XXXIII. She treads again the wastes of Babylon, 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. XXXIV. And what although this latest age hath riven The veil which hides thy shames, O Nineveh, Wanders thy ruin and thy wreck to see; Who shall recall to life the things that were? XXXV. No, while the ages of this shatter'd world Roll slowly to the final term of time, 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. 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, But he whose watch is builded on the ridge The which have cast their shadow on his soul, Let others nestling in secluded homes, 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, The everlasting Sabbath imaged there, 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 To Israel and the nations: but or ever He bared the secrets of futurity, In mystic vision He unveil'd Himself, The brightness of His glory, the express Else, Ezekiel, had thy soul unequal proved Or haply had been lifted up, like his Who, first and noblest of created beings, Fell ruinous from heaven, and with him dragg'd But never minstrel uninspired may catch The stern unearthly music of thy harp 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, |