Hope, like the glimmering taper’s light, Adorns and cheers the way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. SECOND PRIEST. _Recitative._ Why this delay? At length for joy prepare; I read your looks, and see compliance there. Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise, Our monarch’s name the noblest theme supplies. Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre; The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire. CHALDEAN WOMAN. _Air._ See the ruddy morning smiling, Hear the grove to bliss beguiling; Zephyrs through the woodland playing, Streams along the valley straying. FIRST PRIEST. While these a constant revel keep, Shall Reason only teach to weep? Hence, intruder! we’ll pursue Nature--a better guide than you. SECOND PRIEST. _Air._ Every moment, as it flows, Some peculiar pleasure owes; Come, then, providently wise, Seize the debtor ere it flies. Think not to-morrow can repay The debt of pleasure lost to-day. Alas! to-morrow’s richest store Can but pay its proper score. FIRST PRIEST. _Recitative._ But, hush! see foremost of the captive choir, The master-prophet grasps his full-ton’d lyre; Mark where he sits, with executing art, Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart. See, how prophetic rapture fills his form, Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm! And now his voice, accordant to the string, Prepares our monarch’s victories to sing. FIRST PROPHET. _Air._ From north, from south, from east, from west, Conspiring nations come; Tremble, thou vice-polluted breast; Blasphemers, all be dumb. The tempest gathers all around-- On Babylon it lies; Down with her! down--down to the ground: She sinks, she groans, she dies. SECOND PROPHET. Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust, Before yon setting sun; Serve her as she hath serv’d the just: ’Tis fix’d--it shall be done. FIRST PRIEST. _Recitative._ No more! when slaves thus insolent presume, The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom. Short-sighted wretches! have not you and all Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall? To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes-- See, where dethron’d your captive monarch lies; Depriv’d of sight, and rankling in his chain, See where he mourns his friends and children slain. Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind More ponderous chains, and dungeons more confin’d. CHORUS. Arise, All-potent Ruler, rise, And vindicate thy people’s cause,-- Till every tongue, in every land, Shall offer up unfeign’d applause. [_Exeunt._ [Illustration] ACT THE THIRD. SCENE, _as before_. FIRST PRIEST. _Recitative._