The Works of the Honourable Sr. Philip Sidney, Kt. in Prose and Verse: I. A sixth book to the countess of Pembroke's Arcadia

NIGH

PSALM CXXXVII,

[IGH feated where the river flows,
That wat'reth Babel's thankful plain,
Which then our tears, in pearled rows,
Did help to water with the rain:
The thought of Sion bred fuch woes,
That tho' our harps we did retain,
Yet ufelefs and untouched there,
On willows only hang'd they were,

II.

Now while our harps were hanged fo,
The men, whofe captives then we lay,
Did on our griefs infulting go;
And, more to grieve us, thus did fay;
You that of mufick make fuch fhow,
Come fing us now a Sion's lay :

Oh no! we have no voice nor hand
For fuch a fong, in fuch a land.

III.

Tho' far I be, fweet Sion hill,

In foreign foil, exil'd from thee,

Yet let my hand forget his skill,
If ever thou forgotten be;

And let my tongue, faft glewed ftill
Unto my roof, lie mute in me,
If thy neglect within me fpring,
Oraught I do but Salem fing.

IV. But

IV.

But thou, O Lord, fhalt not forget
To quit the pains of Edom's race,
Who caufelefly, yet hotly, set
Thy holy city to deface,

Did thus the bloody victors whet,
What time they enter'd first the place,
Down, down with it at any hand,
Make all a wafe, let nothing ftand.

And, Babylon, that didft us waste, Thyfelf fhall one day wafted be:

And, happy he, who, what thou hast Unto us done, fhalt do to thee;