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George Gordon Byron - Vision of Belshazzar
Work rating: Low

The King was on his throne, 
The Satraps throng`d the hall: 
A thousand bright lamps shone 
O`er that high festival. 
A thousand cups of gold, 
In Judah deem`d divine-- 
Jehovah`s vessels hold 
The godless Heathen`s wine! 

In that same hour and hall, 
The fingers of a hand 
Came forth against the wall, 
And wrote as if on sand: 
The fingers of a man;-- 
A solitary hand 
Along the letters ran, 
And traced them like a wand. 

The monarch saw, and shook, 
And bade no more rejoice; 
All bloodless wax`d his look 
And tremulous his voice. 
`Let the men of lore appear, 
The wisest of the earth, 
And expound the words of fear, 
Which mar our royal mirth.` 

Chaldea`s seers are good, 
But here they have no skill; 
And the unknown letters stood 
Untold and awful still. 
And Babel`s men of age 
Are wise and deep in lore; 
But now they were not sage, 
They saw — but knew no more. 

A captive in the land, 
A stranger and a youth, 
He heard the king`s command, 
He saw that writing`s truth. 
The lamps around were bright, 
The prophecy in view; 
He read it on that night, — 
The morrow proved it true. 

`Belshazzar`s grave is made, 
His kingdom pass`d away, 
He, in the balance weigh`d, 
Is light and worthless clay; 
The shroud his robe of state, 
His canopy the stone: 
The Mede is at his gate! 
The Persian on his throne!`
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