I.

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

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.