On his royal throne of state,

Herod sits, in power elate;

Rank and splendour round him wait,

Kingly pride enhancing;

He suspecting not the while

Hatred's cruelty and guile,

Gazes with approving smile

On that maiden dancing.

Lovely as the graceful play

Of a fount in moonlight's ray,

Or a proud swan on its way

Ripling waves dividing;

Airy as a sweet bird's flight

Through the azure realms of light,

Seems that form of beauty bright

Now before him gliding.

Ceased the music's festive sound!

Ceased the dancer's sportive bound!

When the monarch, looking round,

Craved the syren's pleasure:—

“Ask whate’er thou wilt,” said he,

“And my oath I plight to thee

Thou shalt have it, though it be

Half my kingly treasure!”

“Give me here,” the maiden said,

“John the Baptist's forfeit head!”

Herod heard with shame and dread,

And too late repented;

But false honour's specious tie,

Plighted oath,— his courtiers by

Doomed the martyr saint to die

Death revenge invented.

Heartless damsel! though the blame

Of this act of fraud and shame

Render odious Herod's name,

Thou that odium sharest :

More revolting was thy part,

Blending cruelty with art;—

Girl-hood's grace without its heart,

Hateful makes the fairest.

Bard or painter, who would dress,

“Beauty in unloveliness,”

Draw from thee: and thus express

All thy charms have brought thee;—

Sterner tone and deeper hue

Best may body forth to view

That relentless mother— who

Thy foul lesson taught thee!