening tones of joy and melody,O’er an illumined wilderness of flowers;And the glad city’s voice went up from all her towers.

But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall,Where midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band,High at the stately midnight festival,Belshazzar sat enthroned. There luxury’s handHad shower’d around all treasures that expandBeneath the burning East; all gems that pourThe sunbeams back; all sweets of many a landWhose gales waft incense from their spicy shore--But mortal pride look’d on, and still demanded more.

With richer zest the banquet may be fraught,A loftier theme may swell the exulting strain!The lord of nations spoke,--and forth were broughtThe spoils of Salem’s devastated fane.Thrice-holy vessels!--pure from earthly stain,And set apart, and sanctified to HimWho deign’d within the oracle to reign,Reveal’d yet shadow’d; making noonday dim,To that most glorious cloud between the cherubim.

They came, and louder peal’d the voice of song,And pride flash’d brighter from the kindling eye;And He who sleeps not heard the elated throng,In mirth that plays with thunderbolts, defyThe Rock of Zion! Fill the nectar high,High in the cups of consecrated gold!And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die,And bid the censers of the temple holdOfferings to Babel’s gods, the mighty ones of old!

Peace!--is it but a phantom of the brain,Thus shadow’d forth, the senses to appall,Yon fearful vision? Who shall gaze againTo search its cause? Along the illumined wall,Startling yet riveting the eyes of all,Darkly it moves,--a hand, a human hand,O’er the bright lamps of that resplendent hall,In silence tracing, as a mystic wand,Words all unknown, the tongue of some far-distant land!

There are pale cheeks around the regal board,And quivering limbs, and whispers deep and low,And fitful starts!--the wine, in triumph pour’d,Untasted foams, the song hath ceased to flow,The waving censer drops to earth--and lo!The king of men, the ruler, girt with mirth,Trembles before a shadow! Say not so!--The child of dust, with guilt’s foreboding sight,Shrinks from the dread Unknown, the avenging Infinite!

“But haste ye!--bring Chaldea’s gifted seers,The men of prescience! Haply to their eyes,Which track the future through the rolling spheres,Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies.”They come--the readers of the midnight skies,They that gave voice to visions--but in vain!Still wrapt in clouds the awful secret lies,It hath no language midst the starry train,Earth has no gifted tongue heaven’s mysteries to explain.

Then stood forth one, a child of other sires,And other inspiration!--one of thoseWho on the willows hung their captive lyres,And sat and wept, where Babel’s river flows.His eye was bright, and yet the pale reposeOf his pure features half o’erawed the mind;Telling of inward mysteries--joys and woesIn lone recesses of the soul enshrined;Depths of a being seal’d and sever’d from mankind.

Yes!--what was earth to him, whose spirit pass’dTime’s utmost bounds? on whose unshrinking sightTen thousand shapes of burning glory castTheir full resplendence? Majesty and mightWere in his dreams; for him the veil of lightShrouding heaven’s inmost sanctuary and throne,The curtain of th’ unutterably bright,Was raised!--to him, in fearful splendour shown,Ancient of Days! e’en Thou madest thy dread presence known.

He spoke--the shadows of the things to comePass’d o’er his soul:--“O King, elate in pride!God hath sent forth the writing of thy doom--The one, the living God, by thee defied!He, in whose balance earthly lords are tried,Hath weigh’d, and found thee wanting. ’Tis decreedThe conqueror’s hands thy kingdom shall divide,The stranger to thy throne of power succeed!Thy days are full: they come,--the Persian and the Mede!”

There fell a moment’s thrilling silence round--A breathless pause!--the hush of hearts that beat,And limbs that quiver. Is there not a sound,A gathering-cry, a tread of hurrying feet?--’Twas but some echo in the crowded street,Of far-heard revelry; the shout, the song,The measured dance to music wildly sweet,That speeds the stars their joyous course along--Away! nor let a dream disturb the festal throng!

Peace yet again! Hark! steps in tumult flying,Steeds rushing on, as o’er a battle-field!The shouts of hosts exulting or defying,The press of multitudes that strive or yield!And the loud startling clash of spear and shield,Sudden as earthquake’s burst; and, blent with these,The last wild shriek of those whose doom is seal’dIn their full mirth!--all deepening on the breeze,As the long stormy roll of far-advancing seas!

And nearer yet the trumpet’s blast is swelling,Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry;And, lo! the spoiler in the regal dwelling,Death--bursting on the halls of revelry!Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die,The sword hath raged through joy’s devoted train;Ere one bright star be faded from the sky,Red flames, like banners, wave from dome and fane;Empire is lost and won--Belshazzar with the slain.

It is worthy of remembrance that Sir Walter’s own “Macduff’s Cross,”and Southey’s lively and eccentric nursery rhymes on the “Cataract of

As originally written, the following additional stanzas(afterwards omitted) concluded this poem:--

Fallen is the golden city! In the dust,Spoil’d of her crown, dismantled of her state,She that hath made the strength of towers her trustWeeps by her dead, supremely desolate!She that beheld the nations at her gate,Thronging in homage, shall be call’d no moreLady of kingdoms! Who shall mourn her fate?Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o’er--What widow’d land shall now her widowhood deplore?

Sit thou in silence! Thou that wert enthronedOn many waters!--thou, whose augurs readThe language of the planets, and disown’dThe mighty Name it blazons!--veil thy head,Daughter of Babylon! The sword is redFrom thy destroyer’s harvest, and the yokeIs on thee, O most proud!--for thou hast said,“I am, and none beside!” Th’ Eternal spoke;Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke!

But go thou forth, O Israel!--wake! rejoice!Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day!Renew the sound of harps, th’ exulting voice,The mirth of timbrels!--loose the chain, and sayGod hath redeem’d his people!--from decayThe silent and the trampled shall arise!Awake!--put on thy beautiful array,O long-forsaken Zion!--to the skiesSend up on every wind thy choral melodies!

And lift thy head!--Behold thy sons returningRedeem’d from exile, ransom’d from the chain,Light hath revisited the house of mourning:She that on Judah’s mountains wept in vain,Because her children were not, dwells againGirt with the lovely! Through thy streets once more,City of God! shall pass the bridal train,And the bright lamps their festive radiance pour,And the triumphal hymns thy joy of youth restore.