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In the presence of God's mighty Champion, grow pale
Oh never had Judah an hour of such mirth!
With a light not their own, through the Jordan's deep tide, Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on-t
Oh never had Judah an hour of such pride!
IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER,
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
When the spirit leaves this sphere,
To those she long hath mourn'd for here?
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore,
Of earth and heaven, where are they,
Blest, and thinking bliss would stay!
Pointing to the eternal home,
Looking back for us to come. *"Fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtlebranches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths."-Neh. yiii. 15.
+ " And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firin on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground.”-Josh. iii. 17.
Shall friendship-love-shall all those ties
Be found again where nothing dies ?
To keep our hearts from wrong and stain,
Where all we love shall live again?
WAR AGAINST BABYLON.
Be our banners through earth unfurld; Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound - 4
“War against Babylon !" shout through the world! Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,
Thy day of pride is ended now;
war against Babylon!
Set the standard of God on high
"Zion" our watchword, and“ vengeance” our cry! Woe! woe!-the time of thy visitation ||
Is come, proud Land, thy doom is cast-
War, war, war against Babylon!
+"Set up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet among the nations, prepare the nations against her, call together against her the kingdoms, etc. etc.- 1b.li. 27.
“Oh thou, that dwellest upon many waters, thy end is come."-Jer. i. 13.
"Make bright the arrows; gather the shields....get the standard upon the walls of Babylon."-Ib.
|| "Woe unto them! for their day, is come, the time of their xvisitation.”-16.
Upon National Music.
ADVERTISEMENT. These verses were written for a Benefit at the Dublin' Theatre, and were spoken by Miss Smith, with a degree of Success, which they owed solely to her admirable manner of reciting them. I wrote them in haste; and it very rarely happens that poetry, which has cost put little labour to the writer, is productive of any great pleasure to the reader. Under this impression, I should not have published them if they had not found their way into some of the newspapers, with such an addition of errors to their own original stock, that I thought it but fair to limit their responsibility to those faults alone which really belong to them.
With respect to the title which I have invented for this Poem, I feel even more than the scruples of the Emperor Tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon of the Roman Senate for using “ the outlandish term monopoly.” But the truth is, having written the Poem with the sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought that an unintelligible word of this kind would not be without its attraction for the multitude, with whom, “ If 'tis not sense,
at least 'tis Greek.” To some of my readers, however, it may not be superfluous to say, that, by “Melologue,” I mean that mixture of recitation and music, which is frequently adopted in the performance of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and of which the most striking example I can remember is the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of Racine.
There breathes a language, known and felt
Far as the pure air spreads its living zone;
From those meridian plains,
Where oft, of old, ơn some high tower,
That, when she heard the lonely lay,
To the bleak climes of polar night,
Where, beneath a sunless sky,
As blithe as if the blessed light
Oh Music! thy celestial claim
And, faithful as the mighty sea
The spell-bound tides
While, from Ilissus' silvery springs,
“A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian woman in the streets of Cozco, and would have taken her to his home, but she cried out, “For God's sake, Sir, let me go; for that pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls me with great passion, and I cannot refuse the summons; for love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and he my husband.”—Garcilasso de la Vega, in Sir Paul Rycaut's translation:
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving,
With hands by tyrant power unchain'd,
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd.
Where coward feet now faintly falter;
Flourish of Trumpet.
The war-steed's wakening ears !-
And, though her fond heartsink with fears,
A conqueror oft-a hero never-
And gush'd for ever!
There is an air, which oft among the rocks
Istieard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks; Oh! every note of it would thrill his mind
With tenderest thoughts—would bring around his knees The rosy children whom he left behind,
And fill each little angel eye
With speaking tears, that ask him why
Sweet notes of home-of love-are all he hears;
Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears!