That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise,
And calls my long-lost country to mine eyes.
Ye fields of Sharon, drest in flowery pride,
Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide,
Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown'd,
Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around,
These hills how sweet, those plains how wondrous fair, But sweeter still when Heaven was with us there!
O Memory! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain ;
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain:
Hence, deceiver most distressing!
Seek the happy and the free:
The wretch who wants each other blessing,
Ever wants a friend in thee.
Yet why repine? What though by bonds confin'd,
Should bonds enslave the vigour of the mind?
Have we not cause for triumph when we see
Ourselves alone from idol-worship free?
Are not this very day those rites begun
Where prostrate folly hails the rising sun?
Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain
For superstitious rites and mirth profane ?
And should we mourn? should coward virtue fly,
When impious folly rears her front on high?
No; rather let us triumph still the more,
And as our fortune sinks, our wishes soar.
The triumphs that on vice attend
Shall ever in confusion end;
The good man suffers but to gain,
And every virtue springs from pain:
As aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crush'd, or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.
But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near,
The sound of barbarous mirth offends mine ear;
Triumphant music floats along the vale,
Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale;
The growing note their near approach declares !
Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.
Enter Chaldean Priests attended
Come on, my companions, the triumph display,
Let rapture the minutes employ;
The sun calls us out on this festival day,
And our monarch partakes of our joy.
Like the sun, our great monarch all pleasure supplies,
Both similar blessings bestow;
The sun with his splendour illumines the skies,
And our monarch enlivens below.
CHALDEAN WOMAN
Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure,
Love presents its brightest treasure,
Leave all other sports for me.
A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT
Or rather, love's delights despising,
Haste to raptures ever rising,
Wine shall bless the brave and free.
SECOND PRIEST
Wine and beauty thus inviting,
Each to different joys exciting,
Whither shall my choice incline?
I'll waste no longer thought in choosing,
But, neither love nor wine refusing,
I'll make them both together mine.
But whence, when joys should brighten o'er the land,
This sullen gloom in Judah's captive band?
Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung?
Or why those harps on yonder willows hung?
Come, leave your griefs, and join our tuneful choir,
For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre?
Bow'd down with chains, the scorn of all mankind,
To want, to toil, and every ill consign'd,
Is this a time to bid us raise the strain,
And mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain?
No, never. May this hand forget each art
That speeds the powers of music to the heart,
Ere I forget the land that gave me birth,
Or join with sounds profane its sacred mirth!
Insulting slaves! if gentler methods fail,
The whip and angry tortures shall prevail.
Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer-
We fear the Lord, and know no other fear.
Can whips or tortures hurt the mind
On God's supporting breast reclin'd?
Stand fast, and let our tyrants see
That fortitude is victory.
End of the First Act
ACT II
SCENE-As before
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES
O PEACE of mind, thou lovely guest!
Thou softest soother of the breast!
Dispense thy balmy store!
Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies
Till earth, diminish'd to our eyes,
Shall vanish as we soar.
No more! Too long has justice been delay'd,
The king's commands must fully be obey'd;
Compliance with his will your peace secures,
Praise but our gods, and every good is yours.
But if, rebellious to his high command,
You spurn the favours offer'd at his hand,
Think, timely think, what ills remain behind;
Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.
Fierce is the whirlwind howling,
O'er Afric's, sandy plain,
And fierce the tempest rolling
Along the furrow'd main.
But storms that fly,
To rend the sky,
Every ill presaging,
Less dreadful show
To worlds below,
Than angry monarch's raging.
ISRAELITISH WOMAN
Ah me! what angry terrors round us grow,
How shrinks my soul to meet the threaten'd blow!
Ye prophets, skill'd in Heaven's eternal truth,
Forgive my sex's fears, forgive my youth!
If shrinking thus, when frowning power appears
I wish for life, and yield me to my fears:
Let us one hour, one little hour obey;
To-morrow's tears may wash our stains away.
To the last moment of his breath
On hope the wretch relies ;
And e'en the pang preceding death
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,
Adorns and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
Why this delay ? at length for joy prepare.
I read your looks, and see compliance there.
Come, raise the strain, and grasp the full-ton'd lyre-
The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.
See the ruddy morning smiling,
Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the valley playing,
Streams along the meadow straying.
While these a constant revel keep,
Shall reason only bid me weep?
Hence, intruder! we'll pursue
Nature, a better guide than you.
SECOND PRIEST
Every moment, as it flows,
Some peculiar pleasure owes;
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