The Feast of Belshazzar

By Heinrich Heine

The midnight hour had fallen on
The hushed city of Babylon.

And yet within its castle walls
The vassals thronged throughout the halls.

Belshazzar in celebration
Welcomed his coronation.

Filling their cups with glowing wine,
The servants hailed their king divine.

Rejoicing in the dance and song,
The guests and king drank all night long.

But then King Belshazzar grew bold;
The wine began to take its hold.

Blinded by his new-found courage,
He feared nor God nor sacrilege.

Rousing his realm's impetuous horde,
He boasted and blasphemed before the Lord.

Commanding with a fiery stare,
New drinks appeared for each one there.

His head shone with a brilliant crown
Coveted from Babylon’s sacred ground.

With an impetuous hand he then
Seized his goblet filled to the brim.

The dripping wine ran down his mouth
As the bold king began to shout:

“Jehovah! your power is gone,
I am the king of Babylon!”

But before he could finish his exalted
Speech, his words were suddenly halted.

The laughter turned to ghastly
Sighs; the halls felt all but empty:

A human hand with deathly pall
Appeared upon the castle wall!

Before that whole impious race,
In fire the hand began to trace.

Writing and writing the pale hand wrote,
Then quickly vanished into smoke.

The monarch sat there frozen,
Trembling as he beheld the omen.

Fear ran up the spine of each servant
As they sat there still and silent.

Wise men came—none could decipher
What the hand had written in fire.

But before a new day could begin,
Belshazzar was murdered by his men.

Translation © David B. Gosselin