The midnight hour was coming on, In deathlike calm lay Babylon.
But in the monarch’s castle high Held the monarch’s attendants gay revelry.
And in the regal hall upstairs A regal feast Belshazzar shares.
The servants in glittering circles recline, And empty the goblets of sparkling wine.
The servants are shouting, the goblets ring, Delighting the heart of the ruthless king.
The king’s cheeks feel a ruddy glow, The wine doth swell his ardour so.
And blindly led on by his ardour’s wiles, The Godhead with blasphemous words he reviles.
And wildly he curses and raves aloud, Approvingly bellow the serving crowd.
The king commands with a look that burns, The servant hastens and soon returns.
Many golden vessels he bears on his head, The spoils of Jehovah’s temple dread.
And the monarch straight seized on a sacred cup With impious hand, and fill’d it up.
And down to the dregs he drains it fast, And with foaming mouth exclaims at last:
“Jehovah, thy power I here defy, The King of Babylon am I.”
But scarcely had sounded the fearful word, When the heart of the king with terror was stirr’d.
The yelling laughter is silenced all, And deathlike silence fills the hall.
And see! And see! On the wall so white A human hand appears in sight.
And letters of flame on the wall so white It wrote, and wrote, and vanish’d from sight.
The king the writing with wonderment sees, As pale as death, and with trembling knees.
The awestruck servants sat around, And silent sat, and utter’d no sound.
The magicians appear’d, but none ’mongst them all Could rightly interpret the words on the wall.
But Belshazzar the king the selfsame night Was slain by his servants,--a ghastly sight.
In the minstrels’ strife engaging Pass the Minnesingers by; Strange the war that they are waging, Strange the tourney where they vie.
Fancy, that for battle nerves him, Is the Minnesinger’s steed; Art as trusty buckler serves him, And his word’s a sword indeed.
Beauteous dames, with glances pleasant, From the balcony look down; But the right one is not present With the proper laurel crown.
Other combatants, when springing To the lists, at least are sound; Minnesingers must be bringing To the fray a deadly wound.
He from whom the most there draineth Song’s blood from the inmost breast,-- He is victor, and obtaineth From fair lips the praise most blest,