Think, timely think, what terrors are behind ;
Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.

Second PRIEST.


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.


Ah, me! what angry terrors round us grow;
How shrinks


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. (1)

Second PRIEST. Why this delay ? At length for joy prepare ; I read your looks, and see compliance there. Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise, Our monarch's fame the noblest theme supplies. Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre ; The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.


See the ruddy morning smiling,
Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing
Streams along the valley straying.


While these a constant revel keep,
Shall Reason only teach to weep?
Hence intruder! we'll pursue
Nature, a better guide than you.

(11 (“Fatigued with life, yet loth to part,

On hope the wretch relies;
And every blow that sinks the heart,

Bids the deluder rise.

“ Hope, like the taper's gleamy light,

Adorns the wretch's way;
And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray."-Orig. MS.]


Every moment, as it flows,
Some peculiar pleasure owes ;
Then let us, providently wise,
Seize the debtor as it flies.

Think not to-morrow can repay
The pleasures that we lose to-day ;
To-morrow's most unbounded store
Can but


proper score.


Recitative. But, hush ! see foremost of the captive choir, The master-prophet grasps his full-ton'd lyre. Mark where he sits, with executing art, Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart. See how prophetic rapture fills his form, Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm; And now his voice, accordant to the string, Prepares our monarch's victories to sing.


Air. From north, from south, from east, from west,

Conspiring nations come; Tremble thou vice-polluted breast,

Blasphemers, all be dumb.

The tempest gathers all around,

On Babylon it lies; Down with her! down-down to the ground,

She sinks, she groans, she dies.


Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,

Ere yonder setting sun;
Serve her as she has serv'd the just!

"Tis fix'd-it shall be done.


Recitative. No more! when slaves thus insolent presume, The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom. Unthinking wretches ! have not you and all, Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall ? To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes ; See where dethron'd your captive monarch lies, Depriv'd of sight and rankling in his chain See where he mourns his friends and children slain. Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind More pondrous chains, and dungeons more confind.


Chorus of Au. Arise, all potent ruler, rise,

And vindicate thy people's cause; Till every tongue in

Shall offer up unfeign'd applause.

every land

[Exeunt. ACT III.-Scene as before.


Recitative. Yes, my companions, Heaven's decrees are past, And our fix'd empire shall for ever last ; In vain the madd’ning prophet threatens woe, In vain rebellion aims her secret blow; Still shall our fame and growing power be spread, And still our vengeance crush the traitor's head.

Coeval with man
Our empire began,
And never shall fall
Till ruin shakes all :
When ruin shakes all
Then shall Babylon fall.


Recitative. "Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head, A little while, and all their power is fled ; But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, That this way slowly bend along the plain ? And now, methinks, to yonder bank they bear A pallid corse, and rest the body there. Alas! too well mine eyes indignant trace The last remains of Judah's royal race: Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er, Unhappy Zedekiah is no more !

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