ACT II.
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
O peace of mind, angelic guest!
Thou soft companion of the breast!
Dispense thy balmy store;
Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies,
Till earth, receding from our eyes,
Shall vanish as we soar.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
No more! Too long has justice been delay'd;
The king's commands must fully be obey'd:
Compliance with his will your peace secures;
Praise but our gods, and every good is yours.
But if, rebellious to his high command,
You spurn the favours offer'd from his hand,
Think, timely think, what terrors are behind;
Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.
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!
Ah! let us one, one little hour obey;
To-morrow's tears may wash the stain away.
Air.
Fatigued with life, yet loth to part,
On Hope the wretch relies;
And every blow that sinks the heart
Bids the deluder rise.
Hope, like the taper's gleamy light,
Adorns the wretch's way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
SECOND PRIEST.
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 fame the noblest theme supplies.
Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre;
The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.
See the ruddy morning smiling,
Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing,
Streams along the valley straying.
"The master-prophet grasps his full-toned lyre.
Mark where he sits."—p. 214.
FIRST PRIEST.
While these a constant revel keep,
Shall Reason only teach to weep?
Hence, intruder! we'll pursue
Nature, a better guide than you.
SECOND PRIEST.
Every moment, as it flows,
Some peculiar pleasure owes;
Seize the debtor ere it flies.
Think not to-morrow can repay
The debt of pleasure lost to-day;
Alas! to-morrow's richest store
Can but pay its proper score.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
But, hush! See, foremost of the captive choir,
The master-prophet grasps his full-toned lyre.
Mark where he sits, with executing art,
Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart.
See how prophetic rapture fills his form,
Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm;
And now his voice, accordant to the string,
Prepares our monarch's victories to sing.
FIRST PROPHET.
Air.
From north, from south, from east, from west,
Conspiring nations come;
Tremble, thou vice-polluted breast,
Blasphemers, all be dumb.
The tempest gathers all around,
On Babylon it lies;
Down with her! down—down to the ground!
She sinks, she groans, she dies.
SECOND PROPHET.
Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,
Ere yonder setting sun;
Serve her as she has served the just!
'Tis fix'd—it shall be done.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
No more! When slaves thus insolent presume,
The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom.
Beheld our power in Zedekiah's fall?
To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes,
See where dethroned your captive monarch lies;
Deprived of sight and rankling in his chain,
See where he mourns his friends and children slain.
Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind
More ponderous chains, and dungeons more confined.
CHORUS OF ALL.
Arise, all potent Ruler, rise,
And vindicate thy people's cause:
Till every tongue in every land
Shall offer up unfeigned applause.
Exeunt.