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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 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.
Unthinking 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 pond'rous chains, and dungeons more confin'd.

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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 fame and growing power be spread,
And still our vengeance crush the traitor's head.

Air.

Coeval with man
Our empire began,
And never shall fall

Till ruin shakes all:

When ruin shakes all

Then shall Babylon fall.

First PROPHET.

Recitative.

'Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,

A little while, and all their power is fled;

But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
That this way slowly bend along the plain?
And now, methinks, 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:

Our monarch falls, and now 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.

You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,
Awhile the bliss suspend;

Like yours, his life began in pride,

Like his, your lives shall end.

Second PROPHET.

Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,
His squalid limbs with ponderous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
Those ill-becoming rags-that matted hair.
And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show,
Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low ?*
How long, how long, Almighty God of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!

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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;

Those streams which 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;

See where an army covers all the ground,

Saps the strong wall, and pours destruction round!
The ruin smokes, destruction pours along,

How low the great, how feeble are the strong!

The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline

O, God of hosts, the victory is thine!

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First PRIEST.

Recitative.

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails!
The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along,—
How low the proud, how feeble are the strong!
Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray,
And give repentance but an hour's delay.

First and Second PRIEST.

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;

Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.

Air.

O, Lucifer, thou son of morn,

Alike of Heaven and man the foe;

Heaven, men, and all,

Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

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