Ah, me! what angry terrors round us grow!
How shrinks my soul to meet the threaten’d blow!
Ye prophets, skill’d in Heaven’s eternal truth,
Forgive my sex’s fears, forgive my youth,
If shrinking thus, when frowning power appears,
I wish for life, and yield me to my fears.
Ah! let us one, one little hour obey;
To-morrow’s tears may wash the stain away.
Air.
The wretch condemn’d with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart,
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper’s light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
SECOND PRIEST.
Recitative.
Why this delay? At length for joy prepare;
I read your looks, and see compliance there.
Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise,
Our monarch’s name the noblest theme supplies.
Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre;
The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.
Air.
See the ruddy morning smiling,
Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing,
Streams along the valley straying.