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The Poems of Oliver Goldsmith

Chapter 14: ACT THE THIRD.
By Oliver Goldsmith
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British LiteraturePoetry

About This Book

This collection assembles lyrical, narrative, and didactic poems that mix pastoral description, social observation, and satirical wit. Works move between reflective meditations on rural life and change, concise moral essays in verse, and light comic sketches, employing classical allusion, clear narrative, and a conversational voice. Themes include the displacement of village communities, the absurdities of fashion and ambition, and sympathy for ordinary experience, balanced by formal variety and humor. The edition is accompanied by an editorial preface and biographical notes that contextualize the poems and clarify language and references.

THE CAPTIVITY

AN ORATORIO.

THE PERSONS.

  • First Israelitish Prophet.
  • Second Israelitish Prophet.
  • Israelitish Woman.
  • First Chaldean Priest.
  • Second Chaldean Priest.
  • Chaldean Woman.
  • Chorus of Youths and Virgins.

Scene.—The Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.

ACT THE FIRST.

FIRST PROPHET.
Recitative.
Ye captive tribes, that hourly work and weep,
 Where flows Euphrates, murmuring to the deep—
 Suspend your woes awhile, the task suspend,
 And turn to God, your Father and your Friend:
 Insulted, chain’d, and all the world our foe,
 Our God alone is all we boast below.
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Our God is all we boast below,
 To Him we turn our eyes;
 And every added weight of woe
 Shall make our homage rise:
And though no temple richly drest,
 Nor sacrifice is here—
 We’ll make His temple in our breast,
 And offer up a tear.
ISRAELITISH WOMAN.
That strain once more! it bids remembrance rise,
 And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes.
 Ye fields of Sharon, dress’d in flowery pride;
 Ye plains, where Jordan rolls its glassy tide;
 Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown’d;
 Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around:
 These hills how sweet! those plains how wondrous fair
 But sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there!
Air.
O Memory! thou fond deceiver!
 Still importunate and vain;
 To former joys recurring ever,
 And turning all the past to pain;
Thou, like the world, the oppress’d oppressing,
 Thy smiles increase the wretch’s woe!
 And he who wants each other blessing,
 In thee must ever find a foe.

FIRST PROPHET.
Recitative.
Yet, why repine? What, though by bonds confin’d,
 Should bonds enslave the vigour of the mind?
 Have we not cause for triumph, when we see
 Ourselves alone from idol-worship free?
 Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun,
 Where prostrate error hails the rising sun?
 Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain
 For superstitious rites and mirth profane?
 And should we mourn? Should coward Virtue fly,
 When vaunting Folly lifts her head on high?
 No! rather let us triumph still the more—
 And as our fortune sinks, our spirits soar.
Air.
The triumphs that on vice attend
 Shall ever in confusion end;
 The good man suffers but to gain,
 And every virtue springs from pain:
As aromatic plants bestow
 No spicy fragrance while they grow;
 But crush’d, or trodden to the ground,
 Diffuse their balmy sweets around.
SECOND PROPHET.
Recitative.
But, hush, my sons! our tyrant lords are near—
 The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear;
 Triumphant music floats along the vale—
 Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale:
 The growing note their swift approach declares—
 Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.
Enter Chaldean Priests, attended.
FIRST PRIEST.
Air.
Come on, my companions, the triumphs display,
 Let rapture the minutes employ;
 The sun calls us out on this festival day,
 And our monarch partakes of the joy.
SECOND PRIEST.
Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies;
 Both similar blessings bestow:
 The sun with his splendour illumines the skies;
 And our monarch enlivens below.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.
Air.
Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure;
 Love presents the fairest treasure;
 Leave all other sports for me.
CHALDEAN ATTENDANT.
Or rather, Love’s delights despising,
 Haste to raptures ever rising;
 Wine shall bless the brave and free.
FIRST PRIEST.
Wine and beauty thus inviting,
 Each to different joys exciting,
 Whither shall my choice incline?
SECOND PRIEST.
I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing,
 But, neither love nor wine refusing,
 I’ll make them both together mine.
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,
 Dismiss your griefs, and join our tuneful choir;
 For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre?
SECOND PROPHET.
Chain’d as we are, the scorn of all mankind,
 To want, to toil, and every ill consign’d—
 Is this a time to bid us raise the strain,
 Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain?
 No, never! May this hand forget each art
 That wakes to finest joys the human heart,
 Ere I forget the land that gave me birth,
 Or join to sounds profane its sacred mirth!
FIRST PRIEST.
Rebellious slaves! if soft persuasion fail,
 More formidable terrors shall prevail.
FIRST PROPHET.
Why, let them come; one good remains to cheer—
 We fear the Lord, and know no other fear.

[Exeunt Chaldeans.

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Can chains or tortures bend the mind
 On God’s supporting breast reclin’d?
 Stand fast,—and let our tyrants see
 That fortitude is victory.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

Air.
CHORUS OF PRIESTS.
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 at his hand—
 Think, timely think, what ills remain behind;
 Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.
SECOND PRIEST.
Fierce is the tempest rolling
 Along the furrow’d main,
 And fierce the whirlwind howling,
 O’er Afric’s sandy plain:
 But storms that fly
 To rend the sky,
 Every ill presaging—
 Less dreadful show
 To world’s below,
 Than angry monarch’s raging.

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.
Recitative.
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.
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.
Air.
Every moment, as it flows,
 Some peculiar pleasure owes;
 Come, then, providently wise,
 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-ton’d 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,
 Before yon setting sun;
 Serve her as she hath serv’d 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.
 Short-sighted wretches! have not you and all
 Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall?
 To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes—
 See, where dethron’d your captive monarch lies;
 Depriv’d 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 confin’d.
CHORUS.
Arise, All-potent Ruler, rise,
 And vindicate thy people’s cause,—
 Till every tongue, in every land,
 Shall offer up unfeign’d applause.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene, as before.

FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
Yes, my companions, Heaven’s decrees are past,
 And our fix’d empire shall for ever last:
 In vain the madd’ning prophet threatens woe—
 In vain Rebellion aims her secret blow;
 Still shall our name and growing power be spread,
 And still our justice crush the traitor’s head.
Air.
Coeval with man
 Our empire began,
 And never shall fall,
 Till ruin shakes all;
 With the ruin of all,
 Then shall Babylon fall.
FIRST PROPHET.
Recitative.
’Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head—
 A little while, and all her power is fled.
 But, ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
 That onward slowly bends along the plain?
 And now, behold, to yonder bank they bear
 A pallid corse, and rest the body there.
 Alas! too well mine eyes indignant trace
 The last remains of Judah’s royal race:
 Fall’n is our king, and all our fears are o’er;
 Unhappy Zedekiah is no more.
Air.
Ye wretches who, by fortune’s hate,
 In want and sorrow groan—
 Come, ponder his severer fate,
 And learn to bless your own.
Ye vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,
 Awhile the bliss suspend;
 Like yours, his life began in pride;
 Like his, your lives may end.
SECOND PROPHET.
Recitative.
Behold his wretched corse, with sorrow worn,
 His squalid limbs by ponderous fetters torn;
 Those eyeless orbs which shook with ghastly glare,
 Those ill-becoming rags, that matted hair.
 And shall not Heaven for this avenge the foe,
 Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low?
 How long, how long, Almighty Lord of all,
 Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.
Air.
As panting flies the hunted hind,
 Where brooks refreshing stray;
 And rivers through the valley wind,
 That stop the hunter’s way:
Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest,
 For streams of mercy long;
 Streams which can cheer the sore-opprest,
 And overwhelm the strong.
FIRST PROPHET.
Recitative.
But, whence that shout? Good heavens! Amazement all!
 See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:
 Behold, an army covers all the ground;
 ’Tis Cyrus here that pours destruction round:
 The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along—
 How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
 And now, behold, the battlements recline—
 O God of hosts, the victory is Thine!
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust—
 Thy vengeance be begun;
 Serve her as she hath serv’d the just:
 And let Thy will be done.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
All, all is lost! The Syrian army fails;
 Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails!
 Save us, O Lord! to Thee, though late, we pray;
 And give repentance but an hour’s delay.
SECOND PRIEST.
Air.
Thrice happy, who in happy hour
 To Heaven their praise bestow,
 And own His all-consuming power
 Before they feel the blow!
FIRST PROPHET.
Recitative.
Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and blind,
 Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind;
 Ye seek in vain the Lord, unsought before—
 Your wealth, your lives, your kingdom, are no more!
Air.
O Lucifer! thou son of morn,
 Of Heaven alike and man the foe—
 Heaven, men, and all,
 Now press thy fall,
 And sink thee lowest of the low.

FIRST PROPHET.
O Babylon! how art thou fallen—
 Thy fall more dreadful from delay!
 Thy streets forlorn
 To wilds shall turn,
 Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey!
SECOND PROPHET.
Recitative.
Such be her fate! But, hark! how from afar
 The clarion’s note proclaims the finish’d war!
 Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,
 And this way leads his formidable band.
Now give your songs of Zion to the wind,
 And hail the benefactor of mankind:
 He comes, pursuant to Divine decree,
 To chain the strong, and set the captive free.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
Rise to raptures past expressing,
 Sweeter from remember’d woes;
 Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
 Comes to give the world repose.
CHORUS OF VIRGINS.
Cyrus comes, the world redressing,
 Love and pleasure in his train;
 Comes to heighten every blessing,
 Comes to soften every pain.
SEMI-CHORUS.
Hail to him, with mercy reigning,
 Skill’d in every peaceful art;
 Who, from bonds our limbs unchaining,
 Only binds the willing heart.
THE LAST CHORUS.
But chief to Thee, our God, our Father, Friend,
 Let praise be given to all eternity;
 O Thou, without beginning, without end—
 Let us, and all, begin and end in Thee!