But neither this nor that refusing,
I'll make them both together mine.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
But whence, when joy should brighten o'er the land,
This sullen gloom in Judah's captive band?
Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung?
Or why those harps on yonder willows hung?
Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along,
The day demands it: sing us Sion's song.