SECOND [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 this way slowly bends along the plain?
And now, methinks, a pallid corse they bear
To yonder bank, and rest the body there.
Alas! too well mine eyes observant trace
The last remains of Judah's royal race:

Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o'er;

The wretched 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 sons, from fortune's lap supplied.
A while the bliss suspend;

Like yours, his life began in pride—
Like his, your lives may end.

SECOND PROPHET.

Recitative.

Behold his squalid corse with sorrow worn,
His wretched limbs with ponderous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
These ill becoming robes, and matted hair.

And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show,
And deal its angry vengeance on the foe?
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:

P

Thus we, O Lord, alike distress'd,

For streams of mercy long;

Those streams that cheer the sore oppress'd,

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!

Chorus of ISRAELITES.

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust

Let 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,

Too late you seek that power unsought before

Your wealth, your pride, your empire, 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.

SECOND PRIEST. [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

FIRST PROPHET.

Recitative.

Such be their fate! But, listen! 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.