War Against Babylon. (Air.--Novello.)

"War against Babylon!" shout we around,
    Be our banners through earth unfurled;
Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound--
    "War against Babylon!" shout thro' the world!
Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,^[1]
    Thy day of pride is ended now;
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters
    Breaks like a thundercloud over thy brow!
        War, war, war against Babylon!

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,^[2]
    Set the standard of God on high;
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields.
    "Zion" our watchword, and "vengeance" our cry!
Woe! woe!--the time of thy visitation^[3]
    Is come, proud land, thy doom is cast--
And the black surge of desolation
    Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last!
            War, war, war against Babylon!

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

The Fudges In England. Letter XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., To The Rev. Richard ----. ------, Ireland.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To Rosa.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Nature's Labels. A Fragment.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Destruction Of Babylon.

An awful vision floats before my sight,
Black as the storm and fearful as the night:
Thy fall, oh Babylon!--the awful doom
Pronounced by Heaven to hurl thee to the tomb,
Peals in prophetic thunder in mine ear--
The voice of God foretelling ruin near!

    Hark! what strange murmurs from the hills arise,
Like rushing torrents from the bursting skies!
Loud as the billows of the restless tide,
In strange confusion flowing far and wide,
Ring the deep tones of horror and dismay,
The shriek--the shout--the battle's stern array--
The gathering cry of nations from afar--
The tramp of steeds--the tumult of the war--
Burst on mine ear, and o'er thy fated towers
Hovers despair, and fierce destruction lowers;
Within the fire--without the vengeful sword;
Who lead...

Susanna Moodie

Fallen Is Thy Throne. (Air.--Martini.)

Fallen is thy Throne, oh Israel!
    Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
    Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee
    On Etham's barren shore?
That fire from Heaven which led thee,
    Now lights thy path no more.

LORD! thou didst love Jerusalem--
    Once she was all thy own;
Her love thy fairest heritage,^[1]
    Her power thy glory's throne.^[2]
Till evil came, and blighted
    Thy long-loved olive-tree;^[3]--
And Salem's shrines were lighted
    For other gods than Thee.

Then sunk the star of Solyma--
    Then past her glory's day,
Like heath that, in the wilderness,^[4]
    The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers,
  ...

Thomas Moore

But Who Shall See. (Air.--Stevenson.)

But who shall see the glorious day
    When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
    Which hides the nations now?^[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
    Of this rebuke shall lie;^[2]
When pain shall cease, and every tear
    Be wiped from every eye.^[3]

Then, Judah, thou no more shall mourn
    Beneath the heathen's chain;
Thy days of splendor shall return,
    And all be new again.^[4]

The Fount of Life shall then be quaft
    In peace, by all who come;^[5]
And every wind that blows shall waft
    Some long-lost exile home.

Thomas Moore

Awake, Arise, Thy Light Is Come. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Awake, arise, thy light is come;^[1]
    The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
    The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
    From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
    Their homage to thy rising lustre.^[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
    O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
    To thee return thy home-sick daughters.^[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
    Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
    To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.^[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,^[5]
    Are ...

Thomas Moore

Swiss Air.--"Ranz Des Vaches."

        But wake, the trumpet's blast again,
        And rouse the ranks of warrior-men!
    Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs,
And Freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm,
'Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallowed form,
And like Heaven's lightning sacredly destroys.
Nor, Music, thro' thy breathing sphere,
Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear
        Of Him who made all harmony,
        Than the blest sound of fetters breaking,
        And the first hymn that man awaking
    From Slavery's slumber breathes to Liberty.

Thomas Moore

Sound The Loud Timbrel. Miriam's Song. (Alr.--Avison.)[1]

        "And Miriam, the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her band; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."
        --Exod. xv. 20.


Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free.
Sing--for the pride of the Tyrant is broken,
    His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave--
How vain was their boast, for the LORD hath but spoken,
    And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
JEHOVAH has triumphed--his people are free.

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the LORD!
His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword--
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
    Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?<...

Thomas Moore