Our captive bands in deep despondence strayed,
While Zion's fall in deep remembrance rose,
Her friends, her children mingled with the dead.
The tuneless harps that once with joy we strung
When praise employed, or mirth inspired the lay,
In mournful silence on the willows hung,
And growing grief prolonged the tedious day.
Like Pope, this American poet loved onomatope and imitative verse, and the last line is a word-picture 287 / 243 of home-sick weariness. This “psalm” was the best piece of work in Mr. Barlow's series of attempted improvements upon Isaac Watts—which on the whole were not very successful. The sweet cantabile of Mason's “Melton” gave “Along the banks” quite an extended lease of life, though it has now ceased to be sung.
Joel Barlow was a versatile gentleman, serving his country and generation in almost every useful capacity, from chaplain in the continental army to foreign ambassador. He was born in Redding, Ct., 1755, and died near Cracow, Poland, Dec. 1812.