The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone!

III.

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

IV.

But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;

And where our fathers' ashes be,
Our own may never lie:

Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.

I.

OH! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;

Mourn - where their God hath dwelt the Godless

dwell!

II.

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?

And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?

And Judah's melody once more rejoice

The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?

III.

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest!

The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country -- Israel but the grave!

ON JORDAN'S BANKS.

ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep

Yet there—even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep:

II.

There where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone!
There where thy shadow to thy people shone !
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire :
Thyself-none living see and not expire!

III.

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod !

How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God!

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. (1)

I.

SINCE Our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow —
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

III.

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that soothes me below.

(1) [Jephtha, a bastard son of Gilead, having been wrongfully expelled from his father's house, had taken refuge in a wild country, and become a noted captain of freebooters. His kindred, groaning under foreign oppression, began to look to their valiant, though lawless compatriot, whose profession, according to their usage, was no more dishonourable than that of a pirate in the elder days of Greece. They sent for him, and made him head of their city. Before he went forth against the Ammonites, he made the memorable vow, that, if he returned victorious, he would sacrifice as a burnt-offering whatever first met him on his entrance into his native city. He gained a splendid victory. At the news of it, his only daughter came dancing forth, in the gladness of her heart, and with jocund instruments of music, to salute the deliverer of his people. The miserable father rent his clothes in agony; but the noble-spirited maiden would not hear of the disregard of the vow: she only demanded a short period to bewail upon the mountains, like the Antigone of Sophocles, her dying without hope of becoming a bride or mother, and then submitted to her fate.MILLMAN.]

IV.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

V.

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

I.

OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :

II.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,

And lingering pause and lightly tread;

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

III.

Away! we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

MY SOUL IS DARK.

I.

My soul is dark-Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear, "Twill flow, and cease to burn my

II.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

brain.

Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed,

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, And break at once

-or yield to song.