FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails,
The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along;
How low the proud, how feeble are the strong!
Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray,
And give repentance but an hour's delay.

бо

70

Now, now 's our time! ye wretches bold and blind,
Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind,
Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.

AIR.

O Lucifer, thou son of morn,

Alike of Heaven and man the foe;

Heaven, men, and all,

Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

75

FIRST PROPHET.

O Babylon, how art thou fallen!

Thy fall more dreadful from delay!

Thy streets forlorn

To wilds shall turn,

Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey.

SECOND PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Such be her fate. But listen! from afar

80

The clarion's note proclaims the finish'd war!

Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand,

85

And this way leads his formidable band.

Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind :

He comes pursuant to divine decree,

To chain the strong, and set the captive free.

90

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Rise to transports past expressing,
Sweeter from remember'd woes;

Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Cyrus comes, the world redressing,
Love and pleasure in his train;
Comes to heighten every blessing,

Comes to soften every pain.

SEMI-CHORUS.

Hail to him with mercy reigning,
Skilled in every peaceful art;

Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart.

THE LAST CHORUS.

But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity;
O Thou, without beginning, without end,
Let us, and all, begin and end, in Thee!

128

VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO

DINNER AT DR. BAKER'S

'This is a poem! This is a copy of verses!'

YOUR mandate I got,

You may all go to pot;
Had your senses been right,
You'd have sent before night;
As I hope to be saved,

I put off being shaved;

For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,

To meddle in suds,

Or to put on my duds;

5

IO

But, alas! your good worships, how could they be wiser, When both have been spoil'd in to-day's Advertiser ?

GOLDSMITH

F

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.