Beneath its shroud came thick and loud The tramp as of a countless crowd;And at intervals were seen Lance and hauberk glancing sheen;And at intervals were heard Charger's neigh and battle word.
"Oh what a rapturous cry From all the city's thousand spires arose, With what a look the hollow eye Of the lean watchman glared upon the foes, With what a yell of joy the mother pressed The moaning baby to her withered breast;When through the swarthy cloud that veiled the plain Burst on his children's sight the flaming brow of Cain!"There paused perforce that noble song;
For from all the joyous throng, Burst forth a rapturous shout which drowned Singer's voice and trumpet's sound.
Thrice that stormy clamour fell, Thrice rose again with mightier swell.
The last and loudest roar of all Had died along the painted wall.
The crowd was hushed; the minstrel train Prepared to strike the chords again;When on each ear distinctly smote A low and wild and wailing note.
It moans again.In mute amaze Menials, and guests, and harpers gaze.
They look above, beneath, around, No shape doth own that mournful sound.
It comes not from the tuneful quire;
It comes not from the feasting peers.
There is no tone of earthly lyre So soft, so sad, so full of tears.
Then a strange horror came on all Who sate at that high festival.
The far famed harp, the harp of gold, Dropped from Jubal's trembling hold.
Frantic with dismay the bride Clung to her Ahirad's side.
And the corpse-like hue of dread Ahirad's haughty face o'erspread.
Yet not even in that agony of awe Did the young leader of the fair-haired race From Tirzah's shuddering grasp his hand withdraw, Or turn his eyes from Tirzah's livid face.
The tigers to their lord retreat, And crouch and whine beneath his feet.
Prone sink to earth the golden shielded seven.
All hearts are cowed save his alone Who sits upon the emerald throne;For he hath heard Elohim speak from heaven.
Still thunders in his ear the peal;
Still blazes on his front the seal:
And on the soul of the proud king No terror of created thing From sky, or earth, or hell, hath power Since that unutterable hour.
He rose to speak, but paused, and listening stood, Not daunted, but in sad and curious mood, With knitted brow, and searching eye of fire.
A deathlike silence sank on all around, And through the boundless space was heard no sound, Save the soft tones of that mysterious lyre.
Broken, faint, and low, At first the numbers flow.
Louder, deeper, quicker, still Into one fierce peal they swell, And the echoing palace fill With a strange funereal yell.
A voice comes forth.But what, or where?
On the earth, or in the air?
Like the midnight winds that blow Round a lone cottage in the snow, With howling swell and sighing fall, It wails along the trophied hall.
In such a wild and dreary moan The watches of the Seraphim Poured out all night their plaintive hymn Before the eternal throne.
Then, when from many a heavenly eye Drops as of earthly pity fell For her who had aspire too high, For him who loved too well.
When, stunned by grief, the gentle pair From the nuptial garden fair, Linked in a sorrowful caress, Strayed through the untrodden wilderness;And close behind their footsteps came The desolating sword of flame, And drooped the cedared alley's pride, And fountains shrank, and roses died.
"Rejoice, O Son of God, rejoice,"
Sang that melancholy voice, "Rejoice, the maid is fair to see;The bower is decked for her and thee;
The ivory lamps around it throw A soft and pure and mellow glow.
Where'er the chastened lustre falls On roof or cornice, floor or walls, Woven of pink and rose appear Such words as love delights to hear.
The breath of myrrh, the lute's soft sound, Float through the moonlight galleries round.