Poem by George Gordon Byron

Hebrew Melodies 17. Vision of Belshazzar

I.

The King was on his throne,
⁠     The Satraps thronged the hall:
A thousand bright lamps shone
⁠⁠     O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
⁠⁠     In Judah deemed divine—
Jehovah's vessels hold
⁠⁠     The godless Heathen's wine!

II.

In that same hour and hall,
⁠⁠     The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
⁠     ⁠And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;—
⁠⁠     A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
⁠     ⁠And traced them like a wand.

III.

The monarch saw, and shook,
⁠     ⁠And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxed his look,
⁠⁠     And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
⁠     ⁠The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
⁠⁠     Which mar our royal mirth."

IV.

Chaldea's seers are good,
⁠⁠     But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
⁠⁠     Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
⁠     ⁠Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
⁠⁠     They saw—but knew no more.

V.

A captive in the land,
⁠     ⁠A stranger and a youth,
He heard the King's command,
⁠     ⁠He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
⁠⁠     The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,—
⁠⁠     The morrow proved it true.

VI.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,
⁠⁠     His kingdom passed away,
He, in the balance weighed,
⁠⁠     Is light and worthless clay;
The shroud, his robe of state,
⁠     ⁠His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!
⁠⁠     The Persian on his throne!"

1. Churchill’s Grave
2. Epitaph
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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