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She treads again the wastes of Babylon,

And roams amid Etrurian tombs once more, And fondly lingers where the setting sun

Gilds ancient Carthage, or the fabled shore,

Where Greece and Troy were lock'd in fight of yore, And listens to their story as the last

Faint halo of a day too quickly o'er ;
For soon her bright futurity shall cast
Into deep twilight shade the glory of the past.


And what although this latest age

hath riven The veil which hides thy shames, O Nineveh, From all the taunts of earth and frowns of heaven;

Though distant nations crave admiringly

Some relic or some monument of thee;
Though from far lands the lonely traveller

Wanders thy ruin and thy wreck to see;
Who shall recall to life the things that were ?
Or wake the spectral forms of thy vast sepulchre ?


No, while the ages of this shatter'd world

Roll slowly to the final term of time,
There shalt thou lie in desolation, hurld

By vengeance from that pinnacle sublime

Whereon thou satest in thy glory's prime By travellers of every nation trod,

Jehovah's warning unto every clime, Scathed with His anger, smitten with His rod, And witnessing to man the eternal truth of God.

Banningham, 1851.

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A day of many clouds, and sudden showers,
And breaks of golden sunshine!- calmly now
On yonder cottage of the valley, lying
Embosom'd in the guardian hills and woods,
Rests, like a father's smile, the parting flush
Of evening: and of all the frequent storms
But few have broken on the peasant's roof
In that sequester'd glen; and, having shed
Their quick tears almost ere they woke alarm,
Pass'd as a dream in lucid light away.
But he whose watch is builded on the ridge
Of the snow-crested Apennines, awe-struck
Has mark'd the rising storm-clouds one by one,
The which have cast their shadow on his soul,
Though most have parted to the right or left,
And fall’n on other lands. Such was thy life,
Ezekiel, prophet of the Lord of Hosts,

And sentinel of Israel's destinies.

Let others nestling in secluded homes,
The narrow circle of themselves and theirs,
Ask of the present hour its joy or grief:-
Thy eagle soul was nursed and nerved to climb
Through winds and tempests sun-ward, or to stand

upon the everlasting hills,
And with a patriot's and a prophet's eye
Read the vex'd future, and the calm beyond.

Dark are the landscapes of a fallen world,
And dark must be the thunder-clouds that roll
Above them; and no eye but His who dwells
Pavilion'd in eternity, and sees
The everlasting Sabbath imaged there,
Might dare to scan in comprehensive view
The desolations of six thousand years."

1 “No eye but His might ever bear

To gaze all down that drear abyss, Because none ever saw so clear

The shore beyond of endless bliss.” — The Christian Year. His hand was on thee, holy seer:

1 His voice Commission'd thee as His ambassador

To Israel and the nations: but or ever

He bared the secrets of futurity,
In mystic vision He unveild Himself,
The brightness of His glory, the express
Image of His eternal Godhead.? Else,
Ezekiel, had thy soul unequal proved

the awful counsels of His will,
Or haply had been lifted up, like his
Who, first and noblest of created beings,
Son of the morning, peerless Lucifer,
Fell ruinous from heaven, and with him dragg’d
Bright myriads into outer darkness down.

But never minstrel uninspired may catch
The stern unearthly music of thy harp
Prophetic, nor with imitative notes
Tell what thou saw’st, where Chebar's crystal waves
Refresh'd thy solitary exile : when
There came dense cloud and whirlwind from the north,
And fiery wreaths of flame, fold within fold,

1 Ezek. i. 3.

2 Heb. i. 3.

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