Poems (Hooper)/The Modern Belshazzar
THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR.PARIS, JULY, 1870.
Fair rose Belshazzar's palace 'neath the sun; Those who once entered there, with dazzled eyesCried, "Having seen this marvel, naught remains To see save Paradise.
"For all enchantments human sense hath known Here in one dream of loveliness combine,We turn from all the other haunts of earth To hail this spot divine."
And in that regal hall a feast was set And garlands wreathed, and 'neath the golden flameOf countless torches rose exulting songs That hymned Belshazzar's fame.
Pleasure was there, and Luxury and Sin, Unhallowed aspirations, lust of pow'r;These were the guests Belshazzar smiled to greet In that triumphal hour.
But lo! the wine his minions poured was red, Not with the healthful ruby of the vine;Dread was the dull opaque that dimmed the cup Beneath the torches' shine.
And at Belshazzar's side there sat a shape Shadowy, shrouded, terrible to see,To whom the monarch: "Brother king, this feast Is spread to honor thee.
"Behold, I turn from all my other guests, Though fair of face and sweet with scented breath,To bid my slaves pour forth thy fav'rite wine, Thou mighty sovereign, Death!"
E'en as he speaks, the lights in sudden flare Leap up and vanish in a rayless gloom,And that which was the banquet hall of kings Seems but a mighty tomb.
And o'er the wall, lit by supernal light, There stray the fingers of a spectral hand,Tracing in flaming characters the doom That waits the fated land.
And pale Belshazzar totters from his throne, An abject, terrified, discrowned thing;Scepter and crown fall clashing to the floor, And Death alone is King!
The songs are hushed, all guests, save one, are fled, The spilled wine steals in red streams through the hall;O'er withered wreath and shattered flagon flames The writing on the wall!