And they, who had carried us captive, drew nigh;
They looked on our woes with an insolent eye;
Our burdens were heavy, our fetters were strong;
And then, they required of us mirth and a song!
We hung up our harps on the willows to sleep;
By Babylon’s rivers we sat down to weep;
The song of the Lord, as too holy to sound,
We shut in our souls, on that dark heathen ground.
We thought of our Zion, and sent her a sigh
By each gentle breeze, that went silently by;
But poured not the strains in the proud Painim’s ear,
That God and his angels will hearken to hear!
[FRAGMENTS FROM “ESTHER,” A POEM.]
The monarch of Persia has wrapped o’er his breast
The vesture, whose jewels emblazoned the throne:
His lovely young queen, who in sackcloth is dressed,
Is far from his presence, and weeping alone.
* * * *
And who in behalf of her people shall sue
For mercy? To whom will the sovereign give ear?
’T is death now to be, in his kingdom, a Jew—
’T is death in his presence uncalled to appear.
The wife of his bosom that peril will take!
The helpless young Jewess, so gentle and fair,
To live with her people, or die for their sake,
Will go to her lord, and her nation declare.