Classic Poem

Belshazzar is King! Belshazzar is Lord!
And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board:
Fruits glisten, flow'rs blossom, meats steam, and a flood
Of the wine that man loveth runs redder than blood:
Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth,
And the beauty that maddens the passions of earth;
And the crowds all shout,
Till the vast roofs ring, —
" All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king! "

" Bring forth, " cries the Monarch, " the vessels of gold,
Which my father tore down from the temples of old;
Bring forth, and we'll drink, while the trumpets are blown,
To the Gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone:
Bring forth! " — and before him the vessels all shine,
And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine;
Whilst the trumpets bray,
And the cymbals ring, —
" Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king! "

What cometh? — look, look! without menace, or call?
Who writes, with the Lightning's bright hand, on the wall?
What pierceth the King, like the point of a dart?
What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?
" Chaldeans! Magicians! the letters expound! "
They are read, — and Belshazzar is dead on the ground!
Hark! — The Persian is come
On a conqueror's wing;
And a Mede's on the throne of Belshazzar the king!