The song they
demanded
in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
Byron
[302]
I.
We sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II.
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the Stranger shall know! [mk]
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
III.
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!
_Jan. _ 15, 1813.
"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. "
I.
In the valley of waters we wept on the day
When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away!
II.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
III.
All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free
For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee! _
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
I.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
II.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
III.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved--and for ever grew still!
IV.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. [mn]
V.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
And the tents were all silent--the banners alone--
The lances unlifted--the trumpet unblown.
VI.
I.
We sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II.
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the Stranger shall know! [mk]
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
III.
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!
_Jan. _ 15, 1813.
"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. "
I.
In the valley of waters we wept on the day
When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away!
II.
The song they demanded in vain--it lay still
In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--
They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill
Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
III.
All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free
For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee! _
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
I.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
II.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
III.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved--and for ever grew still!
IV.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. [mn]
V.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
And the tents were all silent--the banners alone--
The lances unlifted--the trumpet unblown.
VI.
