Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/265

Rh And does in watery limits Babylon confine, Cursed Babylon! the cause and author of our woes; There, on the river's side. Sat wretched captive we, And in sad tears bewailed our misery; Tears, whose vast store increased the neighbouring tide. We wept, and straight our grief before us brought A thousand distant objects to our thought. As oft as we surveyed the gliding stream, Loved Jordan did our sad remembrance claim; As oft as we the adjoining city viewed, Dear Sion's razèd walls our grief renewed; We thought on all the pleasures of our happy land, Late ravished by a cruel conqueror's hand; We thought on every piteous, every mournful thing, That might excess to our enlarged sorrows bring. Deep silence told the greatness of our grief, Of grief too great by vent to find relief; Our harps, as mute and dumb as we, Hung useless and neglected by; And now and then a broken string would lend a sigh, As if with us they felt a sympathy, And mourned their own, and our captivity; The gentle river, too, as if compassionate grown, As 'twould its natives' cruelty atone, As it passed by, in murmurs gave a pitying groan. There the proud conquerors, who gave us chains, Who all our sufferings and misfortunes gave, Did with rude insolence our sorrows brave, And with insulting raillery thus mocked our pains: 'Play us,' said they, 'some brisk and airy strain, Such as your ancestors were wont to hear On Shilo's pleasant plain, Where all the virgins met in dances once a year; Or one of those Which your illustrious David did compose,