PARAPHRASE ON THE 137tH PSALM. 411 



Eleanor was on a visit you see, — but when she did, she was in a tre- 

 mendous passion, it is said, but at length forgot and forgave, and came 

 post from Ireland to the wedding.'* 



" And the Lady Eleanor did this to convince a good-for-nothing man 

 of his folly !" said Miss Tabitha, elevating her hands and eyes. 



" Aye — and to win him, my good aunt," sportively rejoined Louisa. 



** Oh ! shocking I" screamed the spinster, sinking upon the sofa, and 

 covering her face with her fingers — ** it's an awful world we live in 1'* 



PARAPHRASE OF THE 137th PSALM. 



By our feet where the waters of Babylon swept 



In, their majesty on to the sea, 

 Overwhelm'd by our sorrow, we sat down and wept. 



When we thought, Holy Sion, of thee. 



And we mournfully gazed on our harps as they hung 



(O ! how oft had they join'd in our prayer,) 

 In the silence of sadness, neglected, unstrung. 



On the willows that shaded us there. 



For the men who to slavery led us away 



Made a mock at the sorrows we bore ; 

 And they taxed us for mirth, and said, " sing us a song. 



Such as rung in your Sion of yore," 



Oh ! how shall we sing in the land of tlie foe. 



The glad strains that in Sion we poured ? 

 Or how shall we bid the same melody flow 



That thy courts have re-echoed, O Lord ? 



If I ever forget thee, O Salem, that hour 



May the Lord in his wrath take away 

 From my right hand, accursed and wither'd, the power 



On the harp of my fathers to play. 



Cleave my tongue to the roof of my mouth whensoe'er 



Holy Salem ! I think not on thee : 

 Yea ! if ever my heart's dearest pleasure appear 



Than Jerusalem dearer to me. 



Lord, remember how Edom triumphantly cried 



In the day when Jerusalem fell — 

 " Root her out, root her out, of her beauty and pride 



Leave not e'en her foundations to tell." 



To thee, daughter of Babylon, wasted away 



Wilh thy grief, may it ever be thus — 

 May'st thou see the man blest who shall fully repay 



Thee the wrongs thou hast heaped upon us. 



Yea ! for ever and ever his name shall be blest. 

 Who shall laugh at the mother's deep groans, 



When he dashes the babe from her nourishing breast. 

 And it dies at her feet on the stones. 



GODFREY GRAFTON. 



