But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near; The sounds of barb’rous pleasure strike mine ear; Triumphant music floats along the vale; Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale; The growing sound their swift approach declares;— 55 Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs. _Enter_ CHALDEAN PRIESTS _attended._ FIRST PRIEST. AIR. Come on, my companions, the triumph display; Let rapture the minutes employ; The sun calls us out on this festival day, And our monarch partakes in the joy. 60 SECOND PRIEST. Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies, Both similar blessings bestow; The sun with his splendour illumines the skies, And our monarch enlivens below. A CHALDEAN WOMAN. AIR. Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure; 65 Love presents the fairest treasure, Leave all other joys for me. A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT. Or rather, Love’s delights despising, Haste to raptures ever rising Wine shall bless the brave and free. 70 FIRST PRIEST. Wine and beauty thus inviting, Each to different joys exciting, Whither shall my choice incline? SECOND PRIEST. I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing; But, neither this nor that refusing, 75 I’ll make them both together mine. RECITATIVE. But whence, when joy should brighten o’er the land, This sullen gloom in Judah’s captive band? Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung? Or why those harps on yonder willows hung? 80 Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along, The day demands it; sing us Sion’s song. Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir, For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre? SECOND PROPHET. Bow’d down with chains, the scorn of all mankind, 85 To want, to toil, and every ill consign’d, Is this a time to bid us raise the strain, Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain? No, never! May this hand forget each art That speeds the power of music to the heart, 90 Ere I forget the land that gave me birth, Or join with sounds profane its sacred mirth! FIRST PRIEST. Insulting slaves! If gentler methods fail, The whips and angry tortures shall prevail. [_Exeunt Chaldeans_ FIRST PROPHET. Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer; 95 We fear the Lord, and know no other fear. CHORUS. Can whips or tortures hurt the mind On God’s supporting breast reclin’d? Stand fast, and let our tyrants see That fortitude is victory. [_Exeunt._ ACT II. _Scene as before._ CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.