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BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.
'Twas night in Babylon,—yet many a beam
Of lamps, far glittering from her domes on high,
Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream,
With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky,
Whose azure knows no cloud:—each whisper'd sigh
Of the soft night-breeze through her terrace-bowers
Bore softer tones of joy and melody,
O'er an illumin'd wilderness of flowers;
And the glad city's voice went up from all her towers.
But prouder mirth was in the blazing hall,
Where, midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band!
High at the stately midnight-festival,
Belshazzar sat enthron'd!—there luxury's hand
Had shower'd around all treasures that expand
Beneath the burning East;—all gems that pour
The sun-beams back;—all sweets of many a land,
Whose gales waft incense from their spicy shore;
But mortal pride look'd on, and still demanded more.
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