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Yes !—what was earth to him, whose spirit pass'd
Time's utmost bounds ?—on whose unshrinking sight
Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast
Their full resplendence ?—Majesty and might
Were in his dreams ;—for him the veil of light
Shrouding 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 mad'st thy dread pre-
sence known.

He spoke:—the shadows of the things to come
Pass'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. 5 Tis decreed
The 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 I
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'd
In their full mirth;—all deepening on the breeze,
As the long stormy roil 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.*

* 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 trust,
Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate!
She that beheld the nations at her gate,
Thronging in homage, shall be call'd no more
Lady 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 enthroned
On many waters !—thou, whose augurs read
The language of the planets, and disown'd
The Mighty Name it blazons '.—-veil thy head,

Daughter of Babylon!—the sword is red
From thy destroyer's harvest, and the yoke
Is 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!
Eenew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice,
The mirth of timbrels !—loose the chain, and say
God hath redeem'd his people !—from decay
The silent and the trampled shall arise!
—Awake !—put on thy beautiful array,
O long-forsaken Zion !—to the skies
Send up on every wind thy choral melodies!

And lift thy head !—Behold thy sons returning,
Ttedeem'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 again,
Girt 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!

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THE LAST CONSTANTINE.

. . ..... "Thou strivest nobly,

When hearts of sterner stuff perhaps had sunk;

And o'er thy fall, if it be so decreed,

Good men will mourn, and brave men will shed tears.

Fame I look not for,

But to sustain, in Heaven's all-seeing eye,
Before my fellow men, in mine own sight,
With graceful virtue and becoming pride,
The dignity and honour of a man,
Thus station'd as I am, I will do all
That man may do."

Miss Baillik's Comtantine Palceologus.

I.

The fires grew pale on Rome's deserted shrines, In the dim grot the Pythias voice had died; —Shout, for the City of the Constantines, The rising city of the hillow-side, The City of the Cross !—great ocean's bride, Crown'd with her birth she sprung!—Long ages past,

And still she look'd in glory o'er the tide, Which at her feet barbaric riches cast, Pour'd by the burning East, all joyously and fast. II.

Long ages past!—they left her porphyry halls Still trod by kingly footsteps. Gems and gold Broider'd her mantle, and her castled walls Frown'd in their strength; yet there were signs which told

The days were full. The pure high faith of old Was changed; and on her silken couch of sleep She lay, and murmur'd if a rose-leaf's fold Disturb'd her dreams; and call'd her slaves to keep

Their watch, that no rude sound might reach her o'er the deep.

in.

But there are sounds that from the regal dwelling Free hearts and fearless only may exclude; 'Tis not alone the wind, at midnight swelling, Breaks on the soft repose by luxury woo'd! There are unbidden footsteps, which intrude Where the lamps glitter, and the wine-cup flows, And darker hues have stain'd the marble, streVd With the fresh myrtle, and the short-lived rose, And Parian walls have rung to the dread march of foes.

IV.

A voice of multitudes is on the breeze,
Remote, yet solemn as the night-storm's roar
Through Ida s giant-pines! Across the seas
A murmur comes, like that the deep winds bore
From Tempers haunted river to the shore

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