Come down, sit in the dust, poor maid of Babylon; the ground thy seat shall be; no throne any longer for that queen of the Chaldean folk we knew once, so dainty, so delicate.

Get thee to the millstones and grind there, ready to expose thy nakedness; off with thy veil, here are streams to be crossed bare of leg.

Thou shalt be exposed to shame, thy naked form uncovered; I mean to take vengeance on thee, and no man shall stay my hand.

(But we have one to ransom us; who but the Lord of hosts, the Holy One of Israel?✻ )

Sit dumb, bury thyself in darkness, lady of Chaldea; thou shalt rule the nations no longer.

Angry with my people, turned enemy against the land of my choice, I gave them into thy power; and thou, what mercy didst thou shew them? Heavy the yoke thou didst lay on aged shoulders.

Thou wouldst surely be a queen for ever; thou didst it light-heartedly, not recking what the end should be.

And now, here is a word for those delicate ears, lady of the careless heart, who sittest there telling thyself, I am Babylon, the unrivalled; no lonely widowhood, no childless lot for me.

These two things shall fall on thee suddenly in a single day, childlessness and widowhood; fall upon thee in full measure, so blind amid all thy sorceries, through the crass folly of thy wizards so blind.

Such was thy trust in these wicked arts of thine, thou hadst no fear of discovery; thy very wisdom, thy very knowledge were a snare; I am Babylon, thy heart told thee, rival I have none.

And now comes ruin unforeseen, comes doom no sacrifice can avert; sudden and strange thy encounter with sorrow.

All that multitude of wizards, and wilt thou not persevere with thy enchantments, the hard-earned lore of thy youth? Maybe it will turn to thy advantage; thou shalt be formidable yet!

But no, thou art wearied of those many consultations. Let them come to thy side now and save thee if they can, diviners that gaze up at the stars, count days of the month, to tell thy future for thee!

Like stubble burn they one and all; their own lives they cannot rescue from the flame. Here is no brazier to warm them, no ingle-nook to sit by!

And this is the end of all thy long study; trusted counsellors of thy youth, all have gone astray in their reckoning; deliverance for thee is none.