VI.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,[lz] 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!"

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far, That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel, How like art thou to Joy remembered well! So gleams the past, the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays: A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold, Distinct, but distant--clear--but, oh how cold!

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be, I need not have wandered from far Galilee; It was but abjuring my creed to efface The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin--thou art spotless and free! If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high, Live on in thy faith--but in mine I will die.