And though no temple richly drest, Nor sacrifice is here-- We’ll make His temple in our breast, And offer up a tear. ISRAELITISH WOMAN. That strain once more! it bids remembrance rise, And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes. Ye fields of Sharon, dress’d in flowery pride; Ye plains, where Jordan rolls its glassy tide; Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown’d; Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around: These hills how sweet! those plains how wondrous fair But sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there! _Air._ O Memory! thou fond deceiver! Still importunate and vain; To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain; Thou, like the world, the oppress’d oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch’s woe! And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever find a foe. [Illustration] FIRST PROPHET. _Recitative._ Yet, why repine? What, though by bonds confin’d, Should bonds enslave the vigour of the mind? Have we not cause for triumph, when we see Ourselves alone from idol-worship free? Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun, Where prostrate error hails the rising sun? Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain For superstitious rites and mirth profane? And should we mourn? Should coward Virtue fly, When vaunting Folly lifts her head on high? No! rather let us triumph still the more-- And as our fortune sinks, our spirits soar. _Air._ The triumphs that on vice attend Shall ever in confusion end; The good man suffers but to gain, And every virtue springs from pain: As aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow; But crush’d, or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around. SECOND PROPHET. _Recitative._ But, hush, my sons! our tyrant lords are near-- The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear; Triumphant music floats along the vale-- Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale: The growing note their swift approach declares-- Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs. _Enter_ CHALDEAN PRIESTS, _attended_. FIRST PRIEST. _Air._ Come on, my companions, the triumphs display, Let rapture the minutes employ; The sun calls us out on this festival day, And our monarch partakes of the joy. 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. CHALDEAN WOMAN. _Air._ Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure; Love presents the fairest treasure; Leave all other sports for me. CHALDEAN ATTENDANT. Or rather, Love’s delights despising, Haste to raptures ever rising; Wine shall bless the brave and free. FIRST PRIEST. Wine and beauty thus inviting, Each to different joys exciting, Whither shall my choice incline? SECOND PRIEST.