Babylon.
II.
The watchman watched along the walls:
And lo! an hour or more ere light
Loud rang his trumpet. From their halls
The revellers rushed into the night.
There hung a terror on the air;
There moved a terror under ground;—
The hostile hosts, heard everywhere,
Within, without—were nowhere found.
"The Christians to the lions! Ho!"—
Alas! self-tortured crowds, let be!
Let go your wrath; your fears let go:
Ye gnaw the net, but cannot flee.
Ye drank from out Orestes' cup;
Orestes' Furies drave ye wild.
Who conquers from on high? Look up!
A Woman, holding forth a Child!
[{85}]
III.
The golden rains are dashed against
Those verdant walls of lime and beech
With which our happy vale is fenced
Against the north; yet cannot reach
The stems that lift yon leafy crest
High up above their dripping screen:
The chestnut fans are downward pressed
On banks of bluebell hid in green.
White vapours float along the glen,
Or rise from every sunny brake;—
A pause amid the gusts—again
The warm shower sings across the lake.
Sing on, all-cordial showers, and bathe
The deepest root of loftiest pine!
The cowslip dimmed, the "primrose rathe"
Refresh; and drench in nectarous wine
Yon fruit-tree copse, all blossomed o'er
With forest-foam and crimson snow—
Behold! above it bursts once more
The world-embracing, heavenly bow!