They glide, they glide! each, like an antelope, Bounding in beauty on a sunny slope, In their majestic state, Whose bridal bed Belshazzar's self hath deign'd to bless. Come forth! come forth and crown the peerless feast, Thou whose high birthright was the effulgent east! On th' ivory seat alone, Monarch of Babylon ! Survey the interminable wilderness Of splendour, stretching far beyond the sight; Nought but thy presence wants there now to bless: The music waits for thee, Its fount of harmony, Transcending glory thou of this thrice glorious night! Behold! behold! each gem-crown'd forehead proud, And every plume and crested helm is bow'd, Each high-arch'd vault along Breaks out the blaze of song, Belshazzar comes! nor Bel, when he returns From riding on his stormy thunder-cloud, The hall of banquet is then discovered, and, after another chorus has sung the praises of their sovereign, Sabaris and Arioch, in language of meet adulation, announce the happiness which is about to fall on the great assembly in hearing Belshazzar speak. His speech follows. It is proud, and glorying as the occasion requires, in a strain, however, of much poetical eloquence; so much so as perhaps to impair what should seem to be its proper effect: it ought more strongly to alarm and revolt the mind of the reader. As his speech at length rises to utter impiety, he is at once stricken with the sight of the handwriting on the wall. We cannot afford a quotation here; nor indeed is there much power shewn where a truly great poet might have produced prodigious effect. Here the scene changes again to the summit of the Temple; where Benina is again visited by Kalassan, who comes now, as the only God for whose nuptials she had been led hither, to claim his bride; while bursting flames and imitative thunders, and the clangour of the dissonant and deafening music of the Temple announce the hour of the God's descent. The hope of deliverance scems past, when Kalassan is suddenly summoned away, with the dreamers and astrologers, to the presence of the King. To whom the scene returns. "The Hall of Banquet, with the Fiery Letters on the Wall. Arioch. Hath the King spoken? With those red characters of fire; but still string Of some shrill instrument; or even the wind, Whispering amid the plumes and shaking lamps, Disturb him-by some mute, imperious gesture, Or by his brow's stern anger, he commands All the vast halls to silence." Kalassan and the seers and sages enter the hall; but on being required by the King to expound the mystery of their blank and astonished silence, acknowledging their inability, he commands them to be driven forth with shame. Belshazzar continues to speak: "Despair! Despair! This is thy palace now! No throne, no couch Beseems the King, whose doom is on his walls Emblazed-yet whose vast empire finds not one Whose faithful love can show its mystic import ! Low on the dust, upon the pavement-stone, Belshazzar takes his rest! ye hosts of But to expound those fiery characters, Shall ne'er speak more !" Well, we'll go rest once more on kingly couches, My mother, and we'll wake and feel that earth Nitocris now enters. On seeing and comprehending the state of her son, she endeavours, by affectionate selfcrimination, to pour some solace on the anguish of his soul. He demands Reading their fate in our imperial looks! of her, as a gift more precious than the life she had given him, an interpreter of the signs of fate. She had seen, as she passed through the courts, the prophet, who, in former time, declared the visions of Nabonassar. "Belshazzar. With the speed of light ning call him hither. No more, my mother-till he come, no Belshazzar. Go-lead the Hebrew forth, array'd In the proud robe-let all the city hail The honour'd of Belshazzar. Oh! not long Will that imperial name command your awe! And, oh ye bright and festal halls, whose vaults Were full of sweet sounds as the summer groves, Must ye be changed for chambers, where no tone Of music sounds, nor melody of harp, Or lute, or woman's melting voice ?-My mother! And how shall we two meet the coming ruin ? In arms thou say'st; but with what arms to front The Invisible, that in the silent air Still trembles at our nod, and see the slaves And then-and then-Ye Gods! that I had still Nought but my shuddering and distracting fears; That those dread letters might resume once more Their dark and unintelligible brightness; Or that 'twere o'er, and I and Babylon Were-what a few short days or hours will make us!" We have given this scene with some fulness, not only because it is, by its subject, of principal importance in the drama, but because it appears to us well carried on, and the passion in the King's mind at once of supernatural fear, and of insatiable desire to understand the annunciation of his fate, to be as well conceived, and as strongly painted, as any in the whole poem. The interest of the drama, as far as depends on anything like suspense of expectation, is now over. What remains is merely the execution of the sentence. The Destroying Angel appears above the city. He calls on Cyrus to come and perform his appointed work. He bids the Euphrates change its course, and leave its bed for the march of the commissioned host. He overflowing on either shore, to begin sees "the living deluge of armed men with sword and fire their ministry of devastation; and pauses but a little to have beheld the ruin fulfilled, ere he takes his flight. Adonijah and Imlah are seen in the streets. The young man has been motioned by the prophet Daniel, whom they met in his pomp, to pass on in a certain direction; which, although Imlah observes he must be mistaken, as that way leads only to the Euphrates, which will immediately bar his steps, he pursues. Imlah is left alone, and is speculating on his own misfortunes, when he is interrupted by the breaking out of the beginning destruction. "Great King of vengeance, God of my fathers! thou art here at length. Behold! behold! from every street the flames Burst out, and armed men, proud conquering men, Move in the blaze they've kindled to destroy. Are ye the avenging Spirits of the Lord, Pour ills on any of these guilty roofs, So hateful as have burst on mine.-Who comes?" -It is the Queen, Nitocris, who has been breaking her way through slaughter, and the flames of the falling city, seeking her son among the living and the dead. She demands of Imlah, if he has seen him. He replies, by reminding her how she had scorned his parental affliction that morning, when supplicating for protection for his child; but, moved with the excess of her passion and her calamity, he invites her as to a place safe by its obscure misery, to go in under his lowly roof, where a mother as wretched as herself sleeps, and she too may sleep. Nitocris replies : "Nitocris. Sleep! sleep! with Baby lon In flames around me-Nabonassar's realm, The city of earth's sovereigns rushing down, The pride of countless ages, and the glory, By generations of triumphant kings Rear'd up my sire's, my husband's, and my son's, And mine own stately birth-place perishing The summer gardens of my joy cut down- Howl'd through by strangers? No-I'll on, and find Death or my son, or both! My glorious city! My old ancestral throne! thou'lt still afford A burial fire. daughter I've lived a queen, the Of kings, the wife, the mother-and will die ueen-like, with Babylon for my funeral pile ! Meanwhile Benina, in the utter desertion of the Temple, has escaped, and appears before it. Kalassan returning, meets her; and, almost immediately, Adonijah, who, following the direction of the prophet, had crossed the channel of the river, enters, armed with a Persian scymitar. Kalassan flies. He pursues him. She hears the clashing of arms, and that one falls. Adonijah returns, learns from her that she is delivered unstained from her fearful trial, and leads her away. "The Streets of Babylon in Flames. Belshazzar. I cannot fight nor fly; where'er I move, On shadowy battlement, or cloud of smoke, That dark unbodied hand waves to and fro, And marshals me the way to death-to death That still eludes me. Every blazing wall Breaks out in those red characters of fate; And when I raise my sword to war, meThat dark-stoled Prophet stood between, thought The city of lamentation and of slaughter! That even the conquering Mede disdains to slay him!" Imlah, Adonijah, Benina, Naomi, then appear before the house of Imlah; and the mother, with some difficulty and momentary disbelief, understands that her daughter is indeed To see a living and unwounded being? restored to her. To them Belshazzar And bridegroom! I alone am spared, to enters. We quote the concluding scene nearly entire. "Before the House of Imlah. die Remote from all-from him with whom I've cherish'd Belshazzar. 'Tis come at last! the Adesperate hope to mingle my cold ashes! barbed arrow drinks My life-blood. slaves 'Tis all the daughter of great Nabonassar Mid the base abode of Hath now to ask!-I'll sit me down and I seem to stand: not here-my fathers set Like suns in glory! I'll not perish here, And stifle like some vile, forgotten lamp! Oh, dreadful God! is't not enough-My state I equall'd with the Heavens-and wilt thou trample me Beneath these What are ye that crowd around me ? I have a dim remembrance of your forms And voices. Are ye not the slaves that stood This morn before me and Imlah. Thou spurn'dst us from thee. Belshazzar. And ye'll revenge you on the clay-cold corpse. Imlah. Fear not our God, and this world's cruel usage, Hath taught us early what kings learn too late. Belshazzar. Ye know me then-ye know the King of Babylon The King of dust and ashes? for what else Is now the beauteous city-earth's delight? And what the King himself-but dust and ashes ? Benina. He faints-support him, dearest Adonijah! Belshazzar. Mine eyes are heavy, and a swoon, a sleep Swims o'er my head :-go, summon me the lutes, That used to sooth me to my balmiest slumbers; And bid the snowy-handed maidens fan The dull, hot air around me. 'Tis not well This bed-'tis hard and damp. I gave command I would not lie but on the softest plumes That the birds bear. Slaves! hear ye not-Tis cold"Tis piercing cold! Benina. Alas! he's little used To feel the night winds on his naked brow: He's breathing still-spread o'er him that bright mantle; Astrange, sad use for robes of sovereignty. In thy majestic joy, as though to mount On the cold earth-not there, but on my bosom Alas! that's colder still. My beauteous boy, Look up and see Belshazzar. I can see nought-all's darkness! Nitocris. Too true: he'll die, and will not know me !-Son ! Thy mother speaks-thy only kindred flesh, That loved thee ere thou wert; and, when thou'rt gone, Will love thee still the more ! not. Have dying kings Hence! disturb me The Palace, and the Temple, and the race Of Nabonassar, are at once extinct! Babylon and her kings are fall'n for ever! Imlah. Without a cry, without a groan, behold them, Th' Imperial mother and earth-ruling son Stretch'd out in death! Nor she without a gleam Of joy expiring with her cheek on his : Oh, God of hosts! Almighty, Ever- God of our Fathers, thou alone art great!" The reader is now in sufficient possession of Mr Milman's poem, and cannot but have felt that it is a work of much splendour of poetical language, as well as of a high and bold character in the general course of its action, and of some lofty feeling and passion in the higher personages of the drama. His opinion of Mr Milman's abilities as a writer, will probably be raised by what he has read. He finds here, improved dramatic conception in that far greater simplicity of the conduct than is attempted in the Fall of Jerusalem; and a great interest flowing on in a uniform progress, which is an agreeable relief from the broken and interrupted emotion of the opposed, and rather perplexed than conflicting, affections in the Martyr of Antioch; while that peculiar character of this author's poetry, a sweeping, majestic, and dazzling strain of harmonious composition, is carried in this poem perhaps to a higher pitch than in either of those two other productions. This simplicity in the conduct of the fable in which no pains are taken to contrive parts and agencies for the human actors of the great drama, but events of fearful interest and magnitude are suffered to advance and sweep along to their completion, by a power, as it might almost seem of their own, might appear to indicate a natural progress of mind in a writer, coming gradually more and more into consciousness of his own powers; learning to |