WE sate down and wept by the waters Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey; And ye, oh her desolate daughters! Were scatter'd all weeping away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which roll'd on in freedom below, They demanded the song; but, oh never That triumph the stranger shall know! May this right hand be wither'd for ever, Ere it string our high harp for the foe! On the willow that harp is suspended, Oh Salem! its sound should be free; And the hour when thy glories were ended But left me that token of thee: And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRST VOYAGE OF JOHN CABOT [1497] by KATHARINE LEE BATES KEENAN'S CHARGE by GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP THE ANGEL'S SONG; CAROL by EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE by WALT WHITMAN THE STRANGER'S ALMS by HENRY ABBEY THE WHEELING WORLD by JAMES ROBERT ALLEN A WINTRY LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |