PARAPHRASE ON THE 137TH PSALM BY CHURCHILL.
A paraphrase of the 137th psalm by Charles Churchill may, perhaps, be deemed not unworthy of a place amongst your Notes. It was originally sent to Mrs. Baily of Cadbury, who had remonstrated with him on his devoting his pen exclusively to satire. That lady gave them to my maternal grandfather. Three lines of the last verse are lost.
R. C. H. H.
Thimbleby.
"Our instruments untun'd, unsung,
(Grief doth from musick fly)
Upon the willow trees were hung,
The trees that grew thereby.
"'Raise, raise your voice,' the victors say,
'Touch, touch the trembling string,
In Sion's manner briskly play,
In Sion's manner sing.'
"Our voice, alas! how should we raise
In Babylonish ground?
How should we sing Jehovah's praise
In Pagan fetters bound?
"If ever, much lov'd Sion, thou
Dost from my mind depart,
May my right hand no longer know
Soft musick's soothing art.
"If when in jocund songs I smile,
Thou'rt not my choicest theme,
May my tongue lose her wonted skill,
Nor drink at Siloa's stream.
"When Babylon's unhallowed host,
Flow'd in with hostile tide,
'Down, down with Sion to the dust,'
The sons of Edom cried.
"Hear, hear O Lord these sons of spight,
Nor let thy anger sleep,
Let their own wishes on them light,
In turn let Edom weep.
"Blest is the man whose fated host
Shall Babylon surround,
Who shall destroy her impious boast,
And raze her to the ground.
"Blest is he, whose devouring hand,"