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He, in whose balance earthly lords are tried, Hath weighed, and found thee wanting. 'Tis decreed The conqueror's hands thy kingdom shall divide, The stranger to thy throne of power succeed! Thy days are full; they come,—the Persian and the Mede!"

There fell a moment's thrilling silence round A breathless pause! the hush of hearts that beat And limbs that quiver:—Is there not a sound, A gathering cry, a tread of hurrying feet? —'Twas but some echo, in the crowded street, Of far-heard revelry; the shout, the song, The measured dance to music wildly sweet, That speeds the stars their joyous course along;— Away! nor let a dream disturb the festal throng!

Peace yet again!—Hark! steps in tumult flying, Steeds rushing on, as o'er a battle-field! The shouts of hosts exulting or defying, The press of multitudes that strive or yield!